This is a The Good Place fanfiction I’ve been working on for about a year now. I started thinking about it after the finale aired last year, and it went from there.
It features very few of the characters from the actual show, has a far less comedic tone and perhaps only counts as a fanfiction in the loosest sense really…but it is my sort-of answer to the one question the show never tackled, “What happens to children and babies in the afterlife?”
I’m getting a bit sick of looking at this so I’m just going to post 😅 I might try and make it better later but I don’t know haha
Panic pixie dream girl posted The Punchline on ao3 and I do think it’s just wonderful. Featuring a very elderly lister and Rimmer.
So I became obsessed at what look they’d be pulling. We know with lister because of future echos but not Rimmer. I’ve tried to draw him a bit glitchy because his light bee is well over three million years old!
Oh my gosh! I don’t really use tumblr much but that was me! I wrote that! Thank you so much I LOVE THIS!! :D
GOD this has been in the works for ages. I always say, you wanna know what a character is or why you like ’em, kill ’em. (Or worse.)
Title: The Punchline Fandom: Red Dwarf Characters: Lister and Rimmer, also Holly, sort of, mostly Summary: A massive cosmic joke is finally drawing to an end for Lister and Rimmer.
my dad–also a writer–came to visit, and i mentioned that the best thing to come out of the layoff is that i’m writing again. he asked what i was writing about, and i said what i always do: “oh, just fanfic,” which is code for “let’s not look at this too deeply because i’m basically just making action figures kiss in text form” and “this awkward follow-up question is exactly why i don’t call myself a writer in public.”
he said, “you have to stop doing that.”
“i know, i know,” because it’s even more embarrassing to be embarrassed about writing fanfic, considering how many posts i’ve reblogged in its defense.
but i misunderstood his original question: “fanfic is just the genre. i asked what you’re writing about.”
i did the conversational equivalent of a spinning wheel cursor for at least a minute. i started peeling back the setting and the characters, the fic challenge and the specific episode the story jumps off from, and it was one of those slow-dawning light bulb moments. “i’m writing about loneliness, and who we are in the absence of purpose.”
as, i imagine, are a lot of people right now, who probably also don’t realize they’re writing an existential diary in the guise of getting television characters to fuck.
“that’s what you’re writing. the rest is just how you get there, and how you get it out into the world. was richard iii really about richard the third? would shakespeare have gotten as many people to see it if it wasn’t a story they knew?”
JUST in time to celebrate the one-month anniversary of The Promised Land, I think.
Title: The Dance Fandom: Red Dwarf Characters: All the main smegheads but mostly Lister and Rimmer Summary: A coda to The Promised Land, in which conversations are had.
(Shippy, but honestly not much more than the show is at this point)
Tony Stark and Nebula sat in the cockpit of the Guardians’ ship hours after The Snap. They were both stunned, unable to communicate even though they sat in the same room.
Nebula was the most affected by the events that transpired. She had lost her sister to Thanos just because she was willing to save her life in that interrogation chamber. Now half the universe was annihilated.
“Are we going to leave this planet or what?” Tony Stark asked, startling Nebula.
“Yea,” she responded. “I’ll help with the controls. I know you people from Earth aren’t familiar with Ravager ships.”
Stark looked at her. “I think I can figure it out. You could say I’m a…mechanic.”
“And I am a machine.”
Stark smirked. “Suit yourself,” he said, indicating the yokes and buttons before him.
She rose from her chair, reached him, then began clicking those same buttons. She gripped…
So the question of time again: how long can a kingdom remain a kingdom if it is king-less? A long time.
Decades, centuries. Boundaries and demarcations of ownership may ebb and flow with the natural tides of victory and defeat, interest and disinterest, growth and regression, but the unified body of Kingdom remains.
Boromir one time said, So long as everyone agrees that it ought to. He had been fifteen and was promptly rebuked by Mithrandir.
And Mithrandir was right, the idea of a future hope keeps Gondor trudging onward in a bizarre fusion of movement and stasis. There is no time for this.
Boromir has met the heir of Isildur. What a thing. Marvels upon marvels. He wishes to vomit into a finely sculpted bush. He puts this down to the food not agreeing with him.
His father never spoke of the heirs of Isildur because there was no reason to speak of the heirs of Isildur. If they remained, they were no more and no less than the rest of us who are descended from the Dunedain therefore why should we give special credence to them? Special licence to those who shy away from duty and hide in the north.
This heir of Isildur, whom the Elves and Mithrandir put special import upon, has a sword. It is broken. It is to be reforged before they set out. Boromir doesn’t say, I have more swords broken in the line of duty than fingers on a hand.
What is a sword?
Faramir would put meaning to it but Boromir can’t haul himself over that ledge just yet. He thinks, Oh yes, fine, the man has a sword and the man is tall with a commanding air, when he decides to put one. I know men like him. Indeed, I can be such a man when I want to. But I don’t go around dredging up the past so sand roils in surf making everything unclear.
