She has the most beautiful eyes

The Signs as Mermaids

aries: the mermaid with fiery red hair and a tail to match. she lays out on hot rocks in the middle of the sea, basking in the sun, tanning her skin and luring sailors to crash against the stones with coy smiles and a glint in her eye. 

taurus: the mermaid with a mane of golden hair, and a tail to match, a long neck and strong shoulders. only her voice is more stunning than her beauty, and she’s often adorned with pearls and jewels of all kinds. 

gemini: the most curious of all the mermaids. she has a tail of dark green and shimmering yellow. she loves to explore the reefs, but swims out farther than she should because she wants to see what’s out there, and goes too close to the shore because she wants to see the humans. 

cancer: the mermaid with soft, smooth skin and a pale pink tail. her eyes are always expressive—sometimes they are alight with happiness, and sometimes they burn with anger. she loves all creatures, but it’s the humans that catch her eye. she can’t help falling in love with them from afar. 

leo: the mermaid with a tail of cobalt blue, her body adorned with gold jewelry, precious stones and pearls. she is the fastest swimmer, and loves to glide across the waves, letting the current pull her, laughter bubbling at her lips and a smile in her eyes. 

virgo: a more reserved mermaid, with a tail of sparkling silver. she has spiky black hair, and skin that is paler than usual, for she spends her time exploring the caves deep below rather than the beaches above. 

libra: a regal mermaid with beauty unmatched, long, luxurious hair, and a tail of magenta and red. she is sassy and charming, sometimes sultry, but also very sweet, and always kind to those in need. 

scorpio: the mermaid with a tail of deep purple and ebony, she has piercing violet eyes and hair of midnight black. she is quiet, sultry, and intuitive, and her nails and teeth are sharp, always ready for a hunt. she is the one to brave to the storms and the rocky, wild ocean while others go off and hide. 

sagittarius: an exotic mermaid, with a tail the color of sunsets and eyes that shine like one. she has travelled far and wide, collecting artifacts and jewelry from across the world. she never stays in one place too long, but she is kind to those she meets and always has wonderful stories to tell. 

capricorn: the mermaid with a tail of deep blue, high cheekbones and a jawline like a knife. there’s always a glint in her eye, like she knows something you don’t. she is regal and independent, and doesn’t worry herself with such frivolous things as humans, but rather such frivolous things as emeralds and pearls. 

aquarius: the mermaid with flowing hair and tail of teal green and aquamarine blue. her eyes are piercing, sparkling, so intense you have to look away. she swims about the reefs, splashing in the waves and basking in the sun. she is the only one who dares to go against the currents. 

pisces: the mermaid with a tail of pale purple that sparkles silver in the moonlight. she is sweet and dreamy, letting the current pull her to and fro, making friends with all the sea creatures she meets. she loves to stay up and stargaze late at night, unafraid of the dark and wild ocean that surrounds her.

HEART OF GOLD

*sun is how you think, moon is how you feel, venus is how you love*

Aries The Velocity. When you’re with her, her heart pumps adrenaline straight into your veins. She is the arms you fall into when the rush becomes too much. You never knew someone with such a hard head could have a heart this soft. She’ll light you on fire until you get used to the burn, until her jarring touch is as soft as feathers. And she will help you up every time, you take her hand and it’s like being in a freefall but it’s okay because you’re not alone. What she want’s deep down is someone who can run wild with her. You lose her the moment you try to control her. Don’t. Just enjoy the ride, for it’s one of a kind.

Taurus The Mystic. She is the vivacity of the living, the one who defies gravity. Her heart floating around her body makes you believe in magic. The kind everyone wants to experience. She pops her gum and tells you to put your money where your mouth is. So you rip your chest open, the blood of your beating heart splattering onto her lips. She cradles you in her arms, your worship inducing a heartfelt laughter that echoes through the vertigo of your final moment. “You did good.” she whispers, and at last you are at peace.

Gemini The Dandelion, her soaring heart tied to a string. She’ll rock you ultra slowly until you feel you could fade away into nothing, and live forever amongst the clouds. She demands you show her everything you have to give, before she even much as gives you a smile. The quest for her heart is for only the brave. She doesn’t mind what people say, the one who she calls hers has to be unyielding. So she won’t feel so liquid all the time.

Cancer The Lighthouse. Her satin heart is safely kept, for the one who will finally be worthy. But for now she will dance, she will dance with every angel until she finds the one with the shy smile and the softest curls. At night she tells the Moon all her secrets, and now she has a secret that makes her bones shiver and her lips tremble. She loves you, I promise. Just ask the Moon.

Leo Her heart is a cup overflowing with all things lovely, filling the hearts of others as easily as she fills her own. The Fountain of Youth. Hope, lust, tenderness. You can’t help but look at her in awe and think, “I am. Because of you.” The fear you try so hard to ignore is because she doesn’t need to prove her worthiness to anyone, you’re worried that someday she won’t need you. But if she loves you, you don’t need to be afraid. She will be with you when the world ends.

Virgo The Goddess. Her heart is a forest, full of life and mystery. She brings my soul to harmony in return for the respect she rightfully deserves. She cares for her world with everything she has, believing in the pure radiance of the noble hearted. Many might mistake her benevolence for weakness. However when she finds a bad seed, let’s just say nature can be a cruel master. After all she is the source of life and will not be exploited by the greedy. But to those who love with an open heart she gifts the vitality of spirit, and the liberation of the metaphysical mind.

Libra Her slow heartbeat echoes as it pulses against your palm, right through your bloodstream. She licks her lips and sways her hips to the rhythm. The Delilah. You cross your heart and close your eyes. “Open.” she whispers, and the cosmos had swallowed the pool table and barflies of the roadside dive. All you hear is her soft giggle and ocean waves crashing in slow motion. “Welcome to Eden.” You look around you, and you notice your blood isn’t vibrating anymore. You ask her how she found this place. She gently shakes her head with a smile on her lips and says, “Darling, you’re inside of me.”

Scorpio The Red Winged Angel, always under my skin. The beat of your heart vibrating through my system and I’m afraid that if you touch me I will shatter to a million pieces. Late at night I dream of finding someone as sensuelle as you. Sometimes I wonder how many hearts you own, even though I can’t quit you. I don’t know what I am addicted to more, your touch or the fact that you could disintegrate the earth from underneath me if you wanted to.

Sagittarius The Honeymoon. The fast moving gal who likes them slow. If you want her heart take her for a night drive. Show her the world through your eyes. Make her feel something she’s never felt before. Free yourself from the malevolent, open your chest and breathe her in. Give her the part of you that makes you human, and she will turn you into something ethereal.  

Capricorn The Empress. Class and a pure heart, and the international woman of mystery. And even though games don’t interest her, that don’t mean she doesn’t know how to play. No one does it like her. It’s almost painful how she works you, heightening all your senses with perfect impulse control. Engage at your own risk, because she will make you miss her more than anyone you’ve ever met. But if you want to love her, she’ll hold you down for life in hazy love daydream.

Aquarius I’ve seen her in my fantasies. The Extraterrestrial. She’ll waltz right into your love sphere like she owns the place, utterly unignorable. And then she’ll smile, like she has no fucking idea. And you wonder if she really doesn’t. She goes around granting all your wishes and you wonder, why she gives you the world but won’t let you feel her heart. And she will never tell you, because feelings are hard for robot girls. She is afraid she’s too cold inside. What she doesn’t realize is she loves enough for the entire universe, she is too busy electrifying other dimensions into existence. One day she’ll come back down to earth and see everyone around her on their knees.

Pisces She is the light that shines through the night. The Clair de Lune. You fall into her plush essence and she lets you, like a bug stuck in her amber heart. And you think how every moment of your life has brought you closer to this, to her. You finally understand the beauty of minimalism. Not every star needs to be possessed. Not every silence has to be filled. The most important things are the ones you can’t see with your eyes. Live for this. For the feeling.

signs you love her

1. you think she is beautiful even when she has acne all over her face and hair tied in a messy bun. you think she looks hot when she tries to be mad at you for being too hard on your self. you think she looks better than most of the human population and you think she looks best when she’s in your arms professing her love for you between sips of that bitter vodka you bought her.

2. you can’t stop thinking about her brown eyes, short black straight hair and freckled pointed nose. you can’t stop thinking of how her lips would feel against yours right this instance. you can’t stop thinking about how perfect her breasts feel in your hands. you can’t stop thinking about the late night conversation you had with her. you just can’t stop thinking about her even when you’re sipping coffee at starbucks, even when you’re watching a horror movie, even when you’re in class studying discrete math.

3. you know when she is angry, or when she is pissed at you for talking about other girls. you know what she likes to eat when she is on her period. you know when she is upset about that paper that she turned in late to her professor. you know she likes to be the centre of your attention always. you know she smiles when you hold her hand firmly in public. you know she bites her nails when she’s stressed out. you know her inside out.

4. you smile like a crazy man when you see her. you smile when someone says her name. you smile when you see a text message from her. you smile when you’re around her. you smile when people say you look good together. you smile when someone tells you she looks beautiful, like its a compliment for you and not her. you smile when she tells you she loves you. you smile when she tells you she loves to be your girl. you smile all day like an idiot and you smile until someone tells you to stop smiling because she’s not even around.

5. you talk about her to everyone, to your mom, to your bestfriend, to your room mate. you tell them everything about her. you tell them about how you read this tumblr post and it made you think of her. you tell them she’s perfect, not because of how she looks, or how smart she is, or how well she writes but because she’s yours. and only yours. you tell them how you don’t date a nine, but always a fucking ten, so yeah you tell everyone how and why she is a perfect ten.

i need this okay

Ace Belle.

Look, Ace Belle is not just into the whole…. sex thing, okay? Just no.  She wants to read her books, to travel the world and maybe, just maybe, she can find someone who’s going to understand, that she’s not broken or unnatural, that she can love

(But sometimes, in those dim hours before dawn breaks, Belle gives in to the fear that she is broken, that she can read about romance and kisses and love and desire and smile but not want it for herself and that she’s unnatural and sick for not wanting these things, these silly sweet things that most girls her age have dreamed of, that lead to marriage and the wedding bed.)

And the main problem with Gaston is that he doesn’t get this - because he’s the one convinced that he can fix her - that she’s just frigid or repressed and that if she just puts the books away, the right man (read: Gaston) can “awaken her passions.”

And Belle knows this is bullshit. So she makes it a point to run far, far away from Gaston whenever he comes skulking around and that her skin crawls when he tries to touch her and that the thought of being his “little wife” makes her physically ill. 

So eventually Belle meets the Beast - in pretty much the same way we’re familiar with - and the Beast knows he’s on a timetable, that he’s got to find true love and break the spell and all that jazz. 

Except he becomes friends with Belle first.  And they end up sharing interests and stories and jokes and snark and laughter and finally, finally, Belle trusts him enough with her secret, the one where she thinks she’s different

(broken)

and that she can love with all her heart but there’s something different

(unnatural)

in her love and they have told her that her kind of love isn’t true at all, that it’s not any kind of love, period. 

And the Beast is enraged.  Not at Belle - but at everyone who’s ever made her feel this way, that her friendship was not enough, that her heart is not enough, that somehow this bright, beautiful, kind girl - who’d become his first friend in all these lonely years and whose made him realize that his enchanted servants were also his truest friends, not just frightened, paid lackeys - that they made Belle believe she was broken.

“You are not broken,” The Beast tells her.  “You are Belle and I love you just as you are.”

The Beast knows he has laid his heart before her and he’s terrified and defiant all at the same time but it’s his own truth, curse or no curse. 

Belle’s smile is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  And she tells him that she loves him too, just as he is. 

The curse breaks and the Beast is a Prince again and she looks at him in wonder and reaches out to touch his face, to look into his eyes.  Belle knows her Beast because his eyes have never changed. 

When he kisses her, he asks her first and hesitantly, she nods and that first kiss is sweet for both of them but she is pale and she trembles and he reminds her, “Did I not tell you? You are not broken. You are Belle and I love you just as you are.”

And Belle knows her Beast, her Prince, will never ask for more than she can give, will never demand her body in his bed or believe that he could somehow “awaken” her supposed “desires.”

That kind of understanding and respect is the truest sort of love.  

They make this - I love you just as you are - part of their wedding vows.

And they carry on as they have always done, because they both love their books and their stories and the two of them wander the world together hand in hand and they love each other, earnest and true and happily ever after.

Mute

- Where Harry doesn’t talk and falls in love with Y/n.

Masterlist linked in bio


It’s Monday, which means that Harry has to start his week with Physics class.

Harry doesn’t mind the subject itself, he actually has come to the conclusion that it’s the class he’s most interested in—it’s more so the three-hour lab that couldn’t seem to end soon enough. Physics lab means three hours of group research, which requires an abundance of group participation and discussion—all of which makes Harry want to crawl out of his own skin.

And despite Physics holding Harry’s highest grade in university, everyone in that class only hopes to not be paired with him.

Not one student has heard him utter a single word, which ultimately led them to believe that his lack of participation will jeopardize their already mediocre grades. But Harry always finds himself writing all the data information to make up for his lack of discussion, even if he hated it.

So inevitably, Harry lets out an inaudible sigh when he settles into his chair, hair a bit disheveled and eyes still watering from the early hour. And he mentally curses himself for sleeping in a couple extra minutes because now he hasn’t gotten a single ounce of caffeine to help him feel more prepared for the next three hours.

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The Last Jedi Trailer Breakdown

* Please note that the following breakdown contains some potential spoilers for the movie - they’re mostly based on inferences and rumours, but you probably want to skip this post entirely if you’re spoiler-averse. *

I’m exhausted (I woke up way too early to watch that trailer!), but I knew I couldn’t rest until I had done this. There is so much to unpack here, so you’ll have to excuse me for omitting some things (mainly space battles) and skimming over others. 

I’m sure I’m wrong with a good chunk of this, but this is all meant in good fun.

I hope you enjoy my first stab at breaking this baby down - if you think it can be improved or spot anything that needs to be corrected, please let me know.

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at five years old you know what the word means. it’s dirty, it’s bad, you’re too young to know. other kids use it as a curse word when adults can’t hear them.

when you’re nine, two women move in across the street. one of them has a shaved head. you’re sitting at the dinner table when your neighbour’s father uses the word “dyke” with a lowered voice.

you’re eleven and a new girl has joined your theatre group. you want to be around her all the time. a year later she leaves and you feel disappointed and sad without really knowing why.

at fifteen you’re at a church camp and a girl asks the priest why gay people can’t get married. he says: “we have to draw the line somewhere. some people would like to marry animals.”

six months later you’re looking at a friend of yours with butterflies in your stomach, and all of a sudden it just hits you. you have a crush on her. you have a crush on a girl.

at sixteen you try to say the word. you say to yourself: “i’m a lesbian.” you feel dirty and cry in the bathroom two hours later.

at seventeen you hold hands with a boy. he says to you: “you don’t want to be with girls like that.” he touches your cheek but it feels wrong.

when you’re eighteen you fall in love with a girl who has pale blue eyes and the most beautiful laugh. she calls you an angel but a year later she introduces you to her boyfriend at a house party. you want to cry but you can’t.

at nineteen you try to say the word again. it still gets stuck in your throat but you do it anyway. you tell your friends and they say they are proud of you. and you cry, not because you feel dirty, but because you feel okay.

—  the word “lesbian” has always been something people spit out in disgust
Fire & Desire | 1

“Kim Seokjin is everything you don’t want in a man. Cocky, full of himself and oh so annoying. And that’s what makes him the perfect fuck buddy. Because it’s not like you could ever see him as anything more than a heartless player… right?”

pairing: seokjin x reader
genre: smut, fuckboy!jin, dom!Jin
wordcount: 10.1k
a/n: *that* shower scene inspired by this picture!

part one

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Little first moments between the Inquisitor and their love interest that it makes my heart happy to think about:

- The first time Cassandra finds he’s left something for her, a rose lying across her favourite book or a little message scrawled on a piece of parchment cut into the shape of a heart, and realises that the flowers and the candles and the moonlit glade weren’t a one-time thing, this is going to be forever. The first time she picks up the gift and holds it close, knowing it’s not just a gift but a promise that he’s always going to make her feel like one of those women from her books, always going to see the woman inside the armour.

- The first time Blackwall wakes up beside her after she learns the truth, and remembers that he’s not hiding anything from her anymore, she knows exactly who he is and what he’s done and she’s still right here in his arms. The first time he looks at her lying there, and feels tears of a kind he’s not familiar with sting his eyes, tears charged by joy, and at last there’s no burning pang of guilt and grief clawing at his insides - because she knows, and she still chose him, and he can just look at her and be happy.

- The first time Bull slips off his eyepatch, feeling… not awkward, exactly, just very aware that this is the first time his kadan has seen him without it, that so, so few people have ever seen his face just as it is. The first time his lover smiles at him and reaches up and takes his face into their hands, traces the jagged lines of his scars with gentle fingers and presses their lips against them, and murmurs to him that he’s beautiful (and hot, of course).

- The first time Dorian kisses the Inquisitor in a street or in the throne room or in the courtyard, where everyone can see, and his smug grin has a touch of wonder behind it because yes, they can do this, they can show what they feel in front of the entire world and no one is going to come up to them and wrench them apart. The first time he glances at the people who’ve seen them and realises that some of them are even smiling to see them together, that the people around them want them to be happy.

- The first time Solas looks at her and realises with a jolt that he’s stopped seeing the vallaslin, that the silent voice inside him has stopped screaming about the wrongness of it every time he sees her, that while he still wishes it were gone, her face has become the most important thing. The first time that the way she smiles and the warmth in her eyes seem to outshine the marks of her slavery and ignorance, and he aches to think of all she doesn’t know, but she is so beautiful, so beautiful.

- The first time Sera hears the Inquisitor call something shite or frigging and stands frozen for a moment, her grin too wide for her face, because her girlfriend’s speaking like her, those are her words coming from the mouth of the woman she loves. The first time she realises that she’s become a part of the Inquisitor, part of the way she speaks and thinks and lives, and feels joy sweep through her because the Inquisitor is part of her, too, always will be.

- The first time Cullen goes through a whole day with no feverish longing, no shaking, no sick feeling in his stomach, and he knows the battle isn’t over and that all the pain could come back tomorrow, but right now he can look at the Inquisitor and think, this is what the rest of our life could be like. The first time he can really picture long nights and longer mornings beside her with no nightmares and restless sleep, years ahead of listening to her laugh, and he almost cries from the terrifying beauty of it.

- The first time Josephine pens a letter to her family and then stops and stares at what she’s written, because she’s told them all about the Inquisitor and how she hopes to introduce them some day, and just like that it seems so official, it’s set down in ink on parchment that she wants the Inquisitor to be part of her future. The first time she gazes at the letter in awe, because it suddenly seems to be the most precious thing in the world.

anonymous asked:

Forgive me if you've been asked this already but at what moment do you think Clarke fell in love with Lexa, or realized she was in love with her? I believe Eliza had trouble answering this at a con (I think she said it was before the bow though) so I'm wondering what you think.

Mmm that’s hard to say, and honestly, that’s kinda what I love about it. Because you can’t always exactly pinpoint the moment you fall in love with someone, right? Maybe it’s a feeling that grows gradually but unstoppable, maybe it’s like a wave hitting you at once, it varies. And that’s how I think it was for Clarke.

The way I see it, it was sudden for her at first and then everything slowed down and it naturally developed. It wasn’t love yet in the beginning, but there was definitely a realization that she had feelings for Lexa. Just look at her face after storming out of Lexa’s tent in 2x14. 

Why else would she looked so bothered? If she had just been upset about their argument she would have had an angry face. Instead she looks like she’s literally trying to physically restrain her feelings, whatever they may be. She takes that deep, shaky breath in an attempt to collect herself because, what the hell just happened inside that tent? Did Lexa really just confess she has feelings for me? And why does it affect me so much? What am I feeling? This is what I think is going through her mind. And then of course we have the confirmation of this, when she gladly replies to Lexa’s kiss. Even after she rejects her, there is no indication of that being a definitive rejection. There is no feeling of “I’m sorry, but I don’t reciprocate.” Clarke is not ready for a relationship, and it’s right that she was honest with Lexa, but she rejects her in literally the softest way possible, AND leaves the door open for the future. Not yet. That means she already sees herself considering a relationship with Lexa in the future, after healing, when she’s finally ready. And look at how tender and somewhat tamely longing her gaze is even after she rejected Lexa.

She is definitely aware of her feelings for Lexa here. But then the betrayal happens and ah, they take 46 steps back.

Now, of course, Lexa’s betrayal causes Clarke to close herself off. Clarke is angry at Lexa, she’s angry at herself, she’s in pain, every other feeling pales in comparison. And obviously, so much of Clarke’s suffering is tied to what Lexa did, so it’s definitely not a surprise that romance is out of the question when they first meet again. Clarke’s pain is consuming her, she is definitely not thinking about whatever she and Lexa had. And yet…

This isn’t a romantic moment by any means. But we’re talking about Clarke realizing she loves Lexa, and I don’t think we can’t gloss over this moment. When I say that I don’t romanticize this scene, it’s because this is not a cute moment. This isn’t a “oh my God, she loves her!” moment, this moment is sad. It’s painful, it’s heartbreaking, but it’s so damn important. Clarke can’t kill Lexa here. How much easier would it be for her to shut her heart out entirely, to blame Lexa for everything and just kill her without feeling anything? I bet in that moment, a part of Clarke wants that. But Clarke feels, and she feels for Lexa. She has these feelings and they won’t go away, not even when she’s at her lowest. So yeah, not a romantic moment, but definitely essential to understand Clarke’s complicated feelings for Lexa.

After the bow, Clarke is a little more trusting towards Lexa, but she’s definitely still closed off, she’s not ready to expose her heart yet. And we get to the “I’m doing it for my people” episode, 3x04. Right from the very beginning, Clarke spends the entire episode trying to find a way to keep Lexa safe, to protect her. But every single time she voices her concerns to Lexa or hell, even Titus, her preoccupation feels far more personal than political. She’s worried, she’s agitated, she even seems angry that Lexa won’t listen to her and step away from the duel. It’s a crescendo of apprehension and frustration and anxiousness as every single one of Clarke’s attempts fails, crescendo that culminates in an emotional explosion.

The second gif is particularly telling. Titus interrupts them, the moment is gone and Clarke finds herself having to face what just happened. Look at her face, at how she looks away from Lexa and sucks a breath through her teeth. She’s restraining her feelings, but she’s a little too late this time. And it’s not only Lexa who is shaken by Clarke’s emotional outburst, it’s Clarke herself too. She doesn’t catch herself in time and now she can’t pretend with herself that those feelings aren’t there. I think this is when the true first “shift” after the betrayal happens. Clarke wants to keep Lexa at arm’s length but Lexa might very well die that same day and, despite any resolution she had, the thought terrifies Clarke. And she’s so scared that she’s never going to see Lexa again that…

I could write an essay on all the emotions Clarke experiences before and throughout and at the end of Lexa’s duel, but the gist of it is that during this tense moment, with Lexa’s life on the line, she can’t bring herself to hide her feelings. It’s all there, on her face. 

Only when things settle down she is able to collect herself again. Lexa comes visit her that night and we see Clarke pull her walls up again. “I was just doing what was right for my people.” BUT! Even if Clarke is not ready to open up her heart again, that scene is infused with intimacy. Even Clarke’s “rejection” is filled with emotion.

Clarke is the opposite of cold here. The way I see it, she is pulling away because she’s realizing she’s close to giving in, but she’s not yet ready for that. It’s so clear that here Lexa is talking about what happened at Mount Weather too, this is another quiet apology that Clarke obviously recognizes. If she went with her feelings, Clarke would have to admit that she does understand Lexa, that in her heart maybe she’s already forgiven her. But in that moment it’s too overwhelming, so she looks away and avoids the conversation, avoids Lexa’s gaze, avoids having to focus on her feelings.

She literally keeps having to look away because things get too intense but at the same time there’s a tenderness in her eyes that she can’t hide. And once Lexa is gone and she can breathe… bam

All the feelings she restrained, everything she tried to hide merely minutes ago hits her full force. I said I think Clarke’s love for Lexa developed gradually, naturally, but if I had to pick a specific moment and say that’s when Clarke realized she’s in love with Lexa, it would be this one.

By the time we get to 3x06, I do believe Clarke knows and has accepted she is in love with Lexa, but she’s still struggling to admit it out loud, especially to Lexa. That episode happens roughly 7-10 days after the events of Hakeldama, and when we see Clarke and Lexa again, they are closer than ever. There is a sense of intimacy, of almost domesticity between them. They are comfortable with each other’s presence. There’s not really a reason for them being in the same room in that scene: Lexa fell asleep while reading and Clarke is drawing (there are other sheets in her folder, which makes me think she was drawing other things before focusing on Lexa). They don’t have to talk or interact, they simply are together.

When Lexa wakes up from the nightmare, Clarke doesn’t hesitate to jump next to her and comfort her, with soothing touches and calming, reassuring words. And then we get to the moment Lexa notices the drawing. A lot has been said about Lexa’s face, but instead look at Clarke’s.

This is the exact opposite of what I was talking about in 3x04. Lexa sees the drawing and is taken aback. That she doesn’t know whether she should hope for anything is another story, but the look she gives Clarke is very telling. And Clarke doesn’t avoid it. Yes, her first instinct is to play it off as something meaningless. “Uh, that’s not- it’s not finished yet.” But then Lexa looks at her, confused, surprised, a tiny bit hopeful, and Clarke meets her gaze and they just stare at each other. Look at that little pause she does before lifting her eyes. That’s when she chooses not to hide. As I said, I think that here Clarke has come to terms with her feelings for Lexa, but here for the first time, she doesn’t hide them from Lexa. Her look is just as telling as Lexa’s. They aren’t saying a word and this is one of their most honest, important conversations. Clarke is silent, but her eyes are speaking, her untold feelings are there, and maybe letting Lexa know isn’t so unfathomable anymore. Maybe, maybe Clarke this is the closest Clarke has been to being ready.

So this is what i think. The way I see it, it’s tricky and complicated and simply beautiful.

they call her maid maleen

for the first few trembling years of her life, she is a princess. she is the daughter to the king, born of his beloved wife and of her visage. her dark eyes have the appearance of a smoky quarts and her mother carefully twists her mass of black hair into a hundred small braids down her back. she is a beautiful, quiet child, and for a while all is well. they call her princess maleen.

then her mother dies. it seems as if the king is determined to bury his love for his daughter along with his queen. he moves her to a different wing of the castle, and refuses to see her. her tutors are let go, and the nobles’ children are no longer allowed to play with her. only the maids look after her now.

the king remarries. the new queen gives birth to a son, and maleen is forgotten completely, banished from a home she still resides in and a life she can now only watch unfold.

the maids take care of her, braid her hair and kiss the blisters on her fingers, teach her to scrub at porcelain and polish silver, to clean a fireplace and mop polished marble floors.

they call her maid maleen.

~

the king has a son by his new wife, and then a daughter. they are pale and fair-haired like their mother, with only their dark eyes to show they are the king’s children. but they inherit none of their parents’ beauty, have faces that don’t look quite right and bodies that get stuck between gangly and chubby and never settle into one or the other. princess gisella and prince jan are privately regarded as unfortunate products of a lovely union.

maid maleen spends long hours working, and has neither the time nor funds for creams to soften her skin or oils to care for her hair, has never used face powder or lip color.

maid maleen is twenty three years old, and the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.

her braids are wrapped carefully atop her head, but when she lets them loose they hang past her hips. her dark skin is made even darker thanks to long hours working in the palace garden, and her eyes have never lost that same curious light. she walks straight and strong, years of hard labor giving her muscles and definition to her body that she never would have had as a princess. boys and girls give her long, considering looks and flirtatious smiles, and nobles have to double-take when she passes them by.

no one speaks of it anymore. but maid maleen looks ever more like her beautiful late mother, has the same eyes as her father, and dressing in ill-fitting cast offs and running her ragged can’t hide the truth.

maid maleen is the king’s daughter.

she has accepted her life as a maid in the palace she was one day set to inherit, and tries to see it as a gift. she sleeps with who she likes, may marry whichever of the charming boys from the city who’s smile she likes best. in the maids who raised her she has more mothers than she has fingers, and perhaps she longs for the days when she was a small princess, when she was the apple of her parents’ eye, when the whole of their nation was to be hers to inherit.

but then the blacksmith’s daughter lets her hands linger a little too long on her wrists, and maleen knows that she won’t be sleeping alone tonight. there are some things that worth more to her than a throne she was born to. she doesn’t miss the little girl she used to be.

until.

tensions have always run high between their kingdom and the neighboring one – too many squabbles over borders, over trade agreements, over patrols, over anything and everything the kings can find a reason to be upset about, it seems like. so when prince wolfgang is sent over, the whole palace is abuzz. the prince seems determined to inherit a peaceful land, and is coming over to talk with the king to do it.

maleen does not care for princes. nor for nobles of any rank, in fact. she remembers how they turned on her, she sees the small acts of pettiness and cruelty they thoughtlessly inflict on their servants, and she wants nothing to do with it. commoners may not be as educated as nobles, may not have as many objects to call their own, but maleen finds she prefers their company to that of lords. she’s uninterested in this prince, which is perhaps why she’s the one that gets sent to his rooms. her moms can trust that she at least won’t fawn over him.

“sir wolfgang,” she murmurs, pushing open his door and giving a low curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his mud covered boots. “is there anything you require?”

silence. she can only stay bent in a curtsey so long before she loses patience. she’s almost given up on him, is about to cut her losses and call it a night when he says, hesitant, “queen sabine?”

her mother’s name is punch to her gut, and her head snaps up at the sound of it, the rolling fire of her temper bubbling just below her skin. “i am maid maleen,” she snaps, then tacks on “your highness,” after a moment’s consideration.

his cloak is half unbuttoned as he stares at her with a slack mouth. she supposes he would not look unhandsome if he were not currently doing his best to imitate a frog. he appears to be only a handful of years older than she is, and if she were not furious she would be impressed that he remembers her mother well enough to see sabine in her.

“maleen,” he repeats, and for a moment she wonders if he will recognize her as well, but he only says, “my apologies. if you would help me with my cloak, i would be much obliged.”

she’s instantly suspicious. she’s met nice nobles before, ones that were considerate and remembered her name and thanked her when she brought them wine. but she’s never met a nice prince before – they’re always of the worst sort. “yes, your highness,” she says, and the cloak is soaked through and clinging, it’s no wonder he’s struggling with it. once she’s gotten it off she hangs it to dry, then goes back to him. she slaps away his numb, struggling fingers and undoes the rest of the buckles and loops of his overly complicated clothing. she’s gotten down him down to an undershirt and pants when his hands grab hers. she blinks and looks up. he has freckles dusting across his nose.

“this is inappropriate,” he says, but honestly she’s stripped a lot of nobles, it wasn’t weird until he took her hands and looked at her like no one’s ever looked at her before.

“yes, your highness,” she agrees, and takes a step back. she places his clothes in front of a fire, curtsies, and leaves. she can feel the weight of his gaze on her all the way back to her room.

wolfgang continues his diplomatic agenda, having long meetings with the royal family. after, maleen goes and tends to him, setting out his food and taking care of his clothes, straightening up any mess that he’s made. at first he’s quiet, and he just watches her, but he quickly discovers that maleen has opinions and thoughts and isn’t afraid to share them. soon they’re debating the finer points of trade routes and arguing the effectiveness of a sliding tax scale, and maleen comes to cherish the evenings she spends with the prince, likes the way he speaks to her and looks at her, likes the shape of his smile.

weeks in she enters his room, dinner steaming in her hands and eager to continue their conversation about state funded orphanages versus a state funded foster system. he’s pacing and tense, shoulder stiff. “wolfgang,” she sets down the food and wipes her hands on her apron, “is something wrong?”

“is it true?” he asks, and he’s not looking at her. he’s always looked at her before.

“is what true?” she flinches away from his coldness, is already preparing to retreat and hide and beg someone else to watch over him.

he turns to her, and she’s baffled by the mixture of hope and anger on his face. “are you the king’s daughter? are you princess maleen?”

she takes a step back, “i am maid maleen.”

“please,” he follows her as she steps away from him, and her back hits the wall. he stops when he’s almost close enough to touch. “my father sent me here with the goal to seal our new treaty with a marriage. he expects me to marry princess gisella. but if you are the daughter of the king – then he will allow me to marry you instead!”

“who says i want to marry you?” she retorts, but he gets on bended knee and she freezes.

he holds a hand for her own, and against every bit of logic, she gives it to him. “maleen, i’ve never felt this way about anyone. i was willing enough to enter a loveless marriage before i knew what true love is, but now i do, and i can’t go back. marry me.”

she wants to. she thinks she loves him. she hadn’t been planning to fall in love with anyone. “i am the king’s daughter,” she tells him, “but i am no princess. i haven’t been a princess in a long time.”

he brings her hand to his mouth so he can kiss each one of her knuckles, “then we’ll have to change that.”

~

wolfgang goes to the king to make his case, to return maleen to her birthright and allow her to marry him.

it goes even worse than maleen had feared.

her father is furious. he’s so angry at the audacity of this request that prince wolfgang is thrown from the kingdom. so incensed is he, that guards drag maleen from her bed in the middle of the night and throw her into a tower. the door closes shut behind them, and she bangs on it and screams but no one comes for her.

there are no windows, and only one door with a sliding metal grate in the bottom. she’s high in the tower, she thinks, from the number of steps she’d been forced to climb, but she stands on a dirt floor. the room contains only the bare minimum needed for survival, and nothing more.

once a week food is slid through the slot in the door. she has to be careful, because if she eats it too fast they will not provide more, she will just starve. days turn to weeks turn to months, and she despairs of ever being let out of this tower. months turn to years, and she gives up hope entirely of leaving this tower. she considers refusing to eat, killing herself slowly through starvation, because death is preferable to life locked in this tower.

one night there’s a scuffle, and shouting, and for the first time since she was shoved inside the door opens. there’s a guard standing there, and princess gisella tentatively steps inside. “maid ma – i mean, maleen?”

maleen stares. this is the first time she’s seen another person in years, and suddenly for all the screaming she’d done she can’t find her voice. gisella takes another cautious step forward, “maleen, please – we don’t have much time.” she holds out her hand, “come with me.”

gisella is sixteen now. although she’ll never be a great beauty, she’s grown into many of the features that she was once mocked for. “where?” she asks, but takes gisella’s hand and lets her lead them down the twisting staircase. anyplace is better than the tower.

“i’m to be married in a week’s time to prince wolfgang.” maleen feels a sharp pain go through her chest. had wolfgang forgotten her? their farce of a romance was such a quick, shallow thing. she was a fool to fall for it in the first place. “i’m not going to show up. you are.”

she stares, “what?”

“wolfgang started a war over father locking you in the tower,” she explains, “but eventually it got to a point where neither could justify it, so our father and wolfgang’s decided our union would mean peace between our countries, as intended. but i don’t want to marry prince wolfgang, and he does not want to marry me.”

“i don’t understand,” she hadn’t paid much attention to the girl when they were in the palace together, and she’s regretting that now.

they finally reach the end of the tower. it’s the first time she’s breathed fresh air in years. she tries not to get distracted by it, and instead focuses on the carriage to her left, and the pure black mare laden like a pack mule on her right. “i’m leaving,” gisella says, “i don’t want to be wolfgang’s bride because i want to be klaus’s,” the guard smiles, and he must be klaus, the princess is rejecting a prince to run away with a commoner. “there’s a map and everything you need in the saddlebags. the wedding dress is waiting for you at the castle. no one will know you’re not me until wolfgang unveils you, and by then it will be too late. he will marry you, and i will be gone.”

“why are you doing this?” she asks.

gisella shrugs, “you’re my sister, and father is an idiot. i want you to be happy, and i want wolfgang to be happy, and i want to be happy too. this way we all get what we want. our brother will be waiting for you in wolfgang’s castle. he’ll help you.”

maleen is speechless. gisella grabs her in a quick hug – the only one they’ve ever shared – and then goes to the carriage with klaus trailing behind her. “i’ll see you again, princess maleen!”

she doesn’t have time for tears. she gets on the mare, and rides for the palace of the neighboring land.

~

she makes it just in time. she sneaks into the castle the night before the wedding, ducking around servants until she find her way to jan’s door. she knocks, tentative, wondering if this was a mistake and all one elaborate trap. but the door opens and his face slackens in relief, “finally!” he pulls her inside, and sits her down. there’s lukewarm water waiting for her so she can clean herself, and jan stands with his back to her the whole time, outlining the wedding and how it will go so she knows what to expect the next day. “father isn’t here,” he assures her, “he didn’t want to leave the kingdom, so i’m here in his stead.”

“won’t you miss your sister?” maleen finishes washing and wraps herself in a soft blanket.

“when i am king, gisella will return,” he says confidently, “she will come home and bring klaus, and you will rule here with wolfgang, and all will be well. our countries shall be great allies when it is me and wolfgang on the throne.”

he’s only a year older than gisella, just seventeen, and maleen feels oddly old next to them, feels old next to these children who know what they want and take it and don’t let anything stand in their way.

“we need to get your hair rebraided,” he says, “you should look perfect tomorrow. it’s your wedding day.”

she stares, aghast. “that will take all night!”

“i’ve brought help,” he says, and sends a servant down the hall. the servant returns with a half dozen of the maids who raised her, and who crowd forward and hug her and kiss her cheeks and say how much they’ve missed her. princess or not, bride or not, to them she will always be their little maid maleen.

~

it’s clear gisella picked her wedding dress with maleen in mind. it fits her for one thing, and is clinging and heavy, and it must have looked awful on gisella, but on her it’s perfect. her dress is accompanied by white silk gloves and a thick veil so that no one can see her, so that no one will know she’s not the daughter of the king they’re expecting to be there.

wolfgang is at the end of the aisle, looking like he’s going to an execution, and it takes more self control than maleen was anticipating not to go running to him. she turns to him, and he lifts her veil. he sees her and freezes, mouth sliding open. she winks at him, because they just need to keep it together until they’re married, he just has to keep his cool for a few minutes and they’ll have won it all. wolfgang closes his mouth and says nothing about how this is clearly not the bride he was supposed to marry. they turn so none of the guests can see them, and the priest gives maleen a confused look, but with a glare from wolfgang he continues on with the ceremony as if nothing is out of place.

“you may now kiss the bride,” the priest says, after what seems like an eternity.

wolfgang grabs her about the waist, dips her, and kisses her soundly on the mouth. her veil falls off and she can hear the horrified and shocked gasps of the guests, and under that jan’s laughter. when they break apart, foreheads still pressed together, she whispers, “hello, prince wolfgang.”

he kisses her again, quick and sweet, and does nothing at all to disguise the joy in his face. “hello, princess maleen.”

and they all lived happily ever after.


read more retold fairytales here

Neighbors


Inspired by Shawn’s recent Instagram story and this line:

“Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?”


She sighed, looking around the mess that is her new apartment. Her back hurt, her arms were burning and she was so exhausted, she felt like passing out.

“Where do these boxes go, hun?” her dad asked, holding up a box with “books” written on it.

“Just put those in my bedroom, thanks,” she replied, taking a sip from the beer her best friend had handed her.

Moving into your new fancy place in Toronto could be really awesome but also very tiring and she groaned, seeing all the boxes in her living room she had to unpack.

Her best friend put an arm around her shoulders and as if she could read her friend’s mind she said: “Hey, the view makes this bearable, don’t you think?”

She grinned at her friend, squinting her eyes a little because the sun is shining bright on the balcony. “Yeah, true. The view made me buy this!”

“So… when’s the housewarming party?” her friend asked, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

The girl shrugged. “I have to put actual furniture here first. And clean up. And decorate.”

“Yes, yes, Miss to-do-list, I get it. It has to be perfect, I know. As always,” her friend stated, rolling her eyes.

They laughed as they go back inside and she knew she’s nowhere near done yet but she already feels at home. It’s a warm feeling. And she knew this is where she belongs.


Three weeks later

She’s on her way to the elevator, carrying a bag with groceries and another shopping bag from H&M because she just couldn’t resist buying that cute dress and the sweater she really needed as the concierge calls her name.

“Excuse me, Miss!”

She turns around. “Yes?”

“Could I ask you for a favor, please?”

She smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

“I have a parcel for… um,” he looks at the box, “Mister Shawn Mendes. Your neighbor. I know he hasn’t been home for quite a while but could you just take this for me? I have no space to store this and I would have asked Mrs. Johnson from 310 c but she would just forget about it, you know how she is…”

He smiles at her apologetically and she nods again. “Yeah, I can take it. I mean… I haven’t seen my neighbor yet and I don’t know him but I guess it’s a nice way to say hello”

“He’s very nice. You’ll get along perfectly,” the concierge says with a smirk. “You are both young and so hardworking! And both charming young things.”

She smiles back. “Yeah, we’ll see about that and um… thanks!”

She takes the parcel, briefly looking at it in the elevator. It says “Armani headquarters” on it and it got sent all the way from Milan. She raises her eyebrows a little.

Must be nice being a superstar. Getting free designer stuff all the time.

She felt a bit insecure when she found out who her neighbor was. 

Living door to door with a teenage pop sensation slash superstar could be a bit frightening, knowing how famous he really was.

She dreaded the thought of having lunatic fangirls standing in front of her door, screaming and shouting Shawn’s name but so far it has been very quiet and she hasn’t seen him yet as he was probably busy being the good looking popstar he was, traveling the world, making girls scream wherever he went.

She didn’t really get the hype. 

Her best friend freaked out when she found out who the mysterious neighbor was, making her want to move in with her. 

Or camping on Shawn Mendes’ doormat.

But the girl living in the condo next to him, didn’t get too excited. Sure, he was good looking and talented and cute and all of that.

But she didn’t understand how people could scream and shout, seeing him, shoving phones into his face for a selfie when he was just a regular person who happened to sing and play the guitar.

She didn’t understand until she saw him. In person.

It was a Saturday and she knew he was home.

There were footsteps in the hall, male voices, sounds of a guitar and doors shutting and she took a deep breath, brushed her hair and ringed the bell.

She wasn’t wearing anything fancy, heck, she was in her gym shorts and a loose band shirt she got at a concert some time ago. And she was wearing fuzzy socks.

Not sexy at all.

And she regretted her outfit choice as soon as she saw him, standing in the doorframe, looking like a Greek God or something. A light stubble, messy brown curls sticking up slightly, wearing black pants and a white t shirt that fitted him well and as he looked at her, eyes a bit sleepy and a wry smile spreading across his plump lips, she had to swallow thickly.

He blinked twice.

She looked down at the parcel and up at him.

“Um… hi!”

“Hi,” he said in a deep, raspy voice, smiling down at her.

“I’m your new neighbor and I wanted to say hi and I have this parcel for you and um… yeah, hi…” she rambled, blushing a bit because he was looking at her in a way that made her nervous.

He was checking her out. Briefly looking her up and down and she squared her shoulders a little.
His gaze rested on her bare legs for a little bit too long and he bit his bottom lip in a way that made her heart flutter and race and she felt hot suddenly.

“Oh, thank you so much!” he smiled brightly, taking the parcel from her. It looked tiny in his hands. “And nice to meet you,” he added, stretching his hand out. “I’m Shawn”

She shook his hand, saying her name.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

He leaned against the doorframe, obviously not in a hurry to close the door.

“I just hope I don’t bother you with my music. I’m working on something right now and it can get a bit… loud,” he said with a smug grin, dipping his head a little, after nodding into the direction of his condo.

He was towering over her, playing with the parcel in his huge hands and she looked at his long fingers, noticing a silver ring on his middle finger. He was wearing a black watch that looked cool and expensive and she pressed her lips together. She understood it now. The hype. The fangirls.

He looked like a teenage dream. Almost as if he wasn’t real.

Too handsome for his own good.

She looked up at him. “No, um, all good. I don’t mind.”

He gives her a crooked smile, licking his sinfully plump lips. “Okay, good. Just tell me if it’s too loud… and if you need anything I’m right here,” he said in that soft voice of his she already found so endearing.

She awkwardly shifted her weight from one foot to another. “Yeah, thanks! Goes both ways… the if you need anything thing… not the music thing, obviously…”

She blushed and he smiled at her, running his fingers through his curls. “Yeah,” he replied, never breaking eye contact and she felt like dying on that door mat of his.

“Okay, so I should try this on, I guess,” he frowned, looking at the parcel and she nodded.

“Must be something nice… coming from Italy,” she smiled and suddenly regretted her words. “I only saw that it’s from Milan, I didn’t…”

He laughed and it sounded like the most beautiful thing she has ever heard.

“It’s okay! All good. Yeah, they send me awesome stuff now… it’s just really cool because I actually hate going shopping,” he chuckled, blushing himself.

She smiled at him. “Oh, I can’t relate. Shopping is my favorite hobby.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, well, that’s because you’re a girl… must be natural, eh?”

She laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. So cliché.”

He smirked and she looked down, avoiding his burning gaze. “Okay, um… I’ll leave you alone now… so you can try your new stuff on and yeah…”

He smiled. “Okay, yeah, see you.”

“See you,” she breathed and tried to walk gracefully back into her condo.

Don’t trip, don’t trip. Don’t mess up.

She exhaled loudly, closing the door after her and let out a little groan.
She reached for her phone because she really needed to talk to her best friend now and she quickly typed OMG CALL ME into her phone, pressing send.


Shawn sighed in frustration, looking into his empty fridge.

Living alone was not as cool as he thought it would be. His clothes were dirty and scattered on the floor in front of his washing machine, there was nothing to eat and he missed his mom.

Coming back from tour to his new posh place felt good at first but now all he wanted was to go back to Pickering to eat his mom’s roast and he started to feel jealous of his little sister who got to sleep in a freshly made bed and eat home cooked food all the time.

He groaned, looking at the stove. There was no salt. He had used everything his mom had given to him and he looked down at the chicken he was trying to make taste somewhat eatable.

He bit down on his bottom lip, turning down the John Mayer song he was listening to.
He could go to the supermarket and actually buy food – and get mobbed in the process.

Or he could ask her.

He was pretty positive that she had salt in her perfectly tidy condo with a full fridge and nice flowers everywhere. She looked like a girl who had flowers in her apartment.

And nice pillows.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Those long, lean legs. Her nice ass, he got a good look at when she walked back to her condo.

The outlines of her obviously nicely shaped breasts through that grey band shirt and he licked his lips again.

He was feeling frustrated, coming back from tour. He was needy, antsy somehow and he had felt hot and bothered, closing the door after receiving his parcel.

Leaning against the door he had to cup himself through his pants adjusting his cock that had started to stir against his boxers that were getting all tight around his dick as she had turned around and he had watched her hips sway slightly.

There were thoughts in his head. Thoughts he shouldn’t have about a girl he didn’t know.
Inappropriate thoughts crossing his mind. About her. Naked. Moaning his name. Panting. Legs spread and back arched.

He tugged at his hair in desperation. He shouldn’t feel like this about a girl he just met but the way she blushed and rambled made him want to be dominant with her. Be rather rough. Take her from behind maybe because he loved that position and she would feel him deep inside of her.

He felt guilty, thinking that. She probably had a boyfriend anyway. And Shawn would leave for Brazil soon. So that was that.

He hesitated a bit before knocking on her door. But he took a deep breath, fixed his hair and knocked.

His heart started to race, hearing footsteps.

She opened the door and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Hi!” he said, his voice cracking a little. “So this thing about needing something came sooner than expected,” he said with an amused huff and she smiled up at him.

“Yeah, I guess?”

“Well, I just came home from tour and the only thing that is in my fridge is some mustard and disgusting smelling milk and I wanted to cook something but I ran out of salt,” he frowned a little, his cheeks turning pink. “That’s why I was wondering if - um – if I could borrow some?”

She nodded, giving him a beautiful genuine smile and his heart did a stupid little jumpy thing he didn’t know it could make until then.

“Sure! I got you.”

She turned around and he was about to drool. He shamelessly stared at her ass and he didn’t want to be like this. Lusting over her like some horny teenager. But he couldn’t help himself.
He totally had the hottest neighbor in all of Canada.

She came back from the kitchen. “There you go,” she smiled and his fingertips brushed over hers as he took the small package from her.

“Thank you so much! You saved me from starving! I mean I could always order pizza but I’m trying to impress my mom.”

She let out a soft giggle. “Good luck with the cooking, it smells like you burned something though.”

He looked over his shoulder in an alarmed way. “Oh, fuck, yeah, I should go look after that! Thanks again!”

And with that he ran back into his apartment, trying to save his dinner.


She looks at her freshly baked cupcakes and knows that there is no way she would eat all of that. She had baked too many cupcakes and couldn’t stop thinking about knocking on his door.

She found it way too cute how he had nothing in his fridge and here she was, practically surrounded by food.

That’s why she takes two cupcakes, arranging them on a plate. This time she is prepared. With gloss on her lips, wearing her favorite bra and a nice t shirt, denim jeans and flip flops. All wavy hair and bare tanned legs. She knocks. And waits.

Maybe he isn’t home.

She is about to turn around as she hears footsteps. And there he is.

Shirtless.

Fucking shirtless, only wearing some sweatpants he must have thrown over in a hurry.

“Hey,” he pants, looking at her, slightly confused.

“Hi! Oh. I’m sorry. Didn’t want to disturb!” she says, no, gasps.

He looks almost photoshopped. Ripped abs, defined v line, pecks and arms, defined and muscular. 

She swallows thickly, looking down.

He looks over his shoulder, an alarmed look on his face. “You aren’t! All good. Can I - er - help you?”

“No, no. I just baked those and have some left over and I thought you might like some?” she says tentatively, holding up the little plate.

He smiles in a genuine way, looking very grateful. But still tense.

“That’s so sweet. Thank you very much!”

He presses his lips together, hearing the high-pitched, female voice coming from his bedroom.

“Shawn? Who is that?”

A blonde girl comes up behind him, looking like she’s on the cover of Sport’s Illustrated or something, wearing nothing but a large men’s shirt.

And now she knows where his shirt is.

On some blonde bombshell with a D cup.

Silicone probably.

“Oh,” she squeals. “Cupcakes? Awesome!” the blonde girl grabs one, grinning at Shawn.

“Who’s that, Shawn? Your neighbor?”

Shawn looks flustered and his cheeks are red. As well as his ears.

“Yeah… that’s my neighbor.” He awkwardly introduces them and he shakes his head slightly - desperate -  at his pretty neighbor who looks shell shocked with her plate in hand.

As if he wanted to say no no she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just an one night stand. Meaningless. I swear. I was thinking about you all the time. Imagining you under me. Because you drive me crazy.

“Um-well,” she blurts out. “I should… leave, I’m sorry. Bye,” she hands Shawn the plate as if it had burned her and almost runs into her condo, leaving an embarassed Shawn behind.

He closes the door, groaning in frustration. That was not what he had planned. This shouldn’t have happened.

His one night stand should have left hours ago but she was clingy and annoying and Shawn was too polite to kick her out. But it was time now.

The blonde girl is nibbling on the icing of the cupcake and Shawn picks her clothes up, holding them up.

“Hun, I really should work now, sorry but… you know…” he says, sounding annoyed.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, I see,” she says, sounding ice cold. “I’ll leave. I get it.”

He sighs, turning around so that she could get dressed.

“Bye, Shawn! And don’t ever call me again! Asshole!” she spits out, leaving his place and he slams the door shut. 

“Yeah, bye” he snorts angrily. Just to huff a frustrated “fuck!” afterwards, letting himself fall onto his couch, hitting a pillow in frustration.


He slams his hand against her door. But she won’t open. Of course not.

“Hey! I know you’re home! Come on! Please! Open the door!” he yells.

He rings the bell again. Over and over until it starts to get annoying.

She opens the door with an annoyed huff.

“What?” she hisses. “I’m working on a paper and I need to concentrate. If you would stop ringing my doorbell- that would be nice. Thanks,” and she proceeds to slam the door into his face.

He’s quick, sliding a huge foot into the doorframe.

“No! Wait!”

She rolls her eyes at him, opening the door again.

“Your plate! Here!” he awkwardly holds it up, handing it over to her. “Tasted so good, really! Thank you!”

“Mhm,” she breathes out in an annoyed way. She isn’t exactly mad at him. She’s mad at herself. For believing that she would actually have the tiniest bit of a chance with this guy who looked like a young god and lived the superstar lifestyle. Fucking blonde bombshells included.

“She isn’t - that wasn’t - that girl is not my girlfriend,” he blurts out.

“I don’t care, Shawn”

“Okay. Just wanted to make that clear. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he frowns, brows furrowed, curls messy and bopping a little.

“What do you want to hear? I don’t care about your love life or whatever… we don’t even know each other.”

She looks him in the eye, looking dead serious.

He licks his lip nervously and steps closer so that he towers over her, hands on either side of the doorframe. He looks down at her and gulps, tilting his head a little. 

“Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?” he asks, feeling his cheeks get bright red as well as the top of his ears and he shifts his weight from one foot to another.

She tilts her chin up a bit.

“I have to see about that - I actually am busy right now.”

She sounds distant and he sighs.

“Come on… please… I’d love to get to know you.”

She nibbles on her bottom lip. And he wants to kiss her so bad. Part those pretty lips with his and slip his tongue into her mouth. 

He wants, wants, wants her.

“Really?” she says, barely audible.

She knew there were girls out there who would sell their souls for this. A date with Shawn Mendes.

He nods. Eyes dark.

“I’m not who you think I am. I don’t have a different girl every night,” he says quickly.

“I know what you’re thinking. That I’m some stupid teenage star who has a lot of hook ups and gets drunk in fancy bars but I’m not!” he adds. “I’m a regular dude. Really.”

She shrugs. “I don’t really think ‘bout you so you’re good.”

His face falls. “O-okay, right, yeah. I shouldn’t have assumed that.”

His shoulders hang a bit as well as his head and he wants to turn around but she holds him back. “No wait! Sorry, that was kinda rude. I’m just- I mean… coffee would be nice,” she breathes out and his face lights up again.

It frustrates her how freaking adorable he looks like that, smiling, looking like a lovesick puppy.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean- it’s just coffee, right?”

“Just coffee,” he grins.

And he’s already so involved in this. He loves the chase. The thrill. And he can’t wait for what’s to come. 

“I hope I deserve it”

Is what Dany days as Jon “verbally” bends the knee. But why exactly?

Dany is a proud woman, and when she’s not, she puts up a facade of being proud. Her neverending list of titles prove it, but it’s not like it’s not right for her to be or that there’s no reason to be - in the contrary, she both needs it and deserves it. She did endure all that she explained to Jon and she did achieve all that her titles means. The fact that so many - me included, at times - don’t like it, is because it’s a tad repetitive, but it’s completely true, and because it’s often put in comparison with Jon who, on the other hand, is extremely humile, and for whose honour Davos himself had to step in - because he doesn’t care. He came to Dragonstone for a diplomatic purpose and that’s what he’d doing, being the honourable, severe son of his adoptive father Ned Stark. All that he did, he did for others, never for himself, fully knowing he’d gain but hatred but for it. And if he doesn’t bend the knee all the times Dany asks him is because he and his men and women in the north have now different matters to take care of, much less “trivial” than a war in the south. Let alone “brag”, he doesn’t even state what he’s done exactly. David has to, in his place. And that’s when he says

“He took a knife in the heart for his people…!”

But Jon sends him a stare and stops him. Why? Because it’s already difficult to believe in dead armies and White Walkers, let alone resurrections.

But Dany is still a tad curious. This man is the North is a ruler of about her age, humile, mysterious. He’s here for a very specific purpose and doesn’t seem to be afraid of her, nor of her dragons. If she wants to kill him, so be it, he’s come simply to serve his people. And that’s how she starting to see him as very similar to her, unengaged in day-to-day personal matters. Because Dany too, for as proud as she is, wants to serve the people.

So she asks Tyrion about it, and he doesn’t give the matter importance. She then asks Jon in person, but they are interrupted.

Then he leaves for the mission beyond the wall. She can see again just how much of a leader. Just like she took Drogon and met the Lannister army in open field personally, so he wouldn’t let his men do something so stupid dangerous without taking part in it himself. He’s again honourable, severe, uninterested. When she arrives to save them, he’s about the take her hand and get away

Originally posted by lydialoves-stiles

But he doesn’t. He lets the other go first while fighting off the wights. Selfless to a fault, so much that he almost loses his life for it, but he manages to return. And she sees his scars. At this point I guess she asks Davos for clarifications and this time, he gives them to her, explanaining that the King in The North did take a knife in the heart for his people.

At this point, to her, he’s the most honourable leader she’s ever met. He’s nothing like the lords and ladies she’s fighting, not even like her now deceased allies. He’s merciful and self-sacrifical. And after weeks spent together she should understand better the situation in the North and what exactly it implied for him to do what he did.

That’s where the “I hope I deserve it” lies. He’s a man she admires, not one of those sheep she either has the win over or threaten. What he did for his people, the kind of things he did, is what she’s like to do when she sits on the iron throne.


Originally posted by paola-owo

Jon, at the same time, understood her better. What she did, at the cost of one of her children, to save them, is in the same way something he has profound respect for. The North doesn’t like southern rulers because they are not understood by them, it’s two completely different worlds. But this one dared to go north as see with her own two eyes what it is. Jon respects her now. He never had much love for power anyway, he doesn’t want it: if he didn’t bend the knee it’s because of his people most and foremost.

Whether you ship them or not, I think this relationship is beautiful because in this season we slowly see two people come together from opposite sides, backgrounds, experiences, even geographic places, united only by the so hard to find willingness to always put others before themselves. That they love each other is a consequence of this, because they both see this beauty of character in each other, which is indeed firstly in themselves.


Originally posted by paola-owo

lunylovegoodlover  asked:

Hi! I just wanted to say that I'm absolutely blown away by your gods & monsters series. I've loved Greek myths for a long time, and I'm really impressed by how you include details of the original stories in your version. After loving her as a kid, I was really bummed to learn that Athena acted as the primary upholder of the patriarchy - if you're taking prompts, would you consider writing something about her? Either way, thanks for writing such an amazing series and sharing it with us!

She believes that she was born without the ability to feel love, that she is destined by the circumstances of her birth to be cold and emotionless and alone.

Bursting from the skull of Zeus, she was borne neither from passion nor love. Neither conceived her and so she can conceive neither. Pallas Athena is born fully grown, steel-eyed and iron strong. Athena is born, and no one weeps.

~

She has little patience and little love for the rest of her family. Those she is not constantly exasperated by – such as the exuberant twins, Apollo and Artemis’s smiles bright enough to blind – she cannot bear to be around.

Hermes is wise, but greedy, and she won’t stand his avarice. Hephaestus – he’s different, he doesn’t smile often but he has kindness in his eyes and cleverness in his hands. Athena sits beside him in his forge, and he does not avoid her or grow tired of her constant corrections. He takes her criticisms of his work silently, either taking them and reforming his works or ignoring them without giving any sort of explanation. She likes his silences, his large dark eyes, likes the way he built himself better legs instead of trying to get new ones fashioned for him. Zeus could have done it, as could his brothers, but Hephaestus did not ask.

Aphrodite is born as she was, and for a moment Athena thought she would no longer be alone, that she would have a sister of her heart. But Aphrodite is the personification of love and passion, and does not struggle with their absence as Athena does.

Her new sister’s coming is a double blow. The goddess is beloved by all, coveted by all, pursued by all – including Hephaestus. Athena doesn’t believe the loveliest woman in existence will choose a malformed god that does not even have a throne on Olympus, but she is wrong.

The gods compete for her, offer her castles and servants and all manner of extravagant gifts. Ares campaigns the most aggressively for her hand, promising all sorts of things that no sane man would barter.

Hephaestus offers a single copper rose fashioned from his own two hands.

Aphrodite goes home with him. Her throne on Olympus, empty more often than not, becomes adorned with simple copper flowers.

Athena tells herself she did not want him anyway, and forces what’s left of her heart to turn to stone.

~

Medusa is a simple village girl. She has thick black hair she wears in braids, dark skin, and startlingly green eyes. Many call her beautiful, but she does her best to hide it, wearing simple grey dresses and letting no makeup adorn her face, allows not a single glittering necklace around her neck.

She is clever. Her father is a farmer, her mother a midwife, but she thinks she could be more. She becomes a priestess of the goddess Athena where she’s educated by the other priestesses, her now-sisters, Stheno and Euryale.

Her attempts to be plain are not successful for long. She catches the eye of Poseidon, a god so tremendously powerful that her knees shake whenever he looks at her. Medusa does not leave the temple often, terror clutching her heart whenever she catches sight of Poseidon waiting for her at the edge of the village.

She does not go to him. She hopes he will stop waiting.

One day a messenger comes to the temple, sweat soaked and eyes wide. “Priestess Medusa!” he gasps, “please, come with me! My wife – she’s having a difficult birth, the midwife said to come to you. You must help us!”

Medusa wavers. She is not a disciple of Artemis, but her mother trained her well. Theirs is not a large village – if she refuses to help, if she places her fear over this almost-mother’s needs, she is not fit to call herself the priestess of any goddess. “Lead the way,” she says, swallowing down her fear and lifting her skirts to follow the man out of the safety of the temple and into the village.

The birth is long, and hard, and she and the midwife are only partially successful. The mother is saved, but of the two children who grew in her womb only one still breathes. The father thanks her even as he touches the cheek of the babe they could not save, and Medusa tries not to wonder if they would have both lived if she had not hesitated. She does not think so, but knows the possibility will haunter her regardless.

He offers to walk her back, but she declines, unwilling to separate him from his new family, and makes the long walk to the temple alone.

She’s almost there when a man appears, easily walking besides her. His eyes are sea-storm blue and his skin tanned, tall and thick with rippling muscles. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, mouth tilted up that the corner.

Medusa stares, heart in her throat, and can think of nothing to say. So she runs.

She’s on the steps of the temple when a thick arm catches her around the waist. “Not so fast,” Poseidon murmurs, lips dragging against her neck. “We’ve hardly had the opportunity to become acquainted.”

“We can’t,” she says desperately, unwilling to struggle and risk angering him. “We are at a temple of the virgin Athena!”

“Only the steps,” he reaches beneath her skirt, “she won’t mind. It’s all right, isn’t it? You’re such a pretty thing.”

She bites her lips to keep from crying. Poseidon is the god of the sea, and she is merely a mortal woman. “No,” she whispers, sending up one last plea to her patron goddess. “No, I don’t mind.”

~

Athena is furious. She has no patience for Poseidon’s misdeeds on the best of days, but her priestess, in her temple – she has not the power to kill the god, but she’s eager to teach him a lesson.

She goes storming into his palace, and all his servants go scurrying when they see her.

“Lady Athena,” a soft, amused voice greets, “what a pleasant surprise.”

She turns and glares at the smiling Amphitrite. She never knows what to make of this woman. She’s the personification of the sea itself and is closer to a being like the great Mother Gaia than she is to a goddess. Yet she’s content to be the wife of Poseidon, to be the sea he commands.

“Do you know where your husband is?” she demands.

“Always,” she responds, still with that same pleasant smile, and Athena feels a chill she can’t explain go down her back. “How might I help you, Lady Goddess?”

“He owes me recompense,” she snaps, “He’s raped one of me priestesses in my temple. I demand satisfaction.”

Amphitrite smiles, and Athena is reminded all at once that she’s in the middle of the sea, in the middle of Amphitrite’s domain. This is not the place to cross her. “If it is satisfaction you seek, it is not my husband you should be looking for.” Athena opens her mouth, but Amphitrite cuts her off, “Tend to your priestess, Lady Goddess. Nothing you seek is here to find.”

Athena is too wise to fight a battle already lost. She leaves the palace empty handed.

~

Medusa sits in a hot spring, legs pulled to her chest and her chin resting on her knees. She has not told Stheno and Euryale of the events of last night. How can she, when they will surely toss her out if she reveals she’s no longer fit to serve in a temple of Athena the Virgin.

“Did you bleed?”

Her head snaps up, and she’s staring into cool grey eyes. “My lady!” she gasps, and hurries to press her forehead to the rock, prostrating herself as best she can in the hot spring.

“I asked you a question,” Pallas Athena says.

Tears gathers in her eyes, and Medusa blinks them away. “No, my lady. He was gentle.”

The words feel sour in her throat, but they are true. He was not rough with her, did not bruise her as the tales say he likes to do, did not leave her bleeding, only with a vague soreness that would be easy to ignore if it had any other cause.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Athena says harshly, grabbing her chin and forcing Medusa to look at her. “There is nothing gentle about what he did. Be still. I will make it so that neither he nor any other man will ever touch you again.”

Dread settles in the pit of her stomach. Medusa had not liked Poseidon’s hands on her – much of her skin is rubbed raw from where she tried to scrub away the phantom sensation of his touch. But she had not planned to remain a priestess forever. She had one day wanted a husband and children of her own, and that desire was not something Poseidon’s actions had managed to change.

But Athena is a goddess, and she is merely a mortal woman.

“Thank you, my lady,” she says, and closes her eyes.

Whatever she does, Medusa hopes it will at least not hurt.

~

Athena is in one of great libraries when Aphrodite settle besides her. She forces down the instinctual swell of bitterness at the sight of the goddess and says, “Aphrodite. You should have told me you were coming.”

“If I had, you wouldn’t be here,” the other goddess retorts, and Athena keeps her face blank against the entirely accurate accusation. “I know you have a temper, sister, but was not your treatment of your priestess a little harsh? It’s hardly her own fault that she caught the eye of Poseidon.”

It takes a moment for Athena to realize who she’s talking about. “My transformation of Medusa was not a punishment, but a gift.”

Aphrodite snorts, “Some gift. I wouldn’t normally interfere with your affairs, but the girl has been praying at my temple for months. Turn her back.”

“So that another man may make prey of her?” Athena snaps, stung in way she refuses to show at Aphrodite’s chastising. “I think not.”

“The way she is now, no man will love her either,” she says, “Why do you deny her her happiness?”

Athena slams the book shut that she was trying to read, thoroughly incensed. “You stupid girl, why would she ever want a man’s love after what Poseidon did to her?”

“Not everyone is you, Pallas Athena,” Aphrodite says, something cruel in the curl of her mouth, “Not all are so willing to turn all that is capable of causing them pain into stone.”

She knows. Athena supposes it was inevitable, that the goddess of love would know what used to lie in Athena’s heart, but her fists clench anyway. “Did you tell him?”

“My husband remains as oblivious of all but his machines as ever,” she says. “Return Medusa to her former form.”

Athena is not willing to be pushed around by a flowery, half rate goddess who wages no wars and wins no victories. “I refuse. I did right by my priestess.”

Aphrodite shakes her head, but leaves her at long last.

~

Medusa doesn’t stop praying to Aphrodite, no matter the long years that her prayers go unanswered.

She keeps her snakes covered in a tight headwrap, and they sleep willingly on top of her head.

In the temple, her gaze is of no concern, for her sisters were not men and therefore could not be turned to stone. But every time someone comes calling to the temple, she hides in her room and refuses to come out, terrified of turning some well-meaning traveler to stone on accident.

A wounded man stays at the temple – a hero, with the mark of the gods on him.

Stheno demands that Medusa tends to him, says that she’s the best healer of the three of them. “He’s out cold, and god-touched besides,” Stheno says impatiently, dragging Medusa from her room. “You won’t turn this one to stone.”

Medusa gives in, tending to his wounds, careful to keep her eyes downcast in case he awakens.

He’s a beautiful man, the only one she’s seen in a long time. His skin is a rich bronze, his hair is thick and black, and is cheekbones are high. His lips full and soft, as Medusa discovers when she carefully skims her fingers over them. “His name is Perseus,” Euryale tells her.

“Perseus,” she repeats, and flushes all over.

She goes to him in the night and sits besides him. At first she only watches him, waiting for his wounds to heal and for him to awaken and leave. But days pass, and he heals, but slowly. She starts talking to him, describes her days as a child. She tells him of her parents, of training to be a midwife, of how she eventually rejected that training to become a priestess of Athena. Days pass to weeks, and she speaks of Poseidon, of the gift (curse, her sisters say, when they think she cannot hear them) Athena gave her, of the future she coveted and has now lost forever.

She holds his hand as she talks, traces the lines of his hands and both dreads and hopes for the day that he awakens.

The day comes. She hides in her room and sits with her legs to her chest, just like on that day that Athena came to her.

There’s footsteps and then a knocking on her door. “Medusa?” a deep voice calls, “Are you in there? It’s Perseus.”

She slowly uncurls and walks to her door. She does not open it, but she presses her forehead against it. She wishes she knew what his eyes looked like.

“If – if you’re in there, I just – I just wanted. I – Thank you, Medusa. For tending to me. I would not be alive if not for you. I can never repay you for your kindness.”

He stands there, waiting, but she cannot bring herself to speak to him.

“Okay,” he says, softer this time, “It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything. I hope we meet again, Priestess Medusa.”

She hasn’t cried in a long time. She’s not surprised to realize she’s crying now.

~

Days turns to weeks turn to months. She does her best forget the man she never truly met.

Then he returns.

She’s sitting in the library when Euryale comes for her, telling her she’s needed in the main room.

She barely catches sight of him before she bolts, hurrying to leave before she accidentally kills him. Euryale blocks her way, glaring. “You will not turn him to stone, Medusa. Go.”

“Priestess Medusa,” he calls out with that same rich voice, “I’m wearing a blindfold. Our gazes will not meet. Please, do not run from me.”

She takes a deep breath, forcing her heart to calm and her limbs to stop trembling before she can make herself turn and face him. She takes lead-laden steps until she stands in front him. He has fresh scars from when she saw him last, and she aches to touch them.

He holds out a small box to her. “Please know these are yours no matter your answer, Priestess Medusa. They are not bargaining chips. They are a gift.”

“Thank you,” she says automatically, confused. “My answer to what?”

He smiles at her. His lips look even nicer like that. “Lady Medusa, I heard you all those nights you were by my side, all those long hours when your voice guided me back to the mortal realm. I have traveled the world, and I have yet to meet a woman as extraordinary as you. I would take you for my wife, Lady Medusa, if you are willing.”

Her knees buckle, and his hands wrap around her elbows, holding her upright. “I can’t,” she chokes out. “I can’t, I’ll kill you.”

“The box in your hands holds a pair of eyes,” he says softly. “Take off my blindfold.”

It can’t be. He can’t be saying what she thinks he is. She raises a trembling hand and removes the blindfold.

Where his eyes should be there is only emptiness. There’s minimal scarring, meaning they were removed in intentional precision. “If you take my eyes for you own, you will no longer have to worry about turning people to stone. I doubt they are as lovely as yours must be, but I wish for you to have them none the less. I wish for you to have the choices they provide weather you are my wife or not.”

Medusa carefully transfers the precious, precious box to one hand and grabs the back of Perseus’s neck with the other, pulling him down and pressing their lips together. He wraps a careful arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him. He’s warm and solid, and his mouth is soft and pliant. He’s everything she ever hoped being held by a man would be.

Her hair covering falls off, and when they break apart he’s laughing. The snakes unbound are fully grown now, and drape nearly to her waist. They reach out and brush against him. “Friendly, aren’t they?” he asks, holding up a hand for their inspection. “Can I take that as a yes, Lady Medusa?”

Yes,” she says, and kisses him again, just because she can.

~

Athena sits high on a roof, watching Medusa hang laundry in the baking summer sun. Perseus’s brown eyes fit perfectly in her face, and Athena’s eyes are drawn to the swell of the woman’s stomach.

There’s a shift in the air besides her. “Come to rub my ignorance in my face?”

Aphrodite sighs and leans so they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Dear sister, I would never.”

They sit in silence for a moment, until Athena can take it no longer. “I know you must think me cold–”

Aphrodite bursts into laughter, and Athena is startled into silence. “Your temper runs hot enough to burn all of Olympus to ashes,” she says cheerfully. “Cold has never been a word I would use to describe you. Stubborn, of course. Petty, most certainly. But never cold.”

“I am the only goddess without a lover,” she says blankly, because all know of Artemis and her women, of how Hestia uses her vow of chastity to deter suitors and not much else.

“So?” Aphrodite asks, “I do not see why that matters. Poseidon beds more people than any of us, and yet he runs as cold as the ocean depths he lives in.”

Athena stares, wide eyed, and admits something to her that she’s never admitted to anyone, “I don’t think I was born with the capacity to love anyone.”

Her sister smiles, soft, and says, “Often, love is sacrifice.” Neither of them look to where Medusa takes her blind husband’s hand and places it against her stomach. His laughter is bright and cuts across the air when he feels his child move. “That is an art you know well, sister.”

For a single moment, Aphrodite’s fingers tangle with hers and there’s warm lips pressed against her forehead.

Then she is alone once more.


gods and monsters series part viii

It pisses me off so much how in the books Parvati and Lavender are just pidgeon-holed as ‘fashion obsessed hair heads’ for most of the books?

I mean, they might not be, but that was the impression pre-teen!me got from reading the books?

And now I’m all … okay, okay Hermione is awesome and we all know it.

But that doesn’t mean Lavender and Parvati are stupid just because they are geared differently from Hermione.

Fashion is hella hard and it requires a lot of memorization and attention to detail? And honestly Lavender and Parvati seem to be pretty nice people, in the little glimpses we get of them?

And all I want is Harry, following the Weasley without getting noticed (because he is used to sneaking around without disturbing people or attracting their attention, owing to the Dursley for that) and getting through the barrier and on the train.

And Lavender’s father helping him out with his baggage, jokingly asking him to keep an eye on his little girl? You seem like a good lad, my Lavender is the most beautiful girl, I need a strong gentleman to keep an eye out until she gets to Hogwarts and she starts to learn magic, so are you up to it?

Which is, of course, not true. Lavender has been going to self-defense lessons for years.

But the man noticed that this was a little kid with no parents around, looking all alone.

He thought 'hey, maybe I can stick him with my kid and they’ll make friends’

(btw, as Lavender is not, as far as I know, confirmed as pureblood in canon, I am going with half-blood or muggleborn for her, I’m thinking muggleborn for this specific AU?)

And Lavender is all “Daddy!” and apologizing to Harry for her dorky dad the moment he is out of the door.

And very nicely avoiding to comment on his clothes because she knows how it feels to be conscious of how your clothes look on you and it’s clear to her eyes that the way Harry is dressed he is probably from some orphanage or something because those are huge hand me downs.

(Because fuck you 90s, being fashion conscious doesn’t mean you are an elitist bitch).

And her parents are looking at her from the Platform and instead of asking about Harry’s life, not wanting to put him on the spot, Lavender waves to them and starts talking to Harry all “Those are my parents, they are so fascinated with the idea of magic and what I will learn at Hogwarts, I can’t wait to write to them all about the castle. My dad works in an office as an accountant and my mother has a column in –” Insert popular teen magazine for 90s UK.

And Harry is a bit overwhelmed but Lavender isn’t staring at him, she is not forcing him to talk and she looks nice.

So he kind of starts to tell her about the Dursely y'know, not like he did with Ron about how terrible they are, but about Vernon working for Grunnings (Lavender giggles and says 'Oh I am so sorry but it just sounds like a really silly name? Grunnings.’ and she tries to stretch the word a bit and Harry laughs a little and says yes, because it does sound silly the way she’s saying it, he just had never thought about it. 'I think it’s Swedish or something’ he offers and Lavenders nods sagely because yes, that makes sense) and how Petunia lives at home and reads all sort of gossipy papers, but not teen ones so sorry, he has never seen Lavender’s mom’s column.

And then the door to their compartment open and Parvati and Padma’s mother (I don’t know if they are pureblood but I’m headcanoning them as pureblood for this one) politely asks if there’s space for two more girls and when Lavender and Harry, after looking at each other, agree, Madam Patil levitates their trunks in (much to the amazement of Harry and Lavender) and settles them above and then guides her daughters in.

She introduces them, putting her hands on her shoulders, cautions her girls to not get wand-happy and wishes everyone a happy Hogwarts year and then leaves them there, going back to the Platform to join her husband and tell him how she left their daughters in the presence of Harry Potter.

“He looked dreadful. Hard up at the very least. I think you should look into his family situation. His clothes, at the very least, were terrible.” She murmurs, softly. “I am sure our girls will adopt him before the ride is over, so you should look forward to hearing about him in their letters.”

Her husband, who knows all about his beloved’s wife tendency to take people under her wing and adopt dangerous animals and fell in love with her for it (as well as for other qualities she has) because he’s very much the same, smiles fondly at her for the last bit and nods seriously at the first one.

It doesn’t matter who the boy is. Well it does, because Harry Potter of course, but it also doesn’t matter because no child should be mistreated.

Also it’s kind of strange that Harry Potter would look hard up, considering it’s common knowledge his parents left him handsomely provided for, full tuition to Hogwarts already paid.

Lavender gushes about how beautiful the Patil twins are, which immediately conquers Parvati, who gushes right back at Lavender’s sparkly accessories.

(Look, I might be wrong because this was the UK and not Italy, and if I am please let me know, but I was a child in the 90s, I bought italian teen magazines, sparkly shit taped to the cover under a plastic sleeve was the shit with fashionable people.)

Of course the moment Harry introduces himself, the Parvati twins try really hard not to goggle, though they do look at his scar, and then Parvati starts asking a storm of questions about where he grew up, whether the Harry Potter adventure books right about all he did since he was a child, if not that what did he do since beating You-Know-Who.

Harry 'Do you mean Voldemort?’ is greeted by soft gasps, right until Lavender asks 'Who?’ and then Parvati starts telling her all about the horrible Voldemort and how Harry and his parents saved them all from that monster.

Padma’s brain on the other hand is whirring and she is the one who reassures Harry that he will do just as fine as everybody else, when he says that.

Lavender and Parvati interrupt their convo because Lavender needs to assure to Harry that she’s muggleborn too, so they will have to learn together and he will be just on par with her, while Parvati explains that magical kids do get a leg up because some of them are allowed to practice at home but that really, she will make sure Harry is up to date with everything that is 'stupefy’ about the magical world.

At which point, Lavender asks what 'stupefy’ means and Padma explains that it’s the stunning spell, so don’t say it while pointing your wand at anyone and Parvati adds that it means, well, the most stunning things around.

(What? Wizarding children should have their own slang).

So by the point Hermione and Neville come by, the group as already made the first basic ties and while Neville is greeted and introduced by Padma and Parvati to the rest of the group, Hermione goes on fine right until she hears Harry’s name.

Padma and Parvati thinks it’s … whatever wizarding equivalent is there of gauche, that Hermione would throw that torrent of words at Harry and just … presume to know about him.

Lavender is just hella protective of her new friend.

Tightly knit protective of Harry formation is achieved in 0.2 seconds.

Neville, who has been around other pureblood children but has been condescended upon by most of them (not Padma and Parvati, given that Parvati will stick up for him later on, but still, it was a general tendency towards a potential squib) has found in Hermione one person who has been nice to him to the point of going out of her way to help him look for his embarrassing toad, so he gets protective of Hermione right back.

So basically, Parvati tells Hermione that she should not barrage people with informations like that, Neville replies timidly that Hermione didn’t mean anything bad, she just like quoting sources, Lavender tells Harry that he doesn’t have to worry, they’ll look up all that stuff when they get to Hogwarts, Hermione gets huffy because of course she didn’t mean anything bad, she just thought Harry would know about that stuff, Padma asks why Hermione would think that when Harry has been raised in the muggle world, Neville goggles at the news that Harry was raised in the muggle world.

It’s a mess.

And then Draco Malfoy arrives, because he’s been making the rounds of the train to look for Harry Potter (saying hi to family allies on the way).

I am not sure who says what to whom for most of the ‘chat’ but what I am sure of is that by the end of it, Neville and Hermione are going to be best friends forever and an united front against snobby purebloods, Padma has icily informed 'Mister Malfoy’ that she will be writing to her father about how low the raising standards of the Malfoy have fallen to produce Draco as a result, in response to a snipe Draco made about telling his father about the Patil twins and the rabble they are sticking with, Parvati has informed Crabbe and Goyle that she had not thought they were better than this but they definitely need to find themselves friends who don’t just treat them like dumb muscle and Lavender has vowed to herself that it doesn’t matter to her how cute Draco Malfoy is or how attractive his silver hair are she will spell his hair and robes to look like something an 80s hairband groupie would wear, just as soon as she learns the necessary spells.

To make it simple, battle lines have been drawn, metaphorical blood has been spilled on all sides and the Harry-Lavender-Parvati-Padma friendship has been set in stone.

Ron, if you are curious about him, found a compartment that had Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas in it and spent a really amazing first ride to Hogwarts.

They both made sure Dean knew how Gryffindor was the best house there ever is and then they explained Quidditch to him and became fascinated when Dean explained football (to americans: soccer) to them, especially once Dean started sketching out schemes and stuff.

There are too many players, but it looks like exactly the kind of team effort chasers have to put together only spread through eleven people and that’s just wow.

Cartoon Criticism Dictionary

(aka phrases I use here to describe very specific things)

Sameface Syndrome: when various female characters all have their faces designed according to the exact same formula, in a way that detracts from the story and is clearly done only to make them “beautiful.” Does not apply to stylistic choices, and does not mean that the characters literally all have the exact same face. Ex. The women in Frozen were designed with major Sameface Syndrome.

Keaneface: currently the most common female face in Western animation, consisting of a heart-shaped face with large eyes and a small, low-placed nose and mouth. Popularized (though not invented) by legendary Disney animator Glen Keane.Ex. Moana has a different body type, but she still definitely has some Keaneface going on.

Girly-Tomboy Compex: when all female characters in a movie or show can be defined as either “girly-girls” (typically feminine clothing and interests) or “tomboys” (actively rallying against feminine clothing and interests, and/or interested in “boy stuff”). Ex. GoGo Tomago and Honey Lemon are pretty much complete stereotypes! They really exemplify the Girly-Tomboy Complex.

Usagi Syndrome: when a female character is criticized for traits that are universally accepted in male characters, such as being annoying, lazy, or gluttonous. Named for the protagonist of Sailor Moon, Tsukino Usagi.Ex. The publisher told me that the protagonist of my novel was too immature for her age. I guess she got hit with Usagi Syndrome.

Girl Power Quota: the practice of having your female character(s) act tough throughout most of the film and/or save the male character(s) at least once, only to suddenly become helpless during the climax.Ex. How come that character who knows kung fu was suddenly incapacitated by someone grabbing her arm? Guess the writers hit their Girl Power Quota.

Strong Independent Woman™: also called the Strong Female Character™. Refers to a method of writing female characters where, instead of giving the character an actual personality, the writer instead makes them “strong” with shortcuts like making them needlessly violent, having them constantly sass others, decrying all typical feminine traits as “weak”, etc.Ex. I was excited that they decided to add a female character to the action hero team, but she was too much of a Strong Independent Woman™ to be interesting. The writers clearly don’t know what women are really like.

Historical Accuracy Fallacy: the claim that it is okay for a story to star mostly white characters because of historical accuracy, even though the story uses fantasy elements that are obviously not historically accurate, not to mention many historical time periods had more POC than we realize.Ex. I got an anon message saying that there shouldn’t be black people in How to Train Your Dragon because the vikings were white, but I guess they were still fine with the dragons! They fell right into the Historical Accuracy Fallacy.

Smurfette Principle: making female characters who are essentially exactly the same as the male characters, except with gender signifiers like eyelashes, pronounced lips, the color pink somewhere on their person, or clothing. Coined by Lindsey Ellis. Ex. Classic Disney characters rely way too much on the Chipette Principle, what with Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck.

Feel free to suggest more!

an au (inspired by this post) in which Annabeth is a mob boss and Percy is her ocean photographer boyfriend. Shout out to Hannah for being the best beta ever and for headcanoning this au with me pretty much non stop for the last few days. 

The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room flicker, giving it a strange glow that makes Percy’s eyes hurt. His fingers tap the beat of some pop song that had played on the radio earlier today onto the metal table that sits in front of him. The table is cool to the touch despite the warm, stale air that hangs in the room, and the accompanying metal chair is starting to make his butt numb despite it only having been here ten minutes.

Shuffling sounds begin emanating from the door in the corner of the room across from Percy, and soon it creaks open. First to step through is a tall blonde man with piercing blue eyes. His athletic build fills up the doorway as he pauses briefly to appraise Percy. Percy appraises him right back, noticing a scar on the corner of the detective’s lip and half of a tattoo that peaks out from under the cuff of his sleeve.

As soon as the detective steps into the room, another enters behind him. Her posture is impeccable and she walks with her head held high like she’s a warrior entering battle. That can’t be good, Percy thinks afterwards. She has on a royal purple blouse that pops against her brown skin, and her black hair is pulled into a braid that cascades over her shoulder.

“Hello, Mr. Jackson,” starts the blonde detective. “I’m Detective Grace and this is my partner Detective Arellano. Thanks so much for agreeing to come down to the station today to talk to us today.”

Percy smiles with a calm confidence, “Of course. Always happy to do my civic duty.”

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Strawberry Shortcake: Kim Taehyung x Readers x Jeon Jungkook

Strawberry Shortcake: Kim Taehyung x Readers x Jeon Jungkook


Author: Admin Taettybear

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Readers x Jeon Jungkook

Rating: M

Genre: Smut/Angst/Fluff/alternate!au/strawberry farmer!Tae

Description: You decide to runaway from your heart break, evacuating to your hometown. You’re reunited with your strawberry loving childhood friend who’s determined to fix you up.

A/N: HOLY FUCK, first ever BTS smut here it comes! FUCKING SHIT WAS HARD TO WRITE!

Word count: A soul sucking 20+k




“Y/N, I’m sorry.“

You felt your heart shatter to millions of tiny pieces as you stared at your boyfriend of four years. The man looked down at his hand in shame, silently waiting for you to react.

"You’re lying, Jungkook, please tell me you’re lying,” you choked out, your eyes tearing as you faced the man who you have loved from the bottom of your heart throughout the relationship you had with him.  

Jungkook gulped as he looked up, his round eyes seeming to fill with pain as he looked at your expression. He slowly reached out to you, his fingers hovering over your cheek, wanting to wipe the tears that began to fall, “Y/N babe, please, I love you. I didn’t mean for it to happen I-”

“Jungkook, don’t call me that. You just told me you fucking cheated on me and the girl is carrying your child!” You cried, shrinking away from his touch as you heaved, your chest feeling extremely heavy.

A look of hurt entered Jungkook’s eyes as you denied his touch. He pulled his bottom lip that you have kissed over a thousand times between his teeth, gnawing at it nervously.

“Y/N, please. You gotta listen to me, it’s always been you, I’ve always loved you. Can’t you see that? She doesn’t mean anything, you’re the one that I-”

“How many times, Jungkook,” you whispered calmly, your eyes that were blurry stared at Jungkook, watching his reaction.

The man stammered, his gaze wavering.

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes. Jungkook didn’t have to tell you the answer, his reaction already let you know. It wasn’t once, it was multiple times.

“Get out.”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, his eyes widening as he stared at you, “W-What…?”

You gulped, your eyes finally meeting Jungkook’s eyes as you tried to stop your lips from trembling. “I didn’t stutter, Jungkook. I said get out,” your voice was stronger this time.

Jungkook felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart with a dagger, slowly twisting the blade to make the pain feel even greater. He felt his heart drop down to his stomach as he quickly realized he was the reason why you looked like how you were right there.

Your eyes held no emotion, the smile he loved seeing on missing from your lips. Your nose was red, and he would have found it adorable any other moment and teased you about it like he used to when you cried over a sappy movie but he couldn’t.

Because he was the reason why you were crying.

“Y/n….”

“GET OUT!” This time you screamed, your hands shaking as you pointed to the door, “Jeon Jungkook, we are over.” This time, it was Jungkook’s turn to feel his heart shatter at your words. He stiffly got up to his feet, slowly picking up his keys and wallet as he walked to the door.

You avoided looking at him, staring down at your hands as tears dripped down your eyes, leaving wet stains on your jeans.

Jungkook slowly turned around as he opened the door, his eyes filling with hurt as he stared at your small form that sat on the floor in the middle of the apartment the two of you have been sharing for the past three years.

“Y/N, I love you…” He muttered before stepping out into the night, closing the door softly behind him.

As the door closed, you felt the sob rake through your body, “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated, you fucking asshole…” you cried into your hand, finally allowing yourself to lose to your emotions. You felt like a massive boulder of weight was crushing you, your shoulders shaking as you hiccupped.

He had cheated on you…. The man who had asked you to spend the rest of his life with him had betrayed you.

After what seemed like hours, you finally moved to your feet, dragging yourself like a corpse to the kitchen to hydrate yourself after losing all of the liquid in your body from crying. You winced as the cold water went down your throat, your body also becoming cold along with your broken heart.

It didn’t help to see the small silver promise ring on your finger, gleaming under the soft kitchen light as if to taunt you.

You harshly tugged it off your hand, moving to throw it across the room. However, you shakily stopped yourself, feeling another tear run down your cheek as you slumped to the floor, your shoulders drooping tiredly as you clutched the small ring.

At that moment, you jumped in fright as a loud crash echoed through the quiet room. With your eyes widened in surprise, you looked at the photo frame that was the cause of the sound.

You tiredly got up to your feet, gently picking up the frame that laid face down on the table. Slowly, your finger ran over the cold glass, your eyes softening as you eyed your younger self; beaming into the camera with your grandmother and a boy who had an equally as big grin as yours, only being boxier than yours.

You sucked in a breath as you returned the frame back to where it was on the table before walking to the kitchen phone, dialing the familiar number.

It rang three times before a familiar voice picked it up.

“Hello, Grandma? It’s me, yeah I’m doing good. Actually, I was wondering if what you were offering a couple weeks ago is still up. I changed my mind.”

The corner of your lips tugged up, “Yeah, I’ll see you soon. I love you too.” The call ended, leaving you alone in the silent apartment filled with memories of three years.

It was time for you to say goodbye.

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paint heaven and anger the gods

so the trailer for miss hokusai advertised one type of movie, and then the actual movie was …. something else entirely. but the trailer gave me ideas, so here they are:

there is girl –

no.

there is woman –

no.

there is a young woman, an old girl, and she has the eyes of youth but the weight upon her shoulders is that of age. or perhaps it is the other way around. perhaps she has the eyes of age, but upon her shoulder is the weightlessness of youth, of ignorance.

there she is, whatever she is.

her name is kana.

she is the daughter of a famous painter, known as juro. he is a man larger than life, and he paints wonderful things. he takes what is ugly, and makes it beautiful. he paints an unhandsome woman as a goddess, a sneering merchant as a king, a dirty city as a glowing capitol. he leaves all he touches brighter than it was found.

kana is not like her father.

she is a painter, but she is not famous. she has a mother she doesn’t speak to, and younger sister she visits as much as she can. she has pushed them both aside to follow her father, to sit with him in dirty shacks putting ink to paper as she does her best to make beautiful things. she throws off the expectations of her gender, of her station, of anything and everything in her pursuit to be a master painter.

technique is easy. she completes half of her father’s painting while he drinks, while he whores, while he seduces lords and ladies, while he paints empty things for empty people, while he leaves her alone in their dirty shacks. she can do the detail work, has a steady hand and a sharp eye, but when it comes to the whole picture – it is left lacking.

“her work lacks your beauty,” an old man says, talking to her old father while she kneels in the corner, ink staining her hands, the floor, ink just – staining.

“of course it does,” her father says, offhand. “how can she paint what she does not know?”

kana never expected lack of knowledge to be her downfall.

so that night when her father is gone, she does not stay in to work. instead kana paints her face, wears a kimono that’s too small on her, and goes to the worst part of the city, to where the alleyways and walls are stained red by the glow of the lanterns.

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8

Remembering Gene Tierney on her birthday.

November 19th 1920November 6th 1991

Everyone should see Hollywood once, I think, through the eyes of a teenage girl who has just passed a screen test.