Book Titles Rewritten to Get More Clicks

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Book Titles Rewritten to Get More Clicks

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NOT EVERYTHING FEELS LIKE SOMETHING ELSE
dracula but nobody takes him seriously
hes giving one of his dramatic monologues & little old man van helsing whaps him on the head with a rolled up newspaper mid-sentence to shut him up. nobody was even listening
when hes hassling lucy at her window shes like this
jonathan watching dracula lizard crawl down the side of the castle
do you think The Mousetrap was any good? do you think Hamlet sat down and wrote a play to trigger his uncle that turned out to be quality writing and stage direction worth performing again, or do you think it was just kind of half-baked drivel that only a guilt-stricken murderer would have any reaction to beyond awkward embarrassment?
Claudius: brb watching a cringe play with my fail nephew
This is fun jokes, but I do have some input to offer here! Hamlet asks the players to put on a pre-existing play, The Mousetrap, but he requests that they add in a monologue he wrote that is to be performed by the Claudius analogue that emphasizes the specifics of how he’s poisoning the king, in the exact way that Claudius killed the real king. Hamlet considers himself a scholar and lover of theatre, so he is probably very excited to write something that is performed. He probably spent all night perfecting the verse, but the way he wrote the verse still necessitates the mispronunciation of Hecate so that it fits into his meter better. He was trying to give acting notes to the players about how to say the 6 lines he wrote just right, and not overacting it or underacting it. Which I can only imagine was cringe as hell to a troupe of actors that do this professionally, to get acting advice from this prince who’s going to University so he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.
hey we’ve all had an important task to do, like killing our uncle, that we’ve procrastinated on by obsessively focusing on some other minor task, like staying up all night writing a verse to diss our uncle.
Of course, now there exists another play called The Mousetrap, about another murderer, so I now want to see a version of Hamlet in which Agatha Christie’s version is perfomed by mistake but Claudius is still so neurotic that the result remains the same.
Hamlet but partway through the entirety of Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap is performed with Hamlet’s monologue added in.

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dropping a chandelier in the middle of an opera because someone sat in my unassigned assigned seat is the level of pettiness i aspire to achieve
Damn straight
fucking losing it at the concept of a reverse Holmes and Watson like there's this genius journalist who goes around solving crimes and writes about how he does it and then there's his useless himbo assistant who does fuck all and just follows him around absolutely out of his mind on cocaine
Smell of old dusty books.
“I am reading six books at once, the only way of reading; since, as you will agree, one book is only a single unaccompanied note, and to get the full sound, one needs ten others at the same time.” ― Virginia Woolf, The Letters of Virginia Woolf: Volume Three, 1923-1928
(bookstagram: lncreads)

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a support group for vampires who were turned as children or adolescents. a bunch of small, melancholy kid-shaped vampires sitting around in somebody’s living room talking very seriously in tiny voices about current events in the vampire world. a lot of them dress like grandmas because they are as old as a grandma, maybe even ten grandmas. they have a network system where they can call adult-looking vampires to help them get things, drive places, pretend to be parents so child-looking vampires can get into adult movies
#two vampire friends of the same chronological age #but one was turned at age 11 and the other at age 40 #they pretend to be parent and child but they’re actually more like bickering elderly roommates #bickering elderly roommates who are serial killers
I want to see a 500 year old vampire in the body of five year old being the reluctant mentor to a brand new adult shaped vamp 👁️👄👁️
Lady Macbeth at the feast after her husband has a literal breakdown and screamed about his murdered friend
I started reading North and South, and while I think the adaptation did a good job of demonstrating how Margaret is quiet and stilted and yes, a little bit haughty, it did not adequately communicate how deeply and immediately into it Thornton is.
also, after the proposal and Margaret’s refusal, Thornton is standing on the curb steeling his resolve to love Margaret regardless when a bus pulls up, because the driver thought he was waiting for a ride. Thornton, who at this point has had a very trying couple days (what with the riot, his One True Love boldly throwing her arms around his neck to protect him from danger, and then rejecting his proposal) decides it is too complicated to explain his situation to well-meaning bus driver.
so Mr. John Thornton, the head of Marlborough Mills, just….awkwardly takes a bus ride to the country, where he walks around for a few hours determined to continue horribly loving Margaret, then takes the next bus back to Milton.
I feel extremely robbed by the decision not to include this in the adaptation, as it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read.
Actually the funniest part of this book is Mrs. Thornton thinking that if Margaret had accepted John’s proposal, her son “would have had to keep a tight hand” over Margaret to make her “know her place.” As though we as readers haven’t spent a couple hundred pages listening to Thornton’s internal monologue, which consists of thinking he’s unworthy; being alternately grumpy, lovesick, and grumpy about how lovesick he is; doing selfless deeds for Margaret and her entire family; and repeatedly calling on Mr. Hale because he wants to breathe the same air as Margaret, Whom He Loves Despite Her Cruelly (But Understandably, Because She Is So Far Above Him) Spurning Him.
The only “place” Thornton wants to “keep” Margaret is with her thighs over his ears.
classic lit authors on ao3
Jane Austen: The slowburn writer to end all slowburn writers. Has a mild case of purple prose syndrome. Sets you up to think she’s using a really lame trope or cliche, but then pulls the old BITCH U THOUGHT. Gets in fights with commenters who completely miss the point of her work.
William Shakespeare: Where dick jokes meet feels. Recycles old plots that have been in the fandom for years, but always manages to put a new spin on it. That said, he’s better known for good character writing than good plots. Kind of problematic, but people love him anyway. Laughs at and encourages commenters who completely miss the point of his work.
The Brontë Sisters: Their fics get lots of comments but they never reply. They never leave author notes, either. They share an account, and there are talks of a collab fic coming soon. Write fics for OTPs of questionable healthiness and consent. Only ever write darkfic. Like, REALLY dark. …People are getting kind of worried about them.
Edgar Allan Poe: Also only ever writes darkfic, but at this point, people have moved past being worried about him and have just accepted that he’s weird, he’s morbid, and we love him. Channels his feelings about his ex into his writing. It results in really good stories but everyone’s sort of like, “…Dude.”
Charles Dickens: Trying to set the record for highest wordcount on ao3, and it shows.
Victor Hugo: Currently holds the record for highest wordcount on ao3.
Oscar Wilde: Only ever writes M/M. Has a BAD case of purple prose, but it’s worth it if you manage to get through. His stories are either hilarious or soul-crushing. Or somehow both. People love him but know better than to disagree with him publicly, lest he destroy you with one of his infamous subtweets.
L. Frank Baum: Wrote one really well-loved story that’s among the most famous in the fandom, and it’s literally all he’s known for, and it pisses him off. His popular story became a multichap against his will because it’s the only one of his stories anyone actually reads. He keeps trying to end it so he can work on other things, but always ends up coming back.
Arthur Conan Doyle: Feels L. Frank Baum’s pain. SO much.
James Joyce: Has fascinating ideas, but takes forEVER to get to the point in his stories. Also a stoner, and it shows.
Lousia May Alcott: Writes stories for her unpopular OTP (that’s a NOTP for most of the fandom) and breaks up everyone’s favorite ships, mainly out of spite. Also kills everyone’s favorite characters, less so out of spite.
Mary Shelley: Writes incredible stories, but publishes under her boyfriend’s account because she’s banned from ao3. …Again.
if you see me wandering the windswept moors and highlands in nothing but a nightgown plastered to my skin with rain, wailing and wringing my hands as i stumble over the already mud-trodden hem, i ask that you do NOT approach. i will be FINE. i just need to work through some stuff & be dramatic first. please respect that.

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A production of MacBeth but everyone calls the characters The Scottish Play and Lady The Scottish Play