but i didn't mean for it to turn out like this

I mean, I know Cody was an a-hole and all, but his bloody corpse impaled like a barbecue on my front lawn isn’t exactly the first thing I’d like to see when I look out my window. Mr. Red who isn’t really red and would like to be taken in for false advertising better get him outta my tree before the cops come and accuse me of murder.

cinderella: redo

so i was watching cinderella while doing my nails and waiting for them to dry which was clearly a Mistake because now i can’t help but think -

the evil stepmother was always evil, okay. say her abuse of her own daughters was different than that of cinderella’s - but it was still abuse. giving them impossible expectations, telling them they were never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. and then she gets married, and anastasia and drizella are ecstatic because this man seems kind and warm and maybe just maybe he can temper their mother, maybe with him around she won’t be so cruel. so they’re on their very best behavior in the beginning, they do just as their mother taught - they trot out their best upper court manners in an attempt to get their new stepfather to like them. but it just comes off as cold and snooty and they’re trying, they are, they’re just bad at it. and they see how he is with cinderella, the smiling girl their own age, and they are jealous. they don’t mean to be, they try not to be, they know it isn’t becoming of young ladies. but she gets hugs and kisses and affection and they get rulers slapped on their hands when they reach for desert and sharp jabs to their sides when they slouch and - soon they hate cinderella, not for anything she’s done, but for what she has and they dont

but then her father dies. and it’s all a tumble of things and cinderella is crying and they’ve lost their only chance at escaping their mother’s clutches and it’s terrible. and everything settles and there’s no reason to be jealous anymore but resentment is hard to let go of and they don’t know what to do. they’re only kids too after all. and they’re so terribly bad at comforting people, they can do flowery words and know all the right bows but cinderella is so sad and they just don’t know what to do with that, because they’re supposed to be sisters but they’re not even friends

and slowly but surely their mother starts abusing cinderella, starts making her a maid in her own home, and she’s their mother, what are anastasia and drizella supposed to do? she rules them with an iron fist, and cinderella doesn’t even like them anyway, it’s none of their business.

except one night anastasia crawls into her sister’s bed in the middle of the night and wakes her up. “i was thirsty,” she explains, eyes wide and shiny, and they’re bad at this with other people but drizella has no problems with pulling anastasia into her arms. the younger girl clutches her sister and continues, “i was thirsty and i went down to the kitchen to get some water and - and cinderella is still up! she’s doing the dishes, and she should be asleep, mom is going to make her make breakfast in the morning and -” she cuts herself off with a hiccup and whispers, “it’s not fair.”

“life isn’t fair,” drizella says, echoing one of their mother’s favorite phrases. but her sister is staring at her with wet eyes, and it’s not like their mother is likely to get up before sunrise anyway, she hates waking up, so she pulls herself and anastasia out of bed and off they go.

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Stuff My Dad Said During Hamilton (Act 1)
  • Hamilton: Is this that musical that has made you obsessed with dead people?
  • Aaron Burr, Sir: If someone started rhyming my name I would leave. It's so annoying.
  • My Shot: Okay they asked who he was - this - this is not the answer to their question. Oh wait now he's spelling his name - YOU KNOW IN THIS TIME MANY PEOPLE WERE ILLITERATE!
  • The Story Of Tonight: Okay so here's drunk dudes being pals and so not flirting with each other.
  • The Schuyler Sisters: AND PEGGY IS MY NEW MOTTO!
  • Farmer Refuted: You said this was the High School Musical dude right? (Me: Yeah.) STICK TO THE STATUS QUO ALEXANDER!
  • You'll Be Back: Okay George whichever shut up and let America rebel. Rebellion is good - *turns to me* That being said ever start to rebel and you'll be grounded till you die.
  • Right Hand Man: Burr got BURR-NED! Get it? Cause Burr. Burrned. It's funny you're just being stupid.
  • A Winter's Ball: Didn't we already listen to - oh wait no this is different.
  • Helpless: Oh God I hope girls don't act like this. *I give him a confused/dirty look* I mean you should make a boy beg for you not fall at his knees. You should make him helpless.
  • Satisfied: This song is just....*exploding hand moves and noise*....Feelings.
  • The Story of Tonight (Reprise): Another drunk song. And the French dude. (Me: Lafayette) Okay well I'm gonna call him French Fry.
  • Wait For It: Did everyone cheat in this time?
  • Stay Alive: Fucking Charles Lee man. Who's Charles Lee?
  • Ten Duel Commandments: They keep saying "Most Disputes Die And No One Shoots" I feel like they're lying to me...
  • Meet Me Inside: Uh ph, Daddy Washington is mad.
  • That Would Be Enough: How do they know it's a boy? I don't think they had ways to tell in this time.
  • Guns And Ships: Rap off. This dude (Me: Daveed) Yeah him, versus like, Eminem, Jay-Z and...uh other rappers.
  • History Has Its Eyes on You: Okay this went from fun to deep...
  • Yorktown: You know we live an hour from this site...*Looks out window*...We should go and reinact this.
  • What Comes Next: Oh right. Georgey is still there. He can piss off.
  • Dear Theodosia: I feel one of them will die...just how everything is worded. AJ, do I get...feels in this?
  • Lauren's Interlude: Wait what the fuck...is he? Oh my God. Alex's boyfriend!
  • Non-Stop: This is too cheery for killing someone. I quit.
what's a fire and how does it - what's the word? - burn

so i have this disney playlist i listen to usually when i’m driving and i was blasting poor unfortunate souls this morning and i was thinking

what if ariel didn’t sign the scroll?

because she’s about to, okay, and she looks at the paper. the parchment made of seaweed, the ones that’s specially treated to survive underwater. and she thinks of her cave of treasures, her books that remain perfectly preserved underwater. “no thank you,” she says slowly, becoming keenly aware of air of this place, of the not-people she’d seen who hadn’t been able to pay the price for sea witch’s bargain. “i – no. thank you. but no.”

ursula tries to convince her otherwise, but ariel runs. she goes back to her cave, destroyed as it was by her father’s anger, and thinks.

she’s the daughter of triton. her books never got wet, though she lives in the ocean. she feels a pull inside her, to the land, to somewhere else, but what if – what if –

what if she doesn’t need the sea witch or her father to perform magic for her? what if she has her own?

ursula had wanted her voice because that’s how she performed her magic. singing in this cave had given it powers and protection, and when she saved her prince from the sea – she sang then too, to keep him safe, to guide him back to life and away from death.

so she has magic. she only needs to figure out how to use it.

so that’s what ariel does now. she’s quiet and keeps to herself, and her father and sisters think that it’s because she’s upset with her father, that she’s busy licking her wounds. she’s moved on from that. she has no trident, and is uninterested with fueling her magic with the souls of the damned like ursula has. so she needs to figure something else out.

she does what she’s not supposed to do, and goes where she’s not supposed to go, slipping past the guards and patrols to the one place in the sea that is forbidden to all of them.

the crevice in the earth where what remains of her grandmother lives.

ariel goes to amphitrite, and the sea goddess is so much bigger than ariel, the size of great whale as she curls at the bottom of the sea floor, too old and too tired to do anything more than sleep. “granddaughter,” the great being croaks, opening an eye as blue and as unfathomable as the sea, “you look like me.”

“they say i look like my mother,” she says, and to herself adds: that’s why father can barely stand to look at me.

“you have more of me in you than your mother,” she says, and she shifts and pulls her mass of red hair over her shoulder. “more of me in you than your father does, even.”

“i have magic,” she says, pulling her bravery to the fore as she swims closer to her grandmother, “i want you to teach me how to use it.” amphitrite pushes herself up, and it’s the first time she’s moved in a millennia, and ariel notices for the first time that her grandmother isn’t a mermaid – she has legs.

she has legs.

“you have power,” amphitrite corrects fiercely, “and i will teach you to wield it.”

and so she does. ariel spends her nights by her grandmother, learning to harness the power of the sea that runs in her veins, and sleeps her days away while her sisters and flounder and sebastian grow more and more concerned, but she refuses to tell them why. she refuses to be stopped.

but her heart still aches. she fell in love with her prince, and she wants him still. so she swims to the edge, goes to the beach where his castle resides in the dead of night when her lessons with her grandmother are complete, and sings

. she’s careful not to let any magic leak through, only her voice. she does not want to enchant him. she wants him to love her as she is. so she sings, her voice clear and powerful and cutting through the air. she hopes he can hear it.

then one day a figure walks to the beach, and it’s him, her prince. “hello?” he calls out, “are you out there? are you – please, it was you that saved me, wasn’t it? won’t you come out and let me see you?”

so she does, waves her tail at him until he catches sight of her and takes hesitant, disbelieving steps closer.

“you’re a mermaid,” he says, eyes wide, “i thought i saw – but it couldn’t be.”

“i am, and it can,” she says, heart beating wildly in her chest. he’s just as handsome as she remembered, and she wants him just as much. “my name is ariel.”

“ariel,” he repeats, and pulls off his boots and goes wading into the water, watching her to see if she flinches away from him. she doesn’t, and his strides grow bolder. “my name is eric.”

“eric,” she whispers, and when he’s close enough he touches her, trailing fingers across the bare skin of her shoulder and tangling them in her hair.

when he kisses her, she feels powerful enough to undo the world.

so there’s that now, spending her nights with her grandmother and her prince, and she knows how to make her own legs now, could walk onto land and be made a queen among the two legged men.

but she’s a princess here first, and before she can do that she needs to take care of something.

ursula.

the rotten sea witch with her rotten sea magic won’t be allowed to torment her people any longer.

she tells her grandmother, and amphitrite smiles and says, “an excellent decision, child. i’ve enjoyed our time together, but i think it’s time for me to sleep once more. i’ve taught you everything i can.”

and tears prick ariel’s eyes, but she holds them back. she knew that it couldn’t be forever, that her grandmother can’t die but no longer desires to live and this is the in-between.

“you’ll be an amazing queen,” amphitrite murmurs, and closes her eyes for a millennia more.

this isn’t something to be done in the dead of night, although it would be easier to do it then.

she will make a spectacle of it, she will remind the sea that her people are not to be trifled with.

once upon a time they feared a blue eyed, red haired sea queen with the power to destroy them all. it’s time for them to do so again.

so she drives ursula to the center of the city. her sisters cower and people hide, and her father comes rushing forward to save her.

“you’ve committed great crimes against my people,” she says, not flinching as lightning gathers in the sea witch’s hands, “so now shall a great crime be committed against you.”

“foolish girl,” the sea witch snarls.

triton is yelling. he won’t get there in time.

he doesn’t have to.

she doesn’t need to sing anymore. instead she lifts her hands and pulls ursula apart without ever touching her, not only renders flesh from bone but also sets free the souls she’s been hoarding, reverses the magic done to those who’d fallen into the sea witch’s trap.

they all stare at her, her people, her father, and her sisters. she looks to triton and says, “i’m not a little girl anymore.”

he opens his mouth, closes it again, then says, “i can see that.”

all at once everyone’s perceptions are turned sideways about their youngest princess. she commands a power that even her father doesn’t have access to, she’s not depressed and dreamy – she’s powerful young woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

so she does what she wanted to do, she gives herself legs and steps onto the sand and launches herself into eric’s arms. she becomes his bride, and the rumors run rampant of what she is, of where she came from, but they can’t prove anything and so they rule.

they live long, happy lives. ariel is his consort, his advisor, his wife, his tactician, and his best friend. all those years reading drowned books have certainly paid off. she ages herself along with her husband, bears his children and then teaches them they ways of her – their – people.

her husband dies, and she disappears, like the stories of selkie women that everyone whispers around her. their children give their father a sea burial, and vow to see him again one day. what they know and none of their subjects do is this – their father’s body isn’t in that casket.

she returns to her ocean, her legs form into her glittering green tail, and she goes home. she uses her terribly powerful magic, and brings her husband with her. she went from princess ariel of the sea to queen ariel of the land, and now she’s back again.

she’s not quite a teenager, but neither is she the old woman she pretended to be on land. she’s returned her and her husband to the prime of their life, and as she gained legs to be with him, he now gives his up to be with her.

eric becomes a merman, and a prince by virtue of being ariel’s husband.

she returns to her family and her world without missing a beat, and they all welcome her as if she never left, treat her husband with kindness and respect.

because they all know.

it doesn’t matter that she’s the youngest. when, far in the future, triton’s reign ends –

ariel’s reign will begin.

GIF ^ of How I “recycle” photographs as backgrounds for my art! :)

(a reminder that I do not draw them! I mean you cannot think I am this good who do you think I am I’m just a mortal human)

First of all, I normally use images that are not copyrighted, if that’s the correct word. I look for them by searching some keywords in Google Image search (in this case, I googled “scottish highlands”), then clicking “Tools” below the search bar, going to “Usage rights,” and selecting “Labeled for reuse with modification” so that I know I’m 100% allowed to freely use any of the images that come up!

I usually blur images out, and since I don’t have Photoshop, I do that on GIMP, a basic free editing software. I select the Gaussian Blur filter and adjust how intense I want it to be :) (Also, the further a plane is, the more I blur it. So grass at the bottom of the frame is blurred the least, and the furthest mountains–the most)

The rest is done on Paint Tool SAI. I just play around with different colors, opacity levels, and layer modes to see what’d look nice!

It’s a fun process and it’s my preferred technique to compensate for my lack of enjoyment of and skill in actually drawing backgrounds myself! ^^ With all these filters added, the photograph turns into a completely different piece of art itself!

anonymous asked:

I know you didn't say anything about hating vegans or anything but are we actually doing a bad job? like is all of this just a lie and not actually helping the environment or anything :/ because one of the biggest reason for me to go vegan is cause of environmental issues and all

I don’t hate vegans, not the ones that aren’t spreading misinformation or think they are on some sort of moral high ground to everyone else. But I don’t agree with it myself because it is all superficial, without any proper action if I’m being honest.

And when there is action it’s usually targeted at the wrong issue and does more harmful then good. My main issue is that vegans see animals as very individual. They want to save every single cow or pig or chicken without thinking about it rationally or about the horrible impact that would have no important species (species that are actually vital to ecosystems). Veganism fails to see the bigger more important picture. 

“Saving” domesticated farm animals is not important. I’m sorry but it’s just not. Not when it means “saving” these animals will have drastic negative effects. 

I mean there are always ways that agricultural and animal industries can be improved. But just refusing to buy meat or use animal products don’t change anything. And realistically we’re not going to stop eating meat or producing wool ect. You have to understand that and accept it and look at ways to improve those processes not try and shut them down completely.  

And more veganism just means more demand for certain crops, which require more land clearing + more pesticides ect. Veganism is just as bad for the environment and animals as any other diet is. In a capitalist society there really isn’t any ethical consumption.

The world and the environment can’t survive under a capitalist society. Capitalism is what’s stopping us from using green energy solutions or inverting more. Not because these solutions are “expensive” or hard to make or whatever use excuses are being made. It’s because they won’t make as much money as easily. 

Just like buying honey isn’t going to “save the bees” or turning the tap off when you brush your teeth won’t save water. They’re things corporations and company’s push because they’re easy and shift the blame onto consumers and away from them. 

We need to look into real solutions. Realistic solutions that aren’t just superficial I-want-to-feel-good-without-doing-anything-too-hard “solutions” but real ones. And they need to be towards actual important significant issues.  Animals being killed for a source of food or harvesting honey or wool, is not even close to being an issue we should be worried about. 

I’m sorry that you’ve been led to think otherwise, there is alot of misinformation out there and people will lie to get their agenda across. But veganism just doesn’t help the environment. It just doesn’t. 

Reyes Vidal, from Mass Effect: Andromeda

“Hey, Barold?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you dead?”

Barry’s head pokes into the dining room table, the Neverwinter Times folded into his hands. He looks down at himself, pokes his own nose. “I don’t think so? I don’t look dead.”

Lup looks him up and down, then says, “Yep, you really don’t.”

“Why?”

In response, Lup takes the package she’s been holding, grabs it by the ends, and turns it on its head. Letters - bundled into packs bound with black ropes, spare ones scratched on torn napkins, envelopes-within-envelopes written in deep dark ink - spill all over the table.

“What are these?”

“Consolation letters,” Lup says, grinning. She plucks the first one off the table, slits it with a brightly-painted red nail, and begins to read. “‘Dear Lup Taaco, my cult and I would like to express our condolences for your loss.’ Aww, that’s so sweet, they’re cult-bonding.”

Barry narrows his eyes. “Is that a necromantic cult or a religious one?”

“Dunno.” She tosses it aside, picks up another one. “‘Dear IPRE, sorry for your loss. We hope Barry feels better soon. We know most people don’t feel better after being dead but he’s done it before.’”

Barry drifts forward, looking at the stack in apprehension and slight awe. He picks one up at random, skims it, and turns white. “Why do these people think I’m dead?”

“Don’t know, but there’s definitely a consensus, babe,” Lup says. “Aww, someone sent a bunch of dead flowers! I’ll pass them onto Merle.”

“Lup, no, this is weird. This - this is weird.”

“Yeah, for sure,” she says, leafing through the next letters. The mound grows intimidatingly the more Barry looks at it. “What did you do?”

“I - I don’t know.”

“Huh. Maybe someone started a dumb rumor. You never know the kinda shit floating around Faerun these days.”

True? Okay. Okay, no, this is just another mystery. Maybe there are clues in the truly preposterous number of letters sitting on the table. Carefully, Barry picks the first one up, a letter wrapped in a satin ribbon and addressed in dark ink so black it almost looks tar. He tears it open gently and sets the envelope aside, then begins to read.

Dear Miss Lup,

I’m really really sorry your husband is dead. I want you to know that my mom and my dad love him too and that if you ever need someone to talk to because death is a really really bad thing then you can send us a letter any time. I’d give you my mom’s frequency but I don’t know it.

Love,

Carnila

Below is an address. It’s from the far east, a remote village that Barry only knows because he passed through there while hunting for Lup a couple of years into his search.

He’s not freaking out so much as very, very confused. He’s certain he’s alive. Pulse beating in his throat and everything. So why does everyone think he’s dead?

He goes through a couple more without finding any clues. Most are of the same vein - sorry for your loss, hope you’re doing better. A couple recommend Lup some therapists in Neverwinter. Two cite him as his inspiration for practicing necromancy. He’s gonna need to pay those fans a personal visit. Probably with his scythe.

“Barry?” Lup says after a little while. She’s set the letters down and is now looking at him strangely.

He opens another one. This one’s written in blue ink. All the others have been black. Really goes to show what kind of person picked Barold J. Bluejeans, lich and necromancer-turned-reaper extraordinaire, as their favorite of the seven birds. “Yes, dear?”

“When you died, you picked up your bodies, right?”

Barry freezes. He thinks back to those ten years on his own, dying repeatedly. He’d had a process - he’d freak out, flicker a little bit, and pull himself together - with admirable speed and courage, of course. Then he’d grab his jeans (can’t leave those behind), a couple hairs, a bunch of blood (which wasn’t typically too hard to collect), the coin, some supplies, and take off for Wave Echo Cave.

He’d leave the body, though. He didn’t need it.

“Barold J. Bluejeans,” she snaps, setting down her letter with a thwack on the table. “Did you leave your corpses strewn all around this continent?”

“I only needed a little blood to make a new body!” he yelps. “I was a lich, it wasn’t like I could pick up my body and carry it with me!”

“You managed to keep the same clothes for ten years!”

“I’ve had these jeans for a hundred years, they’re precious to me!”

“That’s fair,” Lup says, grinning too widely to be angry. “So you’re telling me, these people stumbled across your dead body and thought it was you?”

“Probably,” he replies sheepishly. “I mean, in my defense, I didn’t think anyone would find it. I kinda fell off a mountain range.”

“And you didn’t go collect them when you got an actual body?” she asks, gesturing toward him.

“I was a little busy creating your body.”

Lup sighs, exasperated. She throws an envelope at him. It drifts unimpressively down to the table. “This is it, Barold. This is what you get when you don’t show up at press conferences ever. People start to think you’re literally dead.”

“I hate them,” he mumbles. “Too many spotlights and reporters and questions. I get all sweaty.”

“You’re one of the seven birds, babe. People want to know your story.”

“They already do, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but they want to hear it from you.” She glances over her shoulder at the Taako Time™ calendar hanging on their wall and grins. “Babe, there’s one tomorrow and you’re going.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines. “Lup, they…they suck. All the reporters and the microphones and the spotlights….”

“No arguments, dear,” Lup says, standing and crossing her arms over his head to rest her cheek on his hair. “Lucretia hates them too and she goes.”

“She was the Director of the Bureau of Balance, she’s good at that shit now,” Barry grumbles. “Besides, Davenport doesn’t have to answer questions.”

“Davenport’s at sea, babe. Getting to interview him is like finding a Shiny.”

Barry groans, tugs on a strand of Lup’s hair. It’s dyed red toward the ends. “If you loved me you wouldn’t make me go.”

“I love you,” Lup affirms, “so I’m making you go.”

“Can I at least - ”

“No, you can’t wear your tuxedo T-shirt. You have to wear the sweater vest I bought you.”

Barry slumps his head toward the table. Lup slides down his neck to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Cycle forty or sixty-eight,” he asks, words muffled by the table.

“Forty,” she decides. “I won’t make you do sequins.”

“Thank the Queen.” He straightens. There’s ink on his forehead. Lup laughs, then licks a thumb and wipes it away. “Gross.”

The letters flare in the corner of his vision. Sighing, Barry tugs Lup onto his lap. She sits with a laugh, gleeful and teasing, and reaches reaching for a letter of her own. Leaning her temple against his, she slices open another letter, and begins to read.

“Wow, babe,” she says after a couple minutes. “You’re really an inspiration for some up-and-coming dark magic babies.”

“I know,” he sighs. She chuckles and ruffles his hair affectionately. “I’m gonna have to go talk to them.”

Lup’s counterproposal is cut off by her Stone of Farspeech buzzing against her collarbone. She picks up without looking and says “Heyo, Blupjeans household, whaddya want?”

Barold J. Bluejeans!” screeches her brother’s voice through the receiver. Barry jumps. “You wanna explain to me why my dining table is fuckin’ swamped with condolence letters?!

Lup and Barry turn to stare at each other in horror. Then, right on cue, Barry’s Stone rings. He checks it. It’s Magnus’s signal. They stare at it.

“Oh Gods,” Lup groans, and picks up.

Barry? Barry, are you okay?” comes Magnus’s voice. There are a couple of dogs barking in the background, as there always are when Magnus calls. “I heard you were dead, I know it sucks, like, serious ass to be without a body, I wanted to check in, and also tell you that I’ve got a ticket for Neverwinter on hold if you need me down there - ” he says.

Lup and Barry exchange glances. Barry begins to laugh.

blue orchids

hanahaki & soulmate au (reposted)

pairing: jungkook | reader
genre: angst and a sprinkle of fluff
word count: 18.748
warnings: implied smut
disclaimer: I do not own the hanahaki disease concept.

I am immensely thankful for the talented people who have created art / edits for this story: x, x, x, x, x, x ♡ also, make sure to read moonlight (drabble from jimin’s pov) and home after rain (short sequel) after reading this story. enjoy!


You were eighteen years old when Jimin’s name showed up on your hand.

The day is fresh and clear in your memory: early December, the winds stronger than ever as they threatened to pierce through the windows of your room, hints of snowflake dancing in the air as the first snowfall augured an even sharper winter. There was a smile on your face that didn’t match the unrelenting coldness of the month, and even though the night was falling and the air felt icy on the tips of your fingers, there was only warmth in your chest as you went through the pictures of your phone.

Pictures of you and Jimin drinking hot chocolate, of clumsy iceskating, of funny faces that made you laugh out loud in the quietness of your bedroom. The feeling sparking in your chest could be considered somewhat dangerous— after all, you were just a girl that didn’t have any marks on her skin, a girl whose fate was yet to be decided. Something as enigmatic as love could be a treacherous thing, too risky for someone that couldn’t decide their destiny on their own.

Keep reading

The terrible life of Lena Luthor

And why I love her so much and she deserves the world.

First, let’s keep in mind that canonically Lena’s only 24 years old, according to the show’s timeline.

Now, in season 2 Lena was in 12 episodes. During those episodes, she was in danger/manipulated/hurt (physically and emotionally) 37 times.  Specifically, she almost died 8 times and in 5 of those times she was the target. She was hit once and knocked down and kidnapped twice.

Her own bother was the one behind the attempts against her life at the beginning . She was also constantly manipulated and lied to by her mother and later by her new mother figure/mentor. So it’s usually people close to her and people that she cares about  who end up hurting her.

Let’s also remember that the events of season two happened in less than a year! I wonder how she seems so unfazed by all of her trauma. You would think she would at least have some kind of PTSD by now. Then again, this show hasn’t been great at tackling this subject.

Also, from what we’ve seen of season three this trend of her almost dying and getting hurt isn’t going to stop. What does she have to do to get a break?! I think it’s fair to say that Lena seriously needs a therapist and a bodyguard. Also all the love.

Let’s break down everything she’s been through (that we know) and who she is despite all of that. With gifs! 


Before National City. 

- Her biological mother died when she was four.

- Lionel lied to her and never told her he was her biological father.

- Was given the cold shoulder by Lillian and was constantly manipulated and reminded that she wasn’t a real Luthor.

- The brother she loved turned out to be evil.

- After her brother went to jail and she took over Luthor Corp her boyfriend at the time made her choose between him and her family’s company.


Now, during the show:

2x01

1. She was supposed to be on the Venture.

Keep reading

[TRANS] ‘Seventeen’ Magazine 2017 Aug Issue - BTS Interview (P2)

JPN - KRN © cher_bts
KRN - ENG © ktaebwi

Currently on tour, BTS’ popularity has crossed borders and is spreading around the world!

RAP MONSTER: We came to many countries but Brazil left the most impression on me. I learned for the first that through the local news that they set up tents and stayed outside the concert venue few days ahead to buy our concert tickets.
JIMIN: I was really surprised!
SUGA: We travel around the world but mostly we just stay inside the hotel. I use the remaining time to make music there. That’s why I always carry around music equipment.
RAP MONSTER: You have a pot too. (laughs) He uses an electric pot to boil water and cook ramyeon or instant food he brought from Korea to eat.
J-HOPE: It’s really important. I bring a pillow too. It’s not too firm or too soft and fits my neck perfectly. I don’t have to worry even if the hotel’s pillow doesn’t fit!
JIN: I play guitar which I’m into lately in the hotel. We all do what each of us wants.
V: I bring my favorite book of Gogh and read it.
JUNGKOOK: I’m listening to music on my speaker… But the other members often scold me.
V: They said it’s too noisy. (laughs)
J-HOPE: When we say so he lowers the volume. (laughs) One time Rap Monster scolded him and he turned the volume down, but he couldn’t hear the sound like that so he brought the speaker to his ears to listen. I laughed and asked if he did all of that so he could listen on speaker.
JUNGKOOK: I told you the sound is different!
RAP MONSTER: What does Jimin bring?
JIMIN: I don’t bring anything special. Bringing myself is enough ♡

The real side of each person only the members know.

JIMIN: Our leader Rap Monster-hyung is a clumsy “destruction god”. Not just breaking stuffs, he also loses his phone time to time, tripping when there’s nothing around, or spilling coffee and stain Jin-hyung’s shirt… It happens a lot. (laughs)
SUGA: But he’s really smart. He’s got an excellent language ability and he’s the best at Japanese.
RAP MONSTER: I’m embarrassed~
V: J-hope is the dance leader, he dances the best. He’s also reliable and takes care of us well.
J-HOPE: I’m just doing my job.
JUNGKOOK: Are you being humble? (laughs)
J-HOPE: I’m serious. (laughs)
RAP MONSTER: Jin-hyung - the matnae* - takes care of us well too. He likes food so he cooks for us at the dorm or…
JIN: I’m busy recently so I can’t cook at all. I’m not eating a lot for my diet too.
SUGA: He shares a room with me. I hate when it’s loud so he always stays quiet for my sake. I like quietness and hate when there are too many people.
RAP MONSTER: He suddenly talks about himself when we’re talking about other members. Suga-hyung is really “mypace”**. And he’s always spaced out and lethargic. (laughs)
SUGA: I’m lethargic because I need to prepare my energy for music. Told you it all has a meaning! Jimin is “Slow Jimin”, this one word is enough. J-hope is the fastest and Jimin is the slowest. That’s the daily life of BTS.
JIN: But Jimin works harder than anyone else. He always dances or sings in the waiting room
RAP MONSTER: Is it the result of his effort? He has a cute face and great muscles.
SUGA: But… He’s always late.
ALL: (laugh)
JIMIN: Let’s talk about V next.
JUNGKOOK: He really is an amazing person.
V: I’m not amazing~
JUNGKOOK: He says that but he’s really amazing. (laughs) He talks out of the topic or question, even when everyone else is all “?”, he ignores and continues. And he forcefully makes everyone understand him.
V: I’m working hard on talking to the point too! But what can I do when I can’t think of anything? It’s hard for me too!
J-HOPE: I didn’t know that. (laughs) Our maknae Jungkook, as you can see, he’s perfectly handsome.
V: Is he always handsome like that? Hmh, is he…? When he sleeps… (giggles)
JUNGKOOK: What? (nervous)
J-HOPE: Nothing, you’re handsome when you seep too. It’s okay. (laughs)

*matnae: mathyung (eldest hyung) + maknae
**mypace: living or doing things without being affected by other people’s opinions or actions

The never-ending chatter of men! The close-knitted 7 people. When asked “What boosts your mood up?”, nearly all of them answered “The members”.

JIN: Sometimes we need to go work on our own… I indeed gets bored. It’s the same when we film individual cuts for music videos, if the members aren’t around I feel lonely.
JIMIN: The one who boosts my mood up is our maknae Jungkook. He’s mischievous so he always makes us laugh. But Jungkook said he likes tasty food more than me…
JUNGKOOK: Tasty food makes me happy ♡ If there’s food in front of me, I would take a bite out of happiness. Even if I’m full, it’s fine. I’ll get hungry soon after I sleep for a bit. I can keep eating all the time. (laughs)

For the question “What do you want to have at the moment?”, the answers of these 7 people who are busy everyday are!

RAP MONSTER: Time. I want to have some time with my family. I want to travel with my family. We had a concert in Japan last year and my parents along with my sister went on a trip. I couldn’t go with them… I was really upset.
J-HOPE: I have never had a family trip before too. I want to travel with my family!
JUNGKOOK: I want to travel too. To America or Japan. Who do I want to go with? (glances at J-hope sitting beside) J-hope-hyung ♡
J-HOPE: Wow! I’m happy! Jungkook finally knew how to live in life. (laughs)
V: I want to have time too, but I want to have paintings more. I like Gogh the most. There are around 10 paintings in my room.
JUNGKOOK: Are they real?
J-HOPE: If those are real they would cost hundreds of millions. (laughs)
JIN: I want to have an island. I filmed on some island last time and they said it can be bought with 30 billion.
RAP MONSTER: You don’t need to buy an island. We’re going to Hawaii or Okinawa anyway. (laughs) Oh snap, it’s time to end the interview! Let’s greet properly for the ending.
SUGA: Please listen to our single “Blood, Sweat & Tears” a lot and look forward to our Japan tour too. Please give BTS a lot of love!
RAP MONSTER: Our hearts are always… Seventeen ♡

P1

felren13  asked:

okay, i was reading your cursed child snippets, and dreamt in that world last night. so the trio were at green grass manor and draco had to leave for some reason but didn't want the kids to think they were unsupervised, so he left an illusion subroutine that would go off when it was either too quiet or too loud, an image of him would walk casually into the room where suspicious activity was taking place, look around disapprovingly, sigh deeply and leave. thank you for these snippets!!!

That feels entirely plausible tbh. Like I could just see my cc au Malfoy sitting at his desk going “okay how do I keep them alive while they’re here. okay, so most of the shit we got into was because of sheer adult negligence. So I’ll just never leave. This is fine.”

But then there will be times he absolutely has to leave. Like the time Potter himself calls him up because they found a dark artefact in a London basement and Malfoy’s the only one with the extensive academic knowledge on the subject able to identify it (well that and his father, but Luscious Malfoy would rather die than help the Ministry so no one asks him) and Astoria *tells* him just to go, it’ll be *fine*. She’s sitting upright today, in a comfortable chair close to the fire, wand out as she works on something beautiful with silk thread. And it’s not that he doesn’t *trust* her–or his son’s reverence for his mother. It’s just that…well…it’d make him *feel* better if she’d let him seal the house and shut off the floo…except she won’t and he won’t distress her by asking, so he does the next best thing he can think of. Because if he can’t be here, then he can at least cast a sentinel that Looks like him to be seen around the place.

That this is technically blood magic and technically possibly not entirely legal is neither here nor there.

Until the day something does happen and it ends in a duel with Potter standing back to back with him, the smoking debris of the drawing room drifting down around him. When Potter spies the sentinel–guarding the children like it’s supposed to–Potter just turns to him, and with profound and heartfelt understanding says, “Honestly, same.”

And if you’ll permit me to say, the Dial Tone Au and Cursed Child Au are totally the same universe. And given Dudley’s presence in Harry’s life, and Malfoy’s enforced presence through his son, that absolutely 100% means Dudley and Malfoy meet more than once. Like at Christmas when the Malfoys find themselves invited to the Burrow for Boxing Day and Malfoy wants to decline, he really wants to decline like he has done for the last few years. But Potter insists (actually his wife does) and even Astoria seems to want to go (…it’s lonely here, he knows, both their families having abandoned them for being muggle supporters…) and Scorpius all but *begs* so Malfoy finds himself standing stiffly behind Astoria’s chair (and he can’t help but be thankful to the Weasley woman for the subtle ways she manages Astoria, the way her needs are met without alienating pity) by the fire in this cramped ramshackle house his son is so in love with, drink in hand as he listens to the two women compare the latest fashion in Witch Weekly as chaos reigns around them and…

“He’s a bit of a stuck up git, isn’t he?” Dudley murmurs, low enough not to be heard by anyone but Harry as the two cousins sit at the table peeling potatoes. Harry could have done this in seconds with his wand but Dudley always feels alienated when there’s nothing he can do to help with dinner, so they sit and peel and talk about nothing in particular.

Harry looks up, absently pushing his glasses back up his nose to regard Malfoy. He looks stiff and out of place, dressed all in black as usual, eyes focused on nothing as he stands over Astoria–almost like a sentinel on guard…until she reaches up with a pale thin hand and squeezes his, and he looks down clasping hers in his, listening to what she has to say with such utter devotion before turning his attention to Molly Weasley with a smile so full of warmth Harry barely recognizes him…

“Oh I dunno,” Harry says, throwing a sliced potato into the pot. “I think he’s trying.”

littlelostgreenwitch  asked:

your gods & monsters fics are so beautiful!! I know you had Prometheus in the one with Pandora, but do you think you could do one with him when he was stealing the fire?

By her very nature Hestia is not supposed to have favorites, but Hades has always been hers.

She is the eldest sister, and he the eldest brother. She wonders if that is perhaps why they somehow end up being the responsible ones.

“I like it down here,” she says, curled up in his throne. “It’s quiet.”

He snorts, head bent over the reams of paper, endless lists of the dead. Somehow, she never sees Zeus with paperwork. “It’s dark, and cold.” She glances around. The only light comes from the softly glowing moonstones, from the bioluminescent designs etched into the walls.

She extends a hand, “I can–”

A cheerful fire crackles to life in the center of the room, warm and sweet and smelling of cedar even though there’s no smoke. “Sister!” he snaps, “Return that to Olympus immediately!”

She pouts, holding the fire steady, “Why? It’s my fire, I am its keeper, am I not? I can give it to whoever I choose.”

“Zeus has decreed it is a privilege of those that reside in the heavens,” he glares, “I will not see his wrath turn upon you. Put it back.”

Hestia closes her palm, and the fire snuffs out, returning to its home on Mount Olympus. “Little brother Zeus would do well to remember his place.”

“I’m sure he would say the same of us,” Hades says wryly, eyes dropping back down to his desk.

She is the keeper of the hearth, the bringer of fire, the guardian of the home. The spirit of Mother Gaia pulses in her more clearly than the others, no matter the claims Hera likes to make

Zeus is a little boy. A powerful little boy for sure, but a child none the less. She and Hades grew in their father’s stomach together, his was the hand she grasped through the years in their horrid prison.

She dislikes little boys telling her how to govern her realm of hearth and home.

~

Prometheus was not a smart man, but he was a brave man, an ambitious man.

So when a goddess appears in front of him, offering him an opportunity for glory, he does not refuse. He grins with eyes too bright and says, “Fire? The tool of gods back in mortal hands? We could do much with that.”

“Yes,” the goddess agrees, “but it will not come free. If you succeed you will be sent to Hades’s realm, of this I am certain, and when you are – you must bring fire to him as well. That is the price of our bargain.”

“Agreed,” he says instantly, and does not question why a god needs a human to get him fire. His is not the place to question gods.

Myths will say that he was a Titan, a god among gods, but that is not true.

He was a lone, ambitious man. The act of a single person can often be mistaken for the work of a god.

~

Hestia’s throne sits unused on Olympus, more concerned with tending her hearth fire than sitting high above mortals.

Any being which must assert their authority through status symbols likely has very little authority to begin with. “You’re planning trouble,” Hera accuses one day, her clothing purposefully plain next to her husband’s and her hair piled atop her head in an exhaustingly elaborate fashion.

Hera did not become wife of Zeus, Queen of the Gods, by being stupid. She can be accused of many things, but stupidity is not among them.

“Whatever do you mean, little sister?” Hestia asks, reaching a hand into the fire and watching the flames dance harmlessly over her skin. None of her other siblings would be so fortunate, should they try to touch her fire.

Hera cross her arms, lower lip jutting out, and Hestia’s mouth twitches. They are all so painfully young still, now. Hera is little more than a girl, and Hestia thinks she would be fond of her if she were not so clearly hiding fangs behind her pretty lips.

Loving your family never meant having to like them.

“You won’t get away with it, whatever it is,” Hera declares before turning on her heel and striding off.

Hestia cups a ball of flame in her hand, the warmth of it seeping down to her bones. “Whatever you say, little sister.”

~

The climb up Mount Olympus takes him weeks. He’s exhausted and hungry by the time he reaches the top, having run out of food some days ago. But he makes it – something that no other human can claim.

He follows the goddess’s instructions to the letter, waits until the moon is high in the sky before creeping into the palace. He doesn’t touch any of the statues, the tapestries, the golden goblets or silver plates. He doesn’t even let his gaze linger on them, for he is after a prize far more valuable than wealth.

Fame. Notoriety. His name written in the heavens, never to be forgotten.

The hearth is in the center of the throne room, larger than twice his size and more golden than red. He takes a trembling step forward, eager and terrified all in one.

The goddess appears in front of him, more silhouette than anything else. “This fire will burn you,” she warns, eyes fever bright and sparking just like the inferno behind her, “It will kill you. It is only a matter of when – not if.”

“I understand,” he says, because it doesn’t matter, death does not matter. Death comes for all men. If he succeeds in returning fire to humankind, he will be more than a man – he will be a legend.

“Very well.” She spicks up a globe of fire in her hand. Prometheus reaches for it, but she does not hand it to him. Instead she opens her mouth impossibly wide and places it on her tongue, lips closing around it and her whole face turning red from the heat.

She grabs him by the front of his shirt and jerks him forward, placing her mouth to his mouth and pushing the ball of celestial fire onto his tongue.

“There,” she says, leaning back. “That will dampen it enough for you to make it back to the land of mortal men, but you must not open your mouth until you are ready – as soon as it’s exposed to the air it will consume you. If you are not back in the mortal realm at that point, your death will be for nothing.”

It burns, it’s complete agony. He can already feel the fire eating its way through the soft, wet muscles of his cheeks. But he gives the goddess one sharp nod and then he’s sprinting his way out of Olympus.

He doesn’t have much time.

~

Prometheus is long gone by the time Hera drags herself to the throne room, sleeping robe askew and Zeus’s teeth marks on her collarbone. She’s older than her husband but still so terribly young, and for a moment Hestia pities her.

“What did you do?” Hera demands, voice coming out rough. Hestia can’t see any bruising on her throat but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any. “I know you did something!”

She knows the woman Hera will grow into, has seen many girls become that same woman, and as the wife of Zeus it’s nearly inevitable. But she’s not a woman yet, just a girl who’s gambled everything for a play at power and hasn’t yet figured out if she’s won or lost.

“It’s cold in Zeus’s chambers,” Hestia pats the empty space beside her, “Won’t you sit with me, little sister?”

Hera stares at her, mistrust heavy in the air and plain on her face. She will learn to hide her thoughts better one day. “It’s not cold in there.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks simply, and for a split second Hera’s face crumples. “Come, little sister.”

Hera takes one hesitant step closer, then another, eventually stumbling to her knees beside her and staring into the fire, Hestia is sure, so she has an excuse for her eyes to water.

“None of that now,” she adjusts Hera’s robe and pulls her hair from her face, the normally immaculate locks frizzy and tangled. She summons a brush and runs it through her sister’s hair, careful and steady.

The tension leaves Hera’s body by degrees until she chokes out, “It’s warm here.”

“As it always will be, when you are beside me,” she says, because she can promise that at least. Whether Hera will choose to sit at her side in the future is another matter entirely.

~

Burns have surfaced all across his body, blistering legions turning into bloody caverns of ash where he once had flesh.

Most of his lower face is gone, his jaw open and gaping and only bone. The ball of celestial fire is nestled at the bottom of his throat; it’s burned through until only a thin layer of skin separating it from the open air. He has to hurry. Every step is agony, he hasn’t been able to take a breath for several minutes, and at this point death can only be a relief.

He will not die in vain.

Prometheus finally, finally steps upon mortal soil, but he does not stop there. He runs home, to his city, to the center of the square. People recognize him, even with half his face burned away, and there are screams.

He collapses in the city square and reaches what’s left of his hand into his throat. He pulls all but a spark of the celestial fire free, and opens his hand.

He’s consumed in an instant, and his last sight is of fire flying – into stoves, lighting hearths, candles twinkling to life.

They will carve his name into the skies for this. He dies satisfied.

~

“How could this have happened?” Zeus rages, “How dare he steal from the gods! I will have Hades destroy him in every possible manner!”

“Yes, my king,” Hestia murmurs. She doubts he’ll ever make note of the contempt in her voice at his title.

King of the Gods. As if gods have ever cared for kings.

Hera remains remarkably, carefully silent at her husband’s side, hair neatly coiled the exact circumference of Hestia’s fingers.

It wasn’t something Hestia asked of her, nor what she was expecting. It is, however, a very pleasant surprise.

Maybe there’s hope for her yet.

~

Prometheus opens his eyes, which he wasn’t expecting. Everything still feels like it’s burning, but his body is back in more or less one piece.

He’s in a place both dark and cold, and when his sight adjusts he realizes Hades, god of the dead, is standing before him.

“You’ve angered my brother greatly,” the god says, but he doesn’t sound all that upset. “I’m to give you the worst punishment imaginable for your transgressions.”

Prometheus opens his mouth, and out drops the smallest flicker of a flame. “From the goddess,” he says, and the spark goes twirling, dancing across torches and leaving them lit, passing by a hearth so it roars to life.

Hades eyes widen as he watches the sparks progress, until it disappears down the hallway to light the rest of his realm. “Foolish older sister,” he says, softer and kinder than Prometheus thinks the god of the underworld is supposed to look.

The whole place looks brighter with the fire, it goes from ominous to nearly – homey, a place not only to arrive at but one to return to.

Hades slides his gaze back to him, “Those burns are from celestial fire. I cannot heal them – you must live with them.”

“I understand,” Prometheus says, even though he doesn’t. If he’s to be subjected to the worst punishment imaginable, what does it matter if he’s burned or not?

The god smiles, as if he’s reading his thoughts, and says “Very good.”

The next thing Prometheus knows, he’s back in the lands of mortal men. Different, perhaps – but alive.

~

Fires are lit in her name, each home’s hearth dedicated to her, and Hestia smiles.

Hers is not a domain so easily extinguished.



gods and monsters series, part vi

Together, Alone (Soulmark AU)

Idk how people feel about reading 1.6K drabbles on tumblr, so I also posted it on AO3 for funsies! 

Dedicated to @serpensthesia for her birthday! #serpaken for life <3

Thanks to @bixgirl1 and @jadepresley for reading over this for me! And to @femmequixotic and @noeeon for encouraging the idea and making me write! <3<3<3


It started on his seventeenth birthday.

Draco had known it would start then, of course. That part was normal. The clock was supposed to manifest as a tattoo on his skin, and begin its countdown to the moment Draco would meet his Soulmate. He’d been looking forward to the clock’s appearance all year— desperate for anything that might take his mind off his hopeless situation. Draco was exhausted, the damned cabinet was never going to be fixed, and his whole family was probably going to die as punishment.

And Draco had been prepared to die with them, resigned to the fact that his countdown tattoo might not appear at all, or might be stuck at 00:00:00:00:00:00 right from the beginning.

Draco had not, however, been prepared for the clock to appear at midnight and begin counting down from a mere one minute and seventeen seconds. His heart jumped in his chest. Clearly Draco was one of those rare wizards who had already met their Soulmate, but hadn’t known yet because he wasn’t of age at the time. Which didn’t help Draco in the slightest, as he could think of precisely nobody at Hogwarts who he might like to spend the rest of his life with.

He stood up from the stool he’d set in front of the hopeless cabinet, grabbed his wand, and began making his way to the door of the Room of Hidden Things. Between the time he’d spent staring at his countdown in disbelief, the time it took to reach the door, and the few seconds he devoted to not panicking, the clock reached zero at the very moment he pushed open the door.

Keep reading

How them 2000s live actions kids shows be
  • Normal Girl: *internally* I'm just a normal high school girl. I suck at math. I hate my parents. When someone asks me about my opinion on complex socioeconomic issues, I just go "What the heck!?" and start "texting" or something like that. My life would be just like yours, except for one thing: I have an amazing power... I can talk to cetaceans!
  • *at the docks, a bell tolls as our normal protagonist hears the voices of cetaceans bubbling in her mind*
  • Normal Girl: *staring deeply into the ocean*
  • Best Friend: Ahoy! What're you doing?
  • Normal Girl: Just staring into the oceanic abyss, thinking about how much I hate my parents. *internally* I have to keep my ability to speak to cetaceans secret or else... uh...
  • Best Friend: Haha, I feel that, friend. What a colorful life we teens live, our seaside environment awakening a rumbling darkness within ourselves of which we mull on our own with nothing but the unbounding depths of the ocean as our one escape. An escape which serves to only maim our fragile egos with newfound adolescent anxieties.
  • Normal Girl: What are you even talking about?
  • Best Friend: I don't know. I haven't slept in a week. Let's go to the mall.
  • *at the mall*
  • Normal Girl: *internally* My town might as well be called Lamesville. Nothing ever happens here, but the mall can be pretty fun. It's only place in the whole town with anything in it that isn't fish or excessive amounts of woodlice.
  • Best Friend: ...So I'd just dance and I'd dance until my feet broke. When that happened, I'd just get up and dance on my broken feet. And I did this until they were raw and blood was everywhere. I kept waking up in the morning extremely exhausted after this dream. I decided to record myself one night and it turns out I was dancing in my sleep. I haven't slept since I saw that. *leans in close to the normal girl* I'm afraid of what I'll do in my sleep.
  • Normal Girl: Wow, sounds weird... I guess. *sips coffee*
  • Best Friend: OMIGAWD! It's Chad Alphakid. He's coming this way!
  • *the normal girl and her best friend squee*
  • Normal Girl: *externally* That's Chad Alphakid. Who is he? He's only the hottest most coolest boy in this entire lame city. I've been crushing on him since I was like twelve.
  • Chad: Uh, okay.
  • Normal Girl: Did I just say that out loud!?
  • Chad: *sits at the table* Listen, I don't care what you or your friend think of me. I need help!
  • Best Friend: Have you murdered somebody?
  • Normal Girl: Do you need a girlfriend?
  • Chad: No, it's the ocean. The sound of her waves crashing against the shore is like a faultless siren song. There isn't a single night where I don't have visions of floating within her cold embrace. The allure of her boundless depths beckon to me like a lover. I'm afraid that if I don't get help soon, I'll find myself taken away by her to a fate unknown.
  • Normal Girl: *internally* Great, this is a chance to finally use my power to speak to cetaceans to my benefit! *externally* But why do you need us to help you?
  • Chad: You guys are the biggest fucking degenerate weirdos in this washed up town. If anyone knows how to deal with this, it's you two.
  • Best Friend: Haha, truuuuuu!
  • Normal Girl: I'm not a weirdo! I'm a completely normal girl.
  • Chad: Dude, you fucking talk to fish.
  • Best Friend: You do talk to fish.
  • Normal Girl: I don't talk to fish! *internally* I talk to cetaceans, they're mammals, not fish. Also, that's supposed to be a secret, dammit!
  • *at the shore*
  • Chad: Ah, Mother Ocean! Take me!! Take me!!! *attempts to run into the ocean, but gets held back by the normal girl and her best friend*
  • Best Friend: Simmer down, aqualad!
  • Chad: Why did you fools take me here, if not to release into the embrace of sweet Mother Ocean!?
  • Normal Girl: We talked it over and we decided that the best way to get you over your obsession is make you hate the ocean.
  • Chad: Does it involve you talking to fish?
  • Normal Girl: Yes, I mean no. I mean, fuck! Cetaceans aren't fish.
  • *the normal girl sits at the edge of shore, her eyes rolls up in her head as she proceeds to make fucked up porpoise sounds*
  • Normal Girl: *falls over limp*
  • Best Fried: She died.
  • Chad: Does this mean that I'm free to wade into Mother Ocean and meet my fate among her ever chaotic waes?
  • Best Friend: *lets chad go* Yeah, dude. I'm too far gone to care about things anymore.
  • Chad: *strips off all of his clothes* Good. I now understand that there was no avoiding this. This was always a forgone conclusion. My fate is with the waves. Sayonara, weird best friend guy.
  • Chad: *runs into the ocean*
  • Best Friend: *kicks the normal girl's body* Guess she really is dead.
  • Best Friend: *walks home as the night encroaches* My closest friend is dead, and Chad is probably dead too. I wonder where my fate lies?
  • Best Friend: *yawns* Maybe I should go to sleep and just dance myself to death finally. No, I don't think I could go to sleep even if I wanted to anymore. I'm probably going to die from exhaustion in the next few days, not having felt rest or comfort again. Or maybe I'll just stay awake forever. I feel like I was supposed to have an epiphany here, or some type of awakening. But, there's nothing. I feel like everything I've ever done has been pointless. God, I'm just really tired.
  • *back at the shore*
  • Porpoise: *beaches itself*
  • *a gray fleshy version of the normal girl crawls halfway out of the porpoises mouth*
  • Normal Girl: There goes my corpse! *drags her weird porpoise body towards the corpse* Why did I die with such a dumb expression on my face? Lame! I hope Chad didn't see.
  • Normal Girl: *looks around with beady eyes* No one's here. I can finally do this.
  • Normal Girl: *kisses her dead body on the lips* Blargh!
  • Normal Girl: *spits out blood* I bit my tongue when I died. Gross. I guess I can cross making out with my dead body and becoming a mermaid off of my bucket list, though.
  • Normal Girl: *sighs*

master-sass-blast  asked:

Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee

Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is only unfaithful to her husband once.

She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re all pain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just so and touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skin and, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easily commands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruises from his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of her throat tastes like victory.

She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.

They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways, Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where they plan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an ocean to conquer?” she asks.

He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busy sketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you – you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”

Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I will only belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fall over her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”

“There are more important things than power,” he says uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”

~

Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were not constantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.

She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powers against him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she is empty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of family without one of her own?

Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind of obstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he is angry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrath and powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to the mortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when she pins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperate to fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.

No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together, Hera does not get with child.

She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to her stomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”

Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. She is not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, nor with him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man, and you will have your child.”

So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to the mortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brown that matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind and patient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to be unfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment is agony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and she leaves as soon as she can.

It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier than she’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he even becomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, and he spends less time away from Olympus.

The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.

The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’s hands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries, struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if I have one?”

He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with the other, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriage and family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”

He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushing herself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her around the waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightning bolt after the baby.

The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.

“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles to escape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but delivering her baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.

He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb, adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “My child,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”

He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand over the edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’t find the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountain to retrieve her baby’s corpse.

“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll her onto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen the older goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, hands hovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”

Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in her sister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall into hysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears dripping silently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” she whispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”

Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look her in the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera tries to tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that she did this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of it out.

~

Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes, and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memories come rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stop herself from crying out.

“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to cover for you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns her head, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mended you, do not worry. All is well.”

All is not well. That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate to dust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other, there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I have something that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in the crook of his elbow.

Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it. Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions is gone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her child and weep.

Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate rises to help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong little thing,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.

Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s got great big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’s alive,” she says numbly.

“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reaches over to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Her son has no legs below his knees.

“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot return what was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can do something, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing I can do.”

The king of the underworld is the most powerful god after her husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything about her son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him, and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living child that she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’t need legs.

“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Can you find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”

She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.

“You’re going back to him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t have to! Don’t go back to him!”

“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches out with chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he is my husband.”

Hecate stares, aghast. “Don’t – don’t, Hera. Please. Stay here. Hades will protect you.”

She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. He would protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if she asked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Hera of the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddess of marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at her son, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded to her is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I will return to Mount Olympus.”

“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.

Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage had anything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”

The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”

Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”

“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safe in the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strong enough to protect himself.”

“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kiss the top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him from Olympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror. “Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him from Olympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me, but could not.”

“Why?” Hecate asks.

Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helpless sort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeus will have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will be unable to hurt him without explaining he was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back of her finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blame me, and he will be safe.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on her shoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”

Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of a giggle gurgling in his throat.

“His name is Hephaestus.”

~

When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’s mortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playing any games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especially vindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.

She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around the corner of her lips.

Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smoke is rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slams his hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with the force of it.

“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this is your doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”

Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their faces nearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at his most furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishes her clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelry glinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses her legs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses, mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates her because he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.

She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”

When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.

They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to be together.


gods and monsters series part xv

read more from the gods and monsters series here

anonymous asked:

What's your response to this argument I saw one time saying that anti/aang rhetoric fails to take into account how aang never acts jealous or possessive of katara in the episode "jet" where she exudes outward feelings for another guy in front of him? I've always had this question myself, wasn't sure if it was something used to make the plot go smoothly or not. Like if both sokka and aang didn't like jet, then Katara would've been swayed to leave way earlier n the episode wouldn't have happened.

I actually agree with that point: Aang doesn’t act jealous or possessive at all, even when Katara’s crush on Jet is obvious. He even wears the hat that Katara made for Jet!

Throughout season one, actually, Aang’s feelings for Katara are handled well. He’s kind and tender, and whether Katara wants to mack on Jet or Haru, he’s helpful in whatever cause her romantic interests are pursuing.

He has a crush from the start:

He thinks she’s pretty:

He pursues her: 

But, it doesn’t interfere with the foundation of his character.

In fact, with the exception of The Fortuneteller [You can read my opinions on this episode here [x] & [x], Basically, the episode focuses on learning about one-sided crushes, only to take the last 20s and reduce Katara’s destiny to who she’s going to end up marrying]... Anyways, with the exception of last 20s of The Fortuneteller, season one did a splendid job of shaping Aang’s feelings for Katara into something that was ultimately one-sided:

But, it was still innocent and cute.

 In fact, I didn’t dislike Kataang until the end of season two and all of season three. 

In season two, my issues came with Aang’s choice to choose Katara over the Avatar State. It was foolish on his part, and a foolhardy push by the creators to show us just how much Aang loved Katara. 

It was silly, considering season two was full of instances that not only foreshadowed Aang growing out of his crush on Katara:

But also, further established their relationship as one-sided:

Katara: [Turns to face him and gestures to the portrait.] And here, it says, “Love is brightest in the dark,” and has a picture of them kissing.
Aang: [Utterly confused and lost.] Where are you going with this?
Katara: [Shyly, blushing.] Well, what if we … kissed?
Aang: [Very surprised.] Us … kissing‌?
Katara: See? It was a crazy idea.
Aang: [Dreamily.] Us … kissing
Katara: [Fake-jokingly.] Us kissing. What was I thinking? Can you imagine that‌?

And

Aang: They’re made of some kind of crystal. They must only light up in the dark.
Katara: That’s how the two lovers found each other. [Gestures with her hand along the ceiling.] They just put out their lights and followed the crystals. [Sees the exit.] That must be the way out! [The two hug.]
Aang: So, uh …
Katara: Let’s go!

The ending of season two also dashed a ton of character development for Aang, such as learning a bending stye so unlike his own: 

Navigating struggles between himself and his masters: 

And learning that his way of life may not be the only ‘right’ way of life: 

Aang’s decision in The Crossroads of Destiny didn’t align with the development in season two, and seemed an awfully rash decision considering we’d only ever seen Katara behave maternally around Aang. A narrative that is only furthered by the illusion to Pieta: 

In season three, Aang’s behavior grew into something that was no longer innocent and one-sided, but aggressive and one-sided: 

Aang: [Standing up.] Argh!
Katara: Relax, Aang. They’re not accurate portrayals. It’s not like I’m a preachy crybaby who can’t resist giving overemotional speeches about hope all the time. [Everyone looks at her.] What?
Aang: [Turns around and sits down. Sarcastically.] Yeah, that’s not you at all.

Katara: Are you all right?
Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]
Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.
Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Aang: Katara, did you really mean what you said in there?
Katara: In where? What are you talking about?
Aang: On stage, when you said I was just like a … brother to you, and you didn’t have feelings for me.
Katara: I didn’t say that. An actor said that.
Aang: But it’s true, isn’t it? We kissed at the Invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together. But we’re not.
Katara: Aang, I don’t know.
Aang: Why don’t you know?
KataraBecause, we’re in the middle of a war, and, we have other things to worry about. This isn’t the right time.
Aang: Well, when is the right time?
Katara: Aang, I’m sorry, but right now I’m just a little confused.

Katara: I just said I was confused! I’m going inside. [Exits the balcony.]

Not only that, but their relationship, based on dialogue alone (X & X), was drifting apart. Aang was increasingly belligerent and self-righteous, while Katara was treated as a means-to-an-end, his muse, his reason for saving the world, and his prize for succeeding. 

*nods*

You see, Aang may not have shown possessive tendencies in season one or two, because the relationship was handled properly. However, the moment Kataang became so forced as to neglect Aang’s character development in season two and portray poor behavior as romantic in season three, Aang does act possessive and aggressive towards Katara. 

And because he’s never taught that his actions are wrong, because he never apologizes for the many times he acted out towards Katara, Kataang is tainted by these negative qualities, and the pattern continues on into the comics and LOK.  

1. i don’t know how to say this so i’m just going to say it - don’t text me anymore. don’t call me. don’t ask me how i am when you feel lonely. don’t check up on me. don’t tell me you’re doing well. i don’t want to hear it. i don’t want to hear it because you fucking broke me. GOODBYE.

2. hey, okay, sooo i thought i could be friends with you but it hurts too much. not that you hurt me that much. no, i’m okay. i don’t cry in the shower anymore. some nights i actually fall asleep before 4 a.m. but then there’s some nights where i think about you and her kissing and it’s all that’s on my mind for days. no, no, it’s not like that. it’s not that i love you anymore or that i’m jealous. i just hate you for what you did to me. so yeah, anyways, just thought you should know i don’t want to be friends. hope you’re doing well though. maybe our paths will cross again.

3. i told myself many, many months ago that if i wanted this to work, if i wanted us to be friends, i couldn’t talk to you about my feelings ever again. i couldn’t turn every conversation into our failed relationship. so for many, many months, i’ve been letting it eat at me instead. i don’t want it to eat at me anymore and you don’t want to listen to me whine so i think this has to end. sorry.

4. hey, listen: some days i’m fine, but the smallest things get to me. like i’m pretty sure i saw you on her snapchat story. it’s none of my business, but i’m really mad at you for it. i’m really mad that you still talk to that girl you chose over me and you still like all of these girls’ facebook photos but you never like mine. and it’s not fair for me to be mad at you for having friends or being happy, i have no right to be, you didn’t do anything wrong. but it still gets to me, still eats away at me, still makes me want to knock down your door and ask you why the fuck you had to leave, why you had to do anything you did, why i poured all of my love into you that i didn’t have any left for myself and you took it and gave it to somebody else. god, this hurts. i don’t want you to know how badly this hurts but it does. i’m leaving you and taking this hurt with me.

5. hey, hope you’re doing well, but this still feels like a nightmare i’ll never wake up from. and i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry, it’s not fair to you to have to listen to this shit because it’s been two whole years and i’m still not over it. and that’s my problem, not yours. it will never be your fault that i’m so goddamn sensitive. i’ve never been able to get over anything and i hate myself for it. please let me heal. please leave.

6. hey, remember the summer where i hooked up with the first guy who wasn’t you, when you had me blocked on everything and i couldn’t see what you were up to? well, i still read my posts from that summer and i was actually HAPPY. can you believe that? i was actually going about my life without you and i wasn’t thinking about what you did to me. but here i am again, thinking about it and the only thing that’s changed is that you speak to me. and i would love to be friends with you, i would, i’ve been trying so hard to be for months, but it’s making me so damn miserable. and i’m so jealous that she gets to be friends with you and i don’t. i’m sorry i’m not her. i’m sorry i never will be.

7. i’ve been ignoring your messages on purpose and you keep texting me again and it’s exhausting to have to ignore you all of the time and feel so guilty about it. i just don’t understand how you just don’t get the hint. so here’s a bigger one: LEAVE ME ALONE.

8. hey, okay, i know this is sudden but i don’t want to hear from you anymore. i don’t want to think about this anymore. i want to move on with my life and there’s no room for you in it. it was stupid of me to think that just because you’ve always been a good friend to me that we can be friends. we can’t.

9. hey. first off, i want to say i’m sorry, i just need to do what’s best for me. secondly, thank you for always being there when i needed you, but i don’t need you anymore. for now, it has to be just me. it feels like i’m breaking up with you and we’re not even dating, but this is it - this is goodbye. forever. don’t contact me.

10. all you ever did was hurt me. fuck you. i don’t want to see your stupid fucking name on my phone anymore. fucking get out. leave.

—  10 text messages i’m afraid to send because i don’t want to say goodbye to you, not again