Morally Grey/evil Scientist Characters Are Always Like Biochemical Engineers Or Nuclear Physicists Or

please fucking watch this because i've been hyperventilating trying to not laugh so hard at it i wake my fucking spouse up

I just had to reblog this, this style is just so beautiful, especially for the show!! :] 😍

Percy Jackson and the Olympians is 🔥

My wife and I have a little game we play called "Speaking From Ignorance."

To play Speaking From Ignorance, all you need is a phone with a voice recorder, and another person who knows considerably more or considerably less about a topic than you do. The topic can be anything: from "how to bake a quiche" to "what happens in the Peter Jackson Hobbit movies" to "who is Florence Pugh" to "how does the traveling salesman problem work." All that matters is that one of you has a firm grasp on the material, and one of you absolutely the fuck does not.

Then the person who knows about the topic turns on the recorder, and says to the person who knows barely anything: "Hey - tell me everything you think you know about [X]."

The speaker is then not allowed to ask any questions. Nor is the expert allowed to volunteer any information. The expert is allowed to pipe up with a faintly incredulous "Oh--really? Do you--do you think so?" from time to time, but for the most part, the expert's job is just to sit there and make encouraging sounds while the speaker digs their own grave.

This is never not funny.

The reason you record it is because, very often, the first thing the speaker wants to do after finishing the recording is find out how you actually make a quiche, or whatever. Then you both get to go back and listen to how wrong they were.

We have a small library now of Speaking From Ignorance recordings, and I'm going to be listening to them until I'm eighty.

reblog this if you want a LONG (or short) anonymous message saying what they think of you.

pleaaase?

Because this is a trend on tw*tter I hopped on the bandwagon

This is actually beautiful. When I was a kid, I enjoyed Sesame Street, I'd say, about an average amount for a little kid. I have the same birthday as Abby, so once I saw her, I loved her. Now, I always enjoyed The Muppets more, but as an openly queer person who was raised with these characters, seeing them do and say exactly as the characters they present would do is a little magical.

Thank the gods for kids shows and puppets, amirte?

the way sesame street, a pbs puppet show for literal babies, is pressing on with pride content despite vitriolic monsters descending on every post to insinuate they're pedophiles or demons while some of the biggest companies on the planet who could swim in olympic swimming pools of money like scrooge mcduck on steroids buckle and cave just emphasizes how completely and utterly pathetic these corporations are. they'd butcher a baby if it meant saving a penny.

🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

i can't vibe with anyone who thinks icarus was an ignorant idiot for flying too close to the sun. "oh i'd never do that i would have remembered my father's warning and been fine". do you seriously think that after years of imprisonment, feeling the sun on your face and the open air beneath your wings, you would be able to focus on anything but the joy of being alive and free? do you actually think that if you were given the opportunity to go where nobody has never been before, you wouldn't want to push it to the limit? to dare to be the first to try what no one else has ever even thought possible? do you honestly think you're too good for your own human nature? look me in the eyes and tell me if i strapped a pair of wings to your back that could take you wherever you wanted to go whenever you pleased that you'd be careful and sensible about it. you are not better than icarus just because you have the benefit of his example.

So, over the course of four-ish hours, I just handwrote 38 pages of a short story... My hand is going to fall off 😭😭😭

But I'm going to type it up soon, and I might link it to my profile... I'm not sure though.

It's a prequel to my long-term novel I'm currently writing. The short story is nameless so far, but the novel is called The Ones who Hurt, and it just recently hit 100 pages! It's a high fantasy novel about a cowardly superhero, an empathetic ex-villain, a bisexual human, a very sapphic queen, three undead-ish assassins, Fae royalty, a historic mystery, a suspicious cult, and a whole lot of family drama.

If anyone would be interested in reading the short story and potentially excerpts from the novel as it gets written, please comment or DM me. Please reblog this and interact with it, I really would love more author and reading friends! :]

@unmellowyellowfellow @queen-of-hobgobblers @deadandgaysetanta

Y'all, It's finally time! I'm on page 159, with 20+ chapters, and I'm here to tell you... The first chapter is edited and ready to be read! Please do bear with me, as this was written probably 2 or 3 years ago, but I hope you enjoy! Now, with no further ado, read on below!

@queen-of-hobgobblers @deadandgaysetanta @redkarmakai

Chapter 1

Florentine

"So, the wounded hero finally dares to stand, eh? I'm almost impressed" the sneer in his words is unmistakable, though my vision seems impaired. My muscles quiver as I rise to face him. Muddy droplets drip from some long-forgotten wound. A sharp, excruciating pain flashes through my leg, centering around my kneecap. I brush it off, because I have to. I have a duty, and what am I if not successful? Who am I if I can’t even protect these people who venerate me? I stand and turn to face my attacker, steel in my heart and fire in my eyes. Their smirk ignites a simmering mix of hatred and envy. Why should they be the one to walk away with their life intact? Why don’t they have to sit and suffer in silence as their other half climbs a ladder so tall that the gods in the sky must crane their heads merely to catch a passing glimpse? Rage pulses behind my eyes, begging for cruel release.

Everything's red. His hand. The ground. The blood red dagger, forsaken long before. The sky. I can't think, can’t hear, can’t see. All that runs in my head is what went wrong. It was fine, we were fine. Everything was good. We were peaceful. Until that day. That horrid day that ripped us apart and set us on our separate, yet morbidly entwined, paths. A voice drones in the background, that one that haunts my dreams and comforts my nightmares. The ground shakes, morphing the landscape. The sky turns black and the trees fluctuate with a wonderlandian determination. The ground twists and tumbles in my eyes, falling away as I attempt to push myself up. My hands scrabble against the softening dirt and I let a grunt escape my lips. His thunderous eyes pierce my heart when his head whips toward me. His mouth moves, but the words don’t register in my ringing ears at first.

I launch myself toward his misty figure. He's waiting, baiting me. I know this. But some things are more important than playing a game. My fist flies past its mark on my first try. A haunting chuckle infuriates me further. I press him, swinging my fists with less accuracy, but I fight harder and harder, I strike and coax more and more and more until he's backed against a wide-trunked oak, trapped between wood and flesh. Blood, beautiful, glorious, shimmering blood, floods down his face as I stand triumphant over theim. Their previous courage dissipates faster than the winds he tries to command. Finally, I hold all the cards. I can be the one to finish a fight, the one to leave them broken, cowering on the ground, weak and worthless in the eyes of the once adoring, now cautious public.

My eyes shut, as a way to preserve this perfect, wonderful scene in my memory. I open them, punching in front where he should be, but the scenery has changed. No longer am I in a mournful wood, surrounded by splintered trees and freshly slaughtered rodents, but rather a village. Run-down huts flood my peripheral, and a young boy looks up at me. He grins, and I stumble back at the mania in his eyes and the blood on his teeth. His golden hair is matted, but his shoes shine with care and polish and his hands have never known a day of work.

"Hey, mister! That was one nice punch you got there! Look, it even made me bleed!" The bloodlust in his eyes is unmistakable, and I collapse to my knees while my younger self drones on about my attack. It was all a dream. Just a dream. Always so close, and yet they’re always one step further. The town is still decrepit, the villain is still on the loose, and I'm still the one to blame for it all. The one who let him go, let him break me a thousandfold just for a sense of my past life. How?! How could I have been so blind?! So…

The sound of my voice breaks the trance of misery and I allow tears to flood my face, my all-too-real facial incisions burning. The sobs that wrench from my body surprise even myself with the desperate plea behind it. My screams are swirling and writhing with the pain that only a truly tortured soul can contain. Horrid, deep sobs wrack my body while thorny vines, red as blood, climb up my shuddering form. The pain cuts me to the bone, but I don’t care. It grounds me. No, what I beg for is a floundering force of strength who long since abandoned me. I scream, louder than I ever have, louder than I thought I could. Even when the tears stop flowing, dry, throaty sobs and screams rack my soul and the vines tighten, clasping at my throat. Air. I need air. There's no air. A name, unintelligible, shrieks out of my mouth. I cry for him, want him, need him. I need their kind eyes, the prim distaste they hold for everyone but me. I need his voice, his heart, his love and lust. My lone earring, a silver, triadic swirl, dangles. It shines as if a beacon might, glowing with false promises. The vines know what I want, what I need. They guide my hand, tearing the piece of jewelry down, flinging it, getting lost in the heartbreak of first love, first trust, and first pain. The screams have become comforting. I know them. I know pain, and I welcome it. Grey shadows creep into my sight, and I gladly welcome them, too. They encompass my vision, and I lean into the cold, slate shadows, reminiscent of stones chilled by a frosty winter air.

"USELESS!"

I've reached page 143, so the time to vote is nigh: once I reach 150, do you guys want