in the wrong decade

stuff i like about the series of unfortunate events netflix show so far
- leans into the cartoonishness of the setting in a funny and charming way, like count olaf’s house being a dark dilapidated castle in the middle of a pristine suburb, or how puppet-y it looks whenever sunny chews on something
- neil patrick harris’ count olaf provides a lot of comic relief but still comes off as a genuine threat to the kids
- we get to see more members of vfd in action! also kind of a stretch but maybe jacqueline is a genderflipped jacques snicket? seems like a suspicious choice of name for a new character.
- obviously a huge amount of respect for the source material, with references to future stuff like the sugar bowl and the medusoid mycelium, but adding new subplots as well
- the pond gustav fell into looks a bit like the hotel denouement one? idk
- the vfd tunnels
- lemony snicket as a rod serling-type narrator allowing them to fit in a bunch of his lines from the books
- snicket mentions being distraught and horrified by the kids’ situation and crying himself to sleep, but it’s treated as a normal reaction to distressing events and not any kind of weak or shameful thing, idk i thought that was nice
- the deliberately anachronistic setting now includes calling the i.t. people to fix a typewriter and telling time with an hourglass you bought online

Project presentation


If you’re one of the people wondering why it’s 2017 and Sherlock Holmes and John Watson still haven’t kissed on TV, then you might be interested in what I have to say !

As an aspiring writer/director, I want to right decades of wrongs and finally free these characters and finally allow them to be happy together. 

What I offer you is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, both young (early 20s), both queer. The action would take place in modern Paris (because I’m a poor french worm)

Now, why am I telling you all that :

The project is only at its development stage, meaning I’m still working on the story (though the main pitch is already defined). Also, it’s all amateur work, so I’d be doing this on my free time, with my own money etc.. 

So basically, I need people interested in this project to help me out !

  • For the writing phase: as I’m not a walking ACD canon Encyclopaedia, I might need a lot of help concerning the canon and especially the cases. I might also need help writing said cases.
  • For the filming phase: I’ll need actors (preferably french speakers), but also sound engineers, scripts… (but we have time for that)

So if you’re interested in the project, if you’re motivated, send me a PM and don’t forget to share and reblog !

Why INFPs think of themselves as “frauds.”

When you’re an INFP, your biggest insecurity is that you have nothing to say.

You perceive most people as insightful, intelligent and interesting, while you are a dullard who can’t even string three words together. It’s not just that you’re shy — you feel like there’s something mentally WRONG with you.

I felt this way for decades, but I got over it by thinking about it this way. The reason everyone else’s stories are so fascinating is because YOU are the one processing them. YOU are connecting dots in your brain that make what you hear much more “involving” than the same story processed through a non-infp mind. In other words, you’re too imaginative for your own good.

Conversely, you have incredibly high standards for what constitutes a worthy conversation and what doesn’t. Comments about yourself, for example, seem egotistical and pointless. How you day is going? Who cares!!

So you LIMIT your options SEVERELY when communicating with another person, and tend to choose the words that end the conversation because you don’t want people to find out you’re an imposter.

Yeah, that’s the main thought that goes through your head, right? You’re stupid and incapable (handicapped, maybe?) and nobody has found out yet. But oddly enough, nobody seems to notice. Nobody has EVER told you that you are dumb. Weird, isn’t it?

That’s because you’re not dumb. You simply have impossibly high standards. You’re an INFP, remember.

Like I said, I struggled with this for decades. I was an “imposter” for decades, yet I STILL manage to be “successful,” despite judging myself as a “fraud” all those years ago.

That’s because I’m NOT a fraud, and neither are you. Once I realized this, I also realized that I DID have useful things to say. This post, hopefully, is one of them.

So don’t harsh on yourself, and please let me know if this helps. You see, I still appreciate verification that I’m not a fraud, even when I know it’s not true.

Have a great day, INFP.

It’s No Fucking Problem.

Your Pal,
Space Monkey

Sometimes I just have this overwhelming feeling of hatred for the human race. This is how I know it is time to hermit.

What the fuck is wrong with Shadi? During the decade or so of his death and wandering around as a ghost with the Millennium Scales letting some Egyptian god eat people, did not think ever at one point think to check up on the kids he died in front of. Then he goes to Marik and tells him the Pharaoh fucked his life up. I guess he didn’t check up on Aigami because Aigami went and fucked up on his own life. Other questions: What’s with the turban? I guess ghosts can also change their outfits. How did he pet Yugi’s head? How did he rig that death trap in their school? I don’t know how ghosts work. Was Shadi actually ageless, Yami Bakura called him an old man. Who even was this guy?

And here’s the other thing I need to talk about before buckling down and finishing the review of the full episode: Alicia.

Before I get into it, I’m just going to give you the heads up that this post may be uncomfortable for some because it’s kinda skirting some dissociative topics. Please let me know if there is a more appropriate way to tag this.

There is already plenty of meta floating around about Alicia’s fate. It seems like most people are totally convinced that Alicia is dead, that something else is parading around looking like her, and/or that it’s just Alicia’s memories.

Meanwhile, I remain convinced that we’re not supposed to have a firm answer. Her fate drives us straight into a the philosophical discussion of self. Are we our bodies, or are we our consciousness? If you have all of your memories, all of your thoughts, all of your emotions, are you still you if all of those are taken out of your body and placed into something else? Conversely, are you still you if you still have your body, but not your memories or day-to-day emotions? It’s a philosophical question that I think a lot of people are at least peripherally aware of, even if they haven’t read all the standard writings on it.

Yes, the philosophy of self was probably my favorite part of my Intro to Philosophy course, but I also feel like this question was posed on purpose. Steve Yockey kinda played with this philosophical question in a previous episode of his – 12x10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets… although I don’t think we knew it was a question until we were faced with Alicia’s question of body versus consciousness.

I find that doll disturbing.”

This isn’t even the part of 12x10 that I find the most relevant here, but it’s interesting that Akobel made that comment at all. It’s just a doll – it’s a thing that resembles a person, but it’s also empty. The Alicia-doll is not empty.

But here’s what I really want to talk about:

I don’t think I’ll get any argument that this is Cas, or that this is any less Cas than the Cas we’re familiar with, even though he has a much stronger claim on his current body.

And to counter that, let me throw this in, as well:

I will also get no argument that this is still Dean, even though it’s Dean’s body, but without any of his memories or even knowing that he is Dean.

Why is that? Why is it that Dean is still Dean when he has his body, but not his memories? Why is it that when Cas is in a different body he’s still considered Cas, but Alicia is not?

Is it because she died? Sam, Dean, and Cas have all died… multiple times.

Is it because Max can take her free will away? Sam and Cas have both lost their free will to Lucifer. Dean somewhat lost his free will to the Mark of Cain. 

Why is this different?

This question doesn’t have to be rhetorical, by the way… just know that I’m really happy with the question… probably happier with the question than any possible answer. (The wonderful action of questioning is a big part of my personality, in case y’all don’t know this yet. Questioning is what makes humanity so spectacular, but that’s getting off track.)

Where I don’t think there is a question is whether or not what Max did was right.

Alicia died, and Max brought her back.

This episode did what 11x17 Red Meat did by taking Sam and Dean’s story and placing it in a different context. Red Meat placed the context of their codependency into the real world – Sam was nearly killed by a gun rather than a demon, while Dean tried to kill himself with an overdose rather than a sacrifice to a god or some other supernatural creature.

Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes took the codependency and placed Sam and Dean outside of it, therefore placing the audience outside of it, giving us an objective viewpoint of what’s really going on.

She’s disrupting the natural order by being alive. You of all people know what that means. Chaos and sadness will follow her for the rest of her life.

6x11 Appointment in Samarra

No matter what the answer is to what’s going to happen to Max’s soul as a consequence (did he sell his soul or not? The Borrower Witch specifically said all he had to do to finish the deal was touch the ring; she died first, but he still touched the ring), what he did was still not okay.

The Winchesters have been messing with the natural order for a decade now. On paper, they know its wrong and have sworn to themselves to stop doing it. However, that doesn’t undo what they’ve done in the past. Sam, Dean, and Mary all should have been dead years ago, and yet they still live.

Alicia’s death and resurrection is far more questionable than any Winchester resurrection we’ve ever seen, and it’s like that for a reason – no matter the situation, no matter the consequences or lack thereof, what’s dead should stay dead.

anonymous asked:

Guardians prompt if you're interested: Stakar pov of peter/Stakar talking to yondu about peter

Stakar had just about given up on expecting the galaxy to surprise him anymore. And now here he was, finding out that Yondu Udonta had a kid stashed away – a grown kid, running his own merc crew.

… okay, the whole idea of any of the Ravagers having some by-blow on some planet somewhere wasn’t exactly a big shock, but this was something else entirely, not a random kid that Yondu had fathered on a planet he’d never gone back to, but a kid he’d raised as his own – and kept secret from the Ravagers, from Ego, and from the galaxy in general for twenty-five years.

Oh, sure, it wasn’t a big secret that Peter Quill was a Ravager; Stakar had even vaguely heard about Yondu’s disgraced faction getting involved with some fight out in the Nova Empire. (Not that he was keeping tabs on the little shit or anything.) But now the whole truth came out and it was a real kick in the gut.

It meant having to accept that he’d believed things about Yondu for the last two and a half decades that were … well, not completely wrong, but definitely a little bit off-center. Mainly because Yondu was a close-mouthed shithead who never told anybody anything if he didn’t have to. And, if Stakar was gonna be completely honest with himself (and if he wasn’t, Aleta sure wouldn’t hold back) he had to accept a certain amount of responsibility as well. He knew what Yondu was like, and he knew that twenty years as a Kree slave left deep, deep scars – which meant that sometimes in order to figure out what was going on in the stubborn bastard’s head, you had to kick the truth out of him.

And he hadn’t done that. So here he was, with Yondu dead and Yondu’s kid on his hands.

Peter Quill. Half Terran, half something else.

Stakar’s first impression of him was that he didn’t seem like much. But then, Quill had just lost two fathers in one day, and he’d just found out that he and Yondu’s first mate were the only survivors of the Ravager clan he’d grown up in, and he’d also just had a whole pile of extended Ravager clan he’d never met dumped on him, so okay, that was gonna throw anybody off.

And he’d never had the grace or the misfortune of attending a wake for a Ravager captain. Stakar’s entire ship was one big drunken party, and through it all, Stakar kept trying to corner Quill to talk to him, and having one hell of a hard time doing it. (He did find out that some of Quill’s crew could party with the best of ‘em, though, especially that big gray fellow and the green gal. They did have to throw the damn little rat in the brig after he tried to stab a couple of guys who started shit-talking Yondu, though.)

It took two days of narrowly missing each other, but Stakar finally tracked Quill down in one of the spare M-ships. Quill had pulled up all the telemetry so it looked like the ship was outside in the depths of space, even though it was sitting in the hangar bay of Stakar’s mothership, and then he’d curled up in the pilot’s chair with the music player that he never seemed to be without.

Yondu had raised himself a fuckin’ weird kid.

But what it came down to was, your kid was your kid, and Stakar never would’ve said this (and never had a chance to prove it) but as much of a total shithead as Yondu had been, he had a pretty good idea he’d have thrown himself out an airlock for that bastard too.

So he plunked down in the copilot’s chair beside Quill, poured out a glass from the bottle in his hand, and offered it across the space between them. Quill glanced at it and winced.

“No thanks. My hangovers have hangovers.”

“What, they don’t have booze on Terra?” It was good Xandarian brandy, laced with a hit of Knowhere spinal fluid for that extra kick. Stakar knocked back a slug.

“Sure they do, but I was eight when I left. I hadn’t exactly started building up a tolerance yet.”

“Yondu took ya,” Stakar said, pouring himself another shot.

“Yeah, if you wanna get personal about it.” Quill wrapped his fingers around the music player and tucked it against his chest. He was still wearing one of the little ear thingies; the other one was down on his shoulder, so Stakar could hear the tinny beat of whatever noise he was listening to. Quill toyed with the fallen earpiece, making moves like to put it back in. The message was clear: buzz off, jerk, I’m busy.

Good thing Stakar had never been too sharp at taking a hint.

“You pissed about that?”

“Yes … no … I don’t know.” Quill looked sullen. He sucked in a breath and reached out a hand. “If we’re going to talk about this, I hope that offer of a drink’s still on the table.”

So basically Stakar got Yondu’s kid completely trashed, and they talked about a lot of things, Yondu being the main topic. Quill was screamingly furious at the blue asshole (Stakar could relate), and coping with a soul-deep grief at the same time. They talked about Yondu; they talked about Quill’s childhood; Stakar told Quill about breaking Yondu out of that Kree hell hole; and Quill told him a lot of things Stakar had never known about those missing decades after he’d cut Yondu out of the Ravager fold.

At the end of it all, he had to half-drag a limp Quill off to find a spare bunk to put him in. Terrans really weren’t much for drinking, on a galactic scale. He couldn’t help wondering if Yondu had ever run into that particular problem, and if he’d also had the same problem Stakar was currently having, which was an alternately belligerent and overly friendly Quill draped on his neck.

“I’m gonna be so fuckin’ hung over,” Quill muttered, one limp arm flopped over Stakar’s shoulders and basically holding him up. “I was just gettin’ over the last one. Asshole.”

“It’s tradition,” Stakar told him, which was more or less straight-up what he’d told Yondu a really long time ago.

Quill laughed and then dropped his head onto Stakar’s shoulder. He was really huggy when he got drunk, Stakar had found out the hard way. “I miss 'im,” he mumbled into the collar of Stakar’s Ravager coat. “God – I miss him – I never knew, y'know? There’s so many goddamn things I shoulda said.”

“You and me both, kid,” Stakar told him, pouring him into the first unoccupied bunk he found. “But you know what? With you, at least, I get the feeling he knew already.”

“Doesn’t make up for not saying it,” Quill mumbled into the tangle of blankets on the bunk.

“Nah, don’t matter. Yondu was never much for talking about shit. Good luck ever tryin’ to have that conversation with him.”

Quill caught at the edge of Stakar’s jacket and looked up with drunken earnestness. “You think he knew.”

“Stake my reputation as a Ravager on it, kid.”

“I like you,” Quill mumbled, rolling over and trailing the hand he’d fisted in Stakar’s jacket. “Good job gettin’ Yondu out of the slave – uh – things. That’s good. Thanks. Lucky he got you.”

Stakar gazed down at the moplike tangle of orange-brown Terran hair submerged in a pile of blankets. Damn it. For all he knew, the kid was a shit space pirate – but he got why Yondu had thrown over a payoff from Ego and the entire Ravager fleet for this idiot.

“Hey, Stakar! Where you want this?”

“For Krask’s sake,” Stakar muttered, jolted out of his thoughts, as Martinex dumped a completely shitfaced, limp space-rat-creature on him.

“He got out,” Martinex said unnecessarily. “And then he got drunk again. Any ideas?”

“Hey, Quill –” Stakar began, and turned around to find that Quill had either fallen asleep or passed out.

Stakar deposited the raccoon on the edge of Quill’s bunk. Rocket muttered an obscenity through a muzzle that curled in a brief snarl, then rolled over and wedged himself under Quill’s arm. Quill wrapped an arm around him and burrowed into his fur.

Stakar rescued the music player and put it on a shelf above the bunk, where it wouldn’t accidentally get knocked off or puked on, and left them curled up together in a tousled heap.

Yondu might be gone, but he’d raised a pretty okay kid somewhere along the way, and that wasn’t a bad legacy to leave behind.

GOD im laughing so hard the subreddit is literally all stuff about the new song and then the one thread where someone is rethinking their entire life bc they’ve been singing a song wrong for an entire decade….a SOLID fall out boy mood right here folks

Breaking The Righteous Man

Originally posted by yaelstiel

This is for @whispersandwhiskerburn Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration. I chose the song, ‘Guy What Takes His Time’ by the legendary Xtina. Along with the quote, ‘If you want me to keep talking, you’re going to have to stop that’. The song is sorta woven into the fic and the prompt is used kinda randomly.

Characters: Y/n, Dean, Alastair

Pairing: Dean x Y/n (FEMALE READER)

Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, pussy eating, unprotected sex, choking kink, dangerous sex, Dean hurting reader, kinda fluff, then angst and abandonment. 

Word count: 1783

Summary: You are all Dean has in hell, but will you stay with him?

A/N: Ok, so, I don’t knwo where this came from. I could’ve done just a regular smutty fic with the song, but for some resaon, this idea happened. Smutty but becomes hella angsty…Hope u like it!!

Tagged peeps: @waywardsons-imagines @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @sallyp-53 @greyravenvixen @helvonasche @notnaturalanahi @wayward-mirage @riversong-sam @nerdflash @miss-miep @impala-dreamer @unknown-chronicles @chelsea072498 @deals-with-demons @plaidstiel-wormstache @impalaimagining @the-latina-trickster @aingealcethlenn @squirrels-angels-and-moose @meganwinchester1999 @cubs2019-blog @lucifer-in-leather @straightestgay-voice @professsionalsinner @deantheotherkingofkinks @50shadesofyes @lucis-unicorn @kumaartz @whispersandwhiskerburn @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @colespriverdale @daddysxlittlexsunshine @atc74 @wonderange @becaamm @mogaruke @aiaranradnay @bloodstained-porcelain-doll 


He wasn’t like the rest.

He took his time with it, his hands clutching your thighs as he kneeled, laying you down before he trapped you beneath him.

His lips caressed your skin, gliding softly as he sucked, marking you up as his and no one else’s.

Not that you minded.

No other man was like this.

You were sick of the ones who were eager to finish and nothing else.

Amateurs who rushed, making a big commotion as they fucked into you, thinking that would give you the pleasure they were feeling.

But Dean-Dean was different.

He knew what he had to do.

No fancy moves. No ripping your clothes off and just fucking you into the mattress.

Of course, you did appreciate the roughness of a man.

But a guy what takes his time was what you wanted.

It was what you needed. And you were just thankful you’d found Dean Winchester.

Keep reading

No Sleep Till Brooklyn, Part 3

Heartmate Series: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Deadpool, Falcon

Warnings: language, violence - Deadpool’s in it guys, it ain’t PG.

A/N: This is my take on the soulmate trope. It’s not necessarily an AU, because technically heartmate is canon in the Marvel world - at least with Wade’s comics.

Summary: You’re a mutant turned mercenary, working with the best merc around - Wade Fucking Wilson aka Deadpool. You are also someone who doesn’t believe in the whole heartmate crap. How could two people solely be made for each other? Steve Rogers is Captain America,  Avenger extraordinaire. Call him old fashion, but he believed in heartmates and knew he had one out there. The two of you cross paths one day and things get set in motion. Can Steve get passed the jaded wall you built or would things just crash and burn? And will Wade Wilson finally learn to put the seat down after taking a piss? Who knows.

Part 1  Part 2

Keep reading

Arise, Necromancer Prompts

Anonymous said:
Necromancy prompts?

 Anonymous said:
I’m writing a story where a necromancer’s apprentice turns on him and his friends. Do you have any dialogue for taunting? Thank you! <3

 Anonymous said:
prompts for blood magic and darkness?

1)  “You would prefer I have living people die for me than dead people live for me? Interesting.” The necromancer rolled out their shoulders. “The dead are long gone, they feel no pain. Concern yourself more with the living my friend, and the very living people who use and hurt them.”

2) “You love your histories and your dead things so much – I’ll help you join them.”

3) “What are we drinking here?” they asked, a little nervously, staring at the goblet.
“The blood of the sacrificed.”
“No, you idiot. It’s fucking merlot. No one wastes blood magic drinking blood, the white blood cells and antibodies in your own blood mess up any magical properties another’s blood contains.”

4)  “It’s really rude to assume every necromancer murders people for a skeleton army, you know,” the necromancer said. “Aside from the fact that there’s more than enough people dying every day without me wasting valuable time making more, I am a physician. You have no idea how much we can learn from the dead. It could advance medical treatment by decades!”
“It’s wrong to use the dead. They can’t consent!”
“…organ donor cards?”

5)  “You know, when you’re dead,” they stepped closer. “I’m going to command you to kill every single one of your friends. Do you think they’ll know you’re dead or just think you finally turned into a proper necromancer like they always feared?”
“Your monstrosity hasn’t been proper necromancy since the dark ages. The dead are not supposed to return with consciousness in them, unable to disobey, that’s-”
“That’s power. And would you look at that, I have it and you don’t.”

6)  “You can’t keep doing this, please. The magic’s going to consume you. Change you.”
“I can control it. I’m not becoming a vampire any time soon, don’t worry. See – normal teeth.” They flashed a dazzling smile. As if everyone who messed with blood magic didn’t think they could control the blood, until it began to control them.
“You promised me.”
“Some gratitude for me saving your life, just a thank you would have been enough.” The smile vanished and they had begun to look annoyed.

Fic: Duet

Summary: Kurt Hummel has certainly complicated Blaine’s life. And it’s Blaine’s own fault. But still. He’s just not sure what to do. Duets. That is the Glee club assignment of the week. And that’s really what has gotten him into this mess.

After being beaten up at a dance for being gay, Blaine leaves his old school for McKinley - where he promises to jump right in - glee club, basketball, choir, even superhero club. But he will not come out. Not until college. He’ll just manage and thrive knowing it’s just two years away. Kurt Hummel was not part of the plan.

Loosely based on the prompt: “Why are you so clingy people will think we’re dating- I know we are but you’re the one who wants it to be secret you moron!” AU

Words: 4100

Rating: Mature

On AO3


Kurt Hummel has certainly complicated Blaine’s life. And it’s Blaine’s own fault. But still. He’s just not sure what to do.

Blaine has known he was gay since he was 11. It was nothing earth shattering or terrifying really. More like a ‘Huh. okay. I guess that’s me,’ when he was watching Dawson’s Creek and there was actually a gay kid on his screen.  He knew that that’s who he would be one day.

Keep reading

I wouldn’t say it was my peak trans moment but my clarity surrounding how mtts could never truly be women even in a social context came as a result of  Laverne Cox and the speech about misgendering being violence.  My mom had an older neighbor who lived across the alley from her/us who for the better part of 20 years called my mom by the wrong name.  There was another neighbor, an elderly woman, my mom called by the wrong name for nearly as long.  My mom didn’t find out until the woman had passed away that her name was actually Eva, my mom had been calling her Rose all the time they’d been neighbors.  The Head Librarian called me by the wrong name for two years.  In all three circumstances the misnomered had just smiled and let it go believing no animosity.  What is more crucial to your identity than the name you are called by, forget pronouns, your name is a larger piece of you.  And yet women were socialized that it was better to be called the wrong name for two decades than risk embarrassing someone else.  And then by contrast you have the individuals who can look at you with a straight face and say using other than the preferred pronoun is VIOLENCE!! As a woman, a woman from birth who has always been treated as a woman that was a whole level of entitlement I couldn’t even conceive of, nor apparently could any other woman who had just gone on smiling as someone called them Karen when their name was most certainly not Karen.