but she just wanted to tell me i looked like a goddess and that made my day

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.

anonymous asked:

whoa ok step back, daedalus built a cow suit for a woman who wanted to fuck a bull and that's why the minotaur WAS A THING? I DID NOT KNOW THIS

I honestly think that I’d be doing you a great disservice if I didn’t tell you about the time Daedalus enabled rampant bestiality, so allow me to clear this gap in your knowledge. 

Anyone who doesn’t want to read a poorly retold myth about a man who built a cow suit so realistic that it totally fooled a magic bull into laying down some absolutely quality homo-bovine dick and siring a minotaur should probably press J on their keyboard right now, but honestly if that synopsis doesn’t do it for you then you should probably just quit Greek mythology all together.

So, Minos is this guy who manages to achieve the dual feat of being both King of Crete and an incorrigible asshole. Also, the first achievement is a really tenuous one, because Minos has like a billion brothers and he’s basically Malcolm in the Middle and all his brothers are better looking than him and they have way better abs and it’s really awkward every year at Christmas because they’re all “could you pass the stuffing, Minos? Also you’re totally stuffed because I’m going to be king one day haha suck it, right on” and so Minos starts to get really worried that he’s going to lose the throne to one of his more lustrous-locked brothers and then he’ll be stuck with just the one achievement of being an incorrigible asshole and so he has a little brood and he comes up with a plan. 

One day, he goes up to Poseidon, god of the sea and all things wet (or at least that’s what he tells girls at the Olympus nightclubs) and he’s like “hey, Poseidon, could you do me a solid?” and Poseidon is like “no bro but I can do you a liquid” and they have a little manly giggle and then Minos says “no but really, I need a favour” and Poseidon is like “well, you just gave me a golden opportunity to mock the states of matter, I’m 100% up for doing any favour you want” and Minos says “well, you know how I have loads of brothers” and Poseidon is like “you mean the better looking ones?” and Minos pouts and says “looks aren’t everything, but yes, those ones” and Poseidon is like “go on” and Minos says “well, I need them to stop trying to steal the throne because it’s getting really annoying and also I can’t sleep at night any more and it’s driving my hot wife insane, could you maybe show that you totally support me being King of Crete? That way, they’ll definitely stop being dicks at Christmas” and Poseidon just nods and says “I have a great idea for how I can do this”

and Minos is like “wow, are you going to send down an army of merpeople and slaughter all my brothers in a righteous and watery battle?” and Poseidon is like “no” and Minos says “are you going to conjure up a giant tidal wave and make it destroy all my brothers’ homes but leave my palace totally intact?” and Poseidon is like “no” and Minos says “well, are you going to turn all my brothers into mermen?” and Poseidon is like “look, I’m going to send you a bull”

and Minos just blinks and says “a bull” and Poseidon nods and grins and says “yes, a bull” and Minos says “THAT’S bull” and Poseidon points behind him and says “no, THAT’S a bull” and then he brings out this fucking phenomenal bull. Like, this bull puts all other bulls to shame. It’s glowing white and it’s as big as two ordinary bulls and probably twice as virile. It’s basically overcompensation in taurine form. Anyway, this bull is so bitchin’ that immediately, all of Minos’ brothers are like “wow, nope, you can keep that throne, we don’t want Poseidon to sic his sick bull on us” and basically Minos lives happily ever after with his incredible bull.

Until eventually Poseidon shows up at Minos’ palace and says “hey, Minos, you know that really awesome bull I lent you a while back?” and Minos is like “what bull” and Poseidon is like “the magical snow white bull which gleamed in the Cretan sun like limestone and Apollo’s cheekbones” and Minos is like “oh, THAT bull” and Poseidon is like “yes, that bull, now where is it because I’m having a bull party next week and I really want it back” and Minos says “well, here’s the thing, and it’s kind of a funny story really and I’m sure we’ll laugh about it later, maybe we could even laugh about it now, ha, but anyway all jokes aside I’m keeping the bull” and Poseidon is all “like fuck you’re keeping that bull, it’s my best bull, this is bullshit” and Minos is like “that’s one of the hazards of keeping a bull, maybe you’re not cut out for it” and Poseidon says “you haven’t heard the end of this, Minos, you have made a very powerful and watery enemy” and he leaves and Minos goes and, like, pets the bull or something, I don’t know what you do with bulls.

So, Poseidon goes back to his soggy lair and formulates a plan, and he eventually comes up with something straight out of Quentin Tarantino’s brie-induced nightmares. He goes to find Aphrodite, the goddess of love and afternoon delight, and says “hey Aphrodite, first of all you look delectable and secondly I need you to help me make a woman bang a bull” and Aphrodite is like “I honestly hate this job sometimes, but you’re right, I do look delectable, tell me more” and Poseidon is like “I had this really sweet bull and I lent it to Minos so he would think I liked him and now he won’t give it back and so I need you to make his wife fall in love with the bull, it’s a foolproof vengeance plan” and Aphrodite says “you are a god” and Poseidon says “yes” and Aphrodite says “why can’t you just, you know, take back the bull with your divine power?” and Poseidon is like “look, are you going to make this woman fall in love with the bull or not” and Aphrodite is like “fuck yes, that sounds hilarious, consider it done and I want front row seats” and Poseidon is like “you are my favourite niece and occasional lover, I owe you one”

Back to the palace at Crete, where Minos’ wife, Pasiphaë, is lounging about on a contemporary equivalent to a chaise-lounge when she suddenly gets this unmistakable urge to do the do with a bull - but not just any bull, her loins quiver only for the bull in her husband’s barnyard. Instead of doing what most people would do when they realise they have an insatiable urge to make tender love to a bull and immediately committing herself to months of therapy, she thinks “I know what I have to do” and she picks up the contemporary equivalent of a phone and calls Daedalus, inventor and architect extraordinaire.

She’s all “hey, Daedalus, we have patient confidentiality, right?” and Daedalus is like “I’m not your doctor, so no” and she’s like “well, I’m your Queen, so how about you say ‘yes’ instead and I tell you what I want?” and Daedalus is like “my lips are sealed, tell me what you need” and she’s all “well, there’s this really rad guy and I totally want to just lay him down and lick chocolate sauce off his body, but there’s a hitch in my plan” and Daedalus says “yeah, you’re married” and Pasiphaë says “yes, and also he’s a bull” and Daedalus is like “do you mean he’s well hung or” and Pasiphaë is like “look man you gotta help me on this, I need me some sweet bullocking and only you can help me” and Daedalus says “I’ll do what I can, but I hope you have a damn good shower at your palace because I may need to use it for about 6 weeks afterwards” and she’s like “done, now get over here and get me some”

So Daedalus turns up and helps her, and in the blink of an eye, he’s built her this monstrous wooden cow suit. Now, the myth is not exactly clear on the mechanics of this bovine sex toy, but it’s established that Pasiphaë gets into the cow suit and goes to find her bullock beau and they make sweet, sweet cattle love all day and all night. I do not know how she manoeuvres herself inside this wooden furry abomination and frankly I do not want to know, but whatever she does is 100% successful because 9 months later she gives birth to another furry abomination. The good news is that he’s a healthy, bouncing baby boy. The bad news is that he is half baby and half bull and also he has this really annoying habit that most newborns don’t have of eating people, which means that Minos is the definition of Not Impressed with his new stepson, so he does what any sane human would do in this situation, and he calls Daedalus. 

Daedalus says “I’m in the shower, what do you want?” and Minos is like “look, my wife has committed a slight indiscretion and I need you to take care of the result” and Daedalus is like “she fucked a bull and she’s had a grotesque hybrid baby, hasn’t she” and Minos narrows his eyes and says “how do you know?” and Daedalus says “just a stab in the dark, mate, I had no hand in this at all, literally none, just let me wash my hands a minute and I’ll be right back” and Minos is like “just build something to trap that devil spawn, because it’s started to eat my servants and I never even wanted a stepson anyway, it’s just one more claim to the throne isn’t it” and Daedalus is like “dude, give me a week and it’ll be done”

and so Daedalus constructs this impenetrable labyrinth that’s so impregnable that Daedalus nearly gets lost on the way out, and they lob the minotaur tot right into the middle of it, and that’s that.

Except then the minotaur starts demanding the sacrifice of seven young men every year, who are tossed into the labyrinth and forced to play a fatal game of cat and mouse with a grotesque superpowered man-bull creature that will ultimately devour them, flesh from bone, at the heart of a labyrinth that only he can navigate, but that’s a story for another myth. Or The Maze, starring Dylan O’Brien, out in a multiplex near you.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I need the story of the Underground Shakespearian Ring

Okay, so the school I went to for 9th grade had this really bizarre grading setup that I still don’t understand- for some reason, instead of the teachers writing up and grading tests and exams and the like, all the work was sent to an unknown third party for them to grade??? It made no sense.

Now, for the most part, the school had decent teachers, and they would just teach the curriculum correctly and then you wouldn’t run into problems with the grading. My English teacher was not one of those teachers.

So like, she hated me pretty early on- she was my homeroom teacher and thought it was disrespectful that I slept in homeroom in the mornings (I was on sleeping pills and they never wore off completely until around 10am), I never had the vocab homework in on time (someone kept breaking into my locker and stealing my vocab books I had to buy a new one like five times), she thought it was “inherently pessimistic and stuck up” when she caught me reading a book called ‘Ninth Grade Slays’ (it was about vampires, not her?), and during our Greek Mythology unit I kept correcting her about the name pronunciations of the gods (she pronounced Hephaestus as Hepatitis one time holy shit). 

Anyway, her feelings on me aside, her teaching skills were shoddy at best. But I had had way worse teachers, so had the rest of the class, and Greek myths are pretty straight-up in what’s going on, so no one really had trouble with the third-party tests.

Then we get to the Romeo and Juliet unit.

Now, fun fact: Shakespeare has always come pretty easily to me. Like, to the point where I sometimes forget/fail to understand that other people have an incredibly hard time translating his works. (I told this whole story to my friends in the school I went to for 10th/11th/12th grade and when the drama department put on ‘Midsummers Night Dream’ one year, more than half the cast tried to get me to translate their scripts and monologues for them lmao).

So, anyway, I’m just a girl, reading Romeo and Juliet and digging how it’s going…and then the teacher starts ‘translating’ it.

Um.

I cannot sift through all the bullshit this woman was spewing, but let’s just say that my favorite part is during Romeo’s spew about Rosaline, there’s one part where he says something like ‘with cupid’s arrow/she hath diane’s will’, and the teacher was taking this to mean Rosaline was a Super Lesbian who was breaking the law or something and running away with her lover Diane, which would be a rad storyline, sure, but like…I’m just raising my hand like “Um Ma’am, Diana is the Roman goddess of chastity. What Romeo meant is that she told him she’s sworn off love and is probably becoming a nun?” and this woman just got. So angry. Like, excuse me, you are a student, you’re here to learn, so you clearly don’t know anything about this (I read Romeo and Juliet for the first time in like preschool whoops). Anyway, she continues on making up her own plot to the play, and I…well I was basically Hermione Fucking Granger at this point I couldn’t just sit there and listen to someone be this wrong about something omfg??? She just got angrier and angrier and stopped calling on me after a while.

So for a couple lessons I’m just left to seethe quietly, but one day after class this girl I knew since grade school came up to me and was like “Could you…? Tell me what the hell we’re supposed to be learning?” and I didn’t even like her but I liked the validation of being someone’s Chosen Teacher so I wrote out a summary for her of everything we had covered so far so she could actually write a comprehendible essay for our homework that night.

But THEN the during the class when we got our essays back, she made a HUGE DEAL, like ‘oh Molly, it wasn’t bad enough that you’ve been failing this course material, now you have to drag your friends into it by trying to re-write the play?’ (l m a o). Like this bitch had literally tried to fight me on ‘Paris is the guy Juliet’s father wants her to marry’ and she didn’t even put a grade on my essay where I said the play only ended in tragedy because of how young and naïve the kids were, that if they had taken a breather and thought things through it probably would’ve been fine (it was a damn good essay and I stand by it). But anyway, she’s trying to make me out to my classmate’s as someone who’s trying to sabotage their education for laughs.

This backfired on her.

See, it dawned on people one by one, that she was only teaching the wrong material -> so they wouldn’t know the right material -> so when they eventually would take the exams they would only have her crazy answers -> which the third party graders wouldn’t know about -> everyone fails this course that’s like half the overall grade of the year.

Most students consider that a problem.

So suddenly the class has decided I’m the fucking Shakespeare Whisperer or something, and one by one start begging me for help. At first I was confused, because as I said, it’s so easy for me that I didn’t realize literally the entire class was lost out of their asses here. omfg. So I was really getting hassled here but I didn’t want my entire class to fail you know???? So I started meeting with people during study halls or texting them after school so they knew what was going on. And then they started telling people in this teacher’s other classes, including upperclassmen who were lost as fuck, so this was quickly spiraling out of control on my end, but overall people were really starting to understand the plays better!! So I was feeling really great.

But then, the teacher noticed that none of the homework getting handed in to her matched up with her crazy translations, and knew I was the sole person to blame (naturally). She literally tried to get me suspended over this, she went to the school’s disciplinarian!

Note: This guy, Mr. C, knew I was a God damn angel- my science class was off the charts, inappropriately awful, so every time one of our science teacher’s wanted to give the entire class detention, instead of calling Mr. C up to the class room as was the rule, they’d send me down to get him so he’d know to write up every student except for me. So when my English teacher dragged me in there he was looking her like “What on Earth could this girl have possibly done to piss you off?” 😂😂

And when she explained he looked at her for a very long moment, glanced at me with a signature ‘Office’ Reaction Face™ , turned back to her and was like “You want her suspended…for starting a study group?” and I was CHOKING.

So that really pissed her off and they started fighting and this was a very overworked and Done man so at some point he gave up and was like “I’m not suspending her but fine we can put a ban on the study group if you leave my office” omfg. So all the other students get notified and now they’re back to freaking out about the upcoming exams.

So like two days later, I’m at lunch, complaining about this to one of my friends who had a different English teacher and thus no problem, and I’m on this whole angry rant (Because I’m pissed, a bunch of kid’s grades are gonna get fucked up because of this! They just wanted to do well! I just wanted to help them!) and my friends staring at me quietly the whole time and when I finish I’m like “What?” and she’s just like “…Molly did you literally start up Dumbledore’s Army in our fucking school?” and I died on scene.

But then I started thinking about the comparison and I was like? You know fucking what? If Harry Potter can get those kids to pass their fucking DADA test I can help kids pass their fucking English Exam. Bring it the fuck on, Umbridge.

So I started Spreading The Word that anyone who needs help with their Shakespeare course can still get help, we just all need to meet up once to hash out the details. After some back and forth notes and deliberations, we ended up meeting in the school library, which was hilarious for a few reasons:

1) It was directly across the hall from this teacher’s classroom.

2) It was actually a converted janitors closet, way smaller than all the other classrooms, and there were like 50 people shoved in there; Not exactly an ideal Room of Requirement

3) The library carried no Shakespeare texts, but had the entire Harry Potter series on display to see when you first walked in

But anyway, despite the fact that we were literally three feet away from her door while we were doing this, our teacher was none the wiser of the meeting. We worked out a game plan- everyone writes out bullshit essays that align with what the teacher’s expecting. After she grades those and gives them back, they get them to me- slipping them in my locker, handing it to me discreetly in the halls or in another class, what have you. I then try to power through the dizzying amount of confusion radiating out of the teacher’s mouth and onto these papers, and more or less write out better translation of what was going on in whatever scene they covered, what the highlights they needed to know were, stuff like that, and then slip it back to them in similar discreet fashion (so the teacher/disciplinarian wouldn’t see me and get suspicious ; also because I was like 15 and wanted to feel like a super cool secret agent). They would then keep my copies and use them as study guides for the upcoming exams, where they would then answer all the questions correctly, the way the third party graders would mark correctly, and pass the exams + the bullshit essays would get them high marks in the teacher’s homework grades. The teacher never caught on to what was happening, just thought her students finally started paying attention to her.

All in all, it was a complicated mess, but it fucking worked. I don’t think anyone failed their exams that year. Will I ever be cooler? No. I think I fucking peaked when I was 15.

Horizon Zero Dawn and Cultural appropriation: A very different view.

For the first time EVER, I’m sitting on the other side of a discussion about appropriating native culture.  Why?  Well, let me lay the framework.

First off, I’m not a guy who “knows a Native American” or has a “Native friend”  I am a 100% Anishinabe (Ojibway) dude who lives on reserve and has fought racism, stereotypes, pan-Indianism, and cultural appropriation fiercely for as long as I can remember. I’ve been the victim of horrendous racial violence as a child, adolescent, and adult, and I’m also a gamer.

I am the first to point out anything that smacks of any of the above and after I saw the Dia Lacina essay on “Horizon: Zero Dawn” being culturally insensitive and appropriating Native culture, I felt for the first time in a situation like this that I had to say something in rebuttal.

Lacina takes issue with the use of the words Tribal, Primitive, Braves, and Savage being used in the game (fyi they’re used to describe predominantly white people in game and they’re White words we didn’t use to describe ourselves thus I claim no ownership of, nor want to, anymore than I want to be a redskin, Indian or Wahoo)  

It seems (IMO) that most of her beef comes from an apparent belief that numerous aspects of generic tribal culture that appear in the game (making clothing from skins, hunting with spears and bows, living in a Matriarchal society, etc) are the sole domain of the Native American and just to be safe and cleverly keep her POV less subject to scrutiny, she applies it even more broadly to indigenous people world wide (I will just refer to us in particular as NA cuz I’m lazy and I also don’t refer to myself as a Native American) and basically that anything that is remotely “tribal” shouldn’t be used in gaming without our or someone else’s permission.

 In fairness, I don’t know if she’s actually played the game but as someone who is currently in the midst of doing exactly that, I can tell you that I have a pretty good idea of what stuff triggered her being upset and why, and while I absolutely respect her right to get offended by whatever she likes, and she makes excellent points about some other games, I am going to point out that there are flaws with this logic.

First of all, the basics: HZD is set in a post-post-apocalyptic future where people are living in tribal groups in a very destroyed world.  Machines exist but as hybrid animal/dinosaur type creatures and technology is pretty much non-existent in day to day human life.  

The heroine of the story is a red haired, white girl named Aloy who lives as an outcast with her adopted father, Rost.  Without giving a lot away, they are fiercely shunned by the local tribe for something Rost did and also the fact that Aloy is motherless.  

Impressively and rightly, though somewhat dismissively remarked upon by Lacina, is the way women and especially women of color are portrayed so positively in-game as this particular tribe is a total Matriarchy run by elders of various ethnicity.  African, Asian, White, and a variety of undefined people of color are common everywhere in the game.  (The leader of one band of warriors is a very fierce, commanding, intelligently portrayed black woman with a powerful presence.)  It reflects a fairly global society from a “skin color” perspective without any horrible accents or broken speech.

They worship an “All-Mother” goddess and their culture is (at least how I saw a lot of it) fairly heavy on European i.e. Celtic, Germanic, Scandinavian, etc type symbolism and the rest is filled in with mostly generic tribal-ish stuff that you could find in countless cultures around the world.

 I really didn’t get a “Native American” vibe off the game.  Of course, I don’t automatically presume to claim sole ownership of things like tribal life, hunting with bows and spears, and worshiping spirits of various elements solely for my own.  Random fact: Because there are over 500 distinct First Nations in N. America, we, believe it or not, didn’t all ride horses, live in tipis, use bows and arrows, tobacco and sage, and worship Eagles and Wolves.  Why? Well…use your brain.  Tobacco and Sage don’t grow EVERYWHERE, horses came over with the Europeans (and if you saw where I live you couldn’t have and cant for the most part get a horse through the bush if you tried) Eagles and Wolves don’t live EVERYWHERE….get the point?  Anyways….

If you examine Rost, he like most of the men has a braided beard and other seemingly Viking/Middle Ages inspired features, is white, speaks clear, unbroken English, and is a loving, protective and very positive role model for the girl.   Aloy for her part, is also fairly Viking-esque (to the point of looking incredibly like Lagaertha from the show Vikings but with red hair) also Egrit from GoT, and is no damsel in distress who needs men to save her. NOWHERE in the game have I encountered any Tipis, wigwams, Sweatlodges, or Non-White people speaking in stereotypical “Me smoke-um peace pipe, He go dat-a way” fashion.

The  opening cinematic is very touching (and long) as we see the orphaned Aloy as a baby in Rost’s care being carried around in a bundle on his back (which pretty much every culture did in one form or another at some point in time) and him ultimately taking her to the spot where a child of the tribe receives it’s name.

I really liked this idea as it isn’t often portrayed in a lot of mediums outside of stereotypical “Dances With Wolves” bullshit. Also, naming ceremonies are not the sole domain of NA people and what occurs bears zero resemblance to any NA ceremony I know of.  (It was actually a little Lion King at one point lol) But it’s a powerful moment in the beginning with much more that occurs during it but I won’t spoil that either.

Aloy herself is a pretty complex character.  She’s extremely independent, defiant, and questions pretty much everything about why things are the way they are and wants to do something about it.  You actually begin playing her as a 6 year old which is pretty unique and even then she’s tough and fearless and determined to explore her world.  

She is in no way hyper-sexualized (I’m looking your way Overwatch) Her clothing and everyone else’s, is utilitarian and appropriate for the environments she lives in, and so far, I have not encountered anything with her or any other character that made me go “WTF?”and trust me, my radar for that shit is HIGHLY SENSITIVE.  This isn’t Avatar, people.  It’s not John Smith. It’s not The Great Wall or Pocahontas.  This isn’t white dude shows up and saves the helpless non-white people while helpless native woman falls in love with him stuff.  It’s a fictitious future where we maniacs blew it up, damn us all to hell!

But here’s the more annoying thing for me as an actual Anishinabe.  I don’t need people speaking for me or getting offended on my behalf.  I am very capable of doing that myself. I am also in no way writing this claiming to be speaking for any other NA people or persons. It’s based on my observations from actually playing HZD and examining the various fictional “cultural” elements in the game.

If you see a skin tied inside a hoop and automatically assume it’s a dreamcatcher” ripping off “our culture” (FYI Dreamcatchers are a 20th century thing whose popularity was a result of pan-Indianism that exploded in the 70s.) or if you see feathers on a spear or as part of a costume (nowhere is anyone wearing a single eagle feather in the back of a beaded headband or a Dakota looking headdress either) and automatically presume it to be ripping off NA culture, you’re REEEEEEEEEEALY reaching.  If you think caring for the environment, obeying matriarchs, worshipping elemental spirits, or making your own clothes is solely the property of NA culture, see previous statement.

By all means get offended.  Get offended by Chief Wahoo.  Get offended by the Washington Redskins.  Get offended that thousands of Native women have been murdered or gone missing and nothing’s been done about it.  Get offended by Johnny Depp or Robert Beltran playing Native people instead of actual Native people getting those roles.  Get offended by shit like Adam Sandler’s “Ridiculous 6” where a native woman is called a “hot piece of red prairie meat” or Depp’s “Lone Ranger” movie.

Get offended that my family was destroyed by the Residential Schools and that the 60s scoop took babies away from their families and people, that forced sterilizations took place and mass graves of dead Native children exist at former Residential School sites.

Don’t just jump on the I’m offended bandwagon because you saw some feathers or skins or spears or bows in a game and immediately grew indignant and wanted to claim them as OUR culture.  They’re not.  They’re almost globally universal in numerous cultures at various points in time.  Get offended, as she rightly mentioned, when the game Overwatch sexualizes the shit out of almost every female character and takes West Coast tribal art and makes a costume out of it.  

THAT is appropriation.  White people holding powwows in Europe (powwows are also pretty much not traditional and are extremely pan-Indian, not to mention full of us appropriating each other’s Native cultures ie. Dakotas wearing Jingle Dresses, Ojibway wearing Dakota regalia, etc) is appropriation.

This game……I’m just not seeing it the same way.  And I’m nobody.  I have no ties to Guerilla or anybody other than myself and my community.

Homestuck Beach Headcanons

John: hot sand hot sand hot sand *makes it to the water* cold water cold water cold water (this goes on for like an hour before he settles finally). Brought one of those fake shark fins and straps it to the top of his head. He fools no one. Brought approximately 53 kites and loses All of them because Dave said “hey I bet your kites can’t hold up against your windy thing”. He was right. Tells Karkat that the ocean speaks to ppl through conch shells, he holds one up to his ear, nods, “sorry Karkat, the ocean says you’re an idiot”. Karkat is horrified and John is dying trying to keep a straight face.

Dave: has a SBAHJ swimsuit and a SBAHJ surfboard. Challenges Jade to a surf-off. “Are you sure, Dave? I’ve had a lot of practice and it’s not as easy as it looks! I’ve got it, Dave reassures her. How difficult can it be. She warned u, bro. She warned u about the surf. He does not get back in the water. Fills a bucket with crabs of various shapes and sizes throughout the day, at the end he calls Karkat over to where he’s standing by the waters edge. Hey. Hey Karkat. Look what I found. He pours the crabs out at Karkat’s feet. Karkat looks unsettled. Dave. Where did you even find all these crabs Dave. They’re your children Karkat. I did this for you.

Jade: spends the whole day in the water and also she is a surf goddess did I mention that? Doesn’t put any sunscreen in and everyone is concerned but she barely even tans. After getting out of the water she does the Wet Doggo Shake™ Jade can u pls just warn us before u do that pls you’re getting us all soaking wet. Smells suspiciously like wet dog but everyone is too polite to point it out. Helps Dave collect his crabs bc she has an uncanny knack for finding them (she’s sniffing them out with her doggy nose but doesn’t tell Dave bc she wants to show off).

Rose: builds sand castles with Kanaya bc Kanaya is deadass terrified of the ocean. They surpass sandcastle tbh it’s more like a sand palace. Rose found a bunch of nice purpley shells to decorate with and also some rocks that look suspiciously arcane and vaguely powerful. High tide somehow wipes out the group’s chairs but doesn’t touch the sandcastle. Hm. Chastises Dave for building dicks out of the sand. Is there something you’d like to tell us, Dave? *Dave sweating* what’s a penis I don’t even know anyone named Karkat. Rose smiles innocently. Of course not. Throughout the day, Rose brings water for Kanaya to drink and also to dump on her so she can regulate her body temperature. Since she’s a cold-blood her body temp is lower so she overheats v easily.

Kanaya: is deadass terrified of the ocean. Does the detail work on the castle she and Rose are making, carves out little stairs and turrets and makes flags out of spare ribbon she keeps in her bag. It’s beautiful. She cries at the end of the day when they have to leave it even though they’ve taken lots of pictures. . Karkat comes up to her with a conch shell and holds it out to Kanaya, “john told me the ocean said I was an idiot Kanaya what is it saying I can’t hear anything” She takes the conch shell and listens. Mmhm. Yes. Oh My. “What did it say???” It Was Really Quite Rude, I Shouldn’t Repeat It. Karkat is about to cry. Kanaya and Rose secretly fist bump.

Karkat: oh boy this has really been A Day for him. He’s nervous around the ocean already but apparently it thinks he’s an idiot??? He loves the crabs they remind him of his lusus, it was slightly horrifying that Dave put a bunch of them in a bucket for obvious reasons. Wants to be buried in the sand, Jake helps him dig a big hole and he and Dave and Dirk all work together to make it big enough and fill it in afterwards. Dave writes “im gay” underneath Karkat’s head poking out and Karkat yells at him for taking pictures. Sollux falls asleep on his towel and Karkat writes “beefucker” on his forehead.

Terezi: before they got there everyone told Terezi not to lick the sand. Guess what she did. Also, accidentally popped the beach ball with her teeth because she was licking it. There’s a theme here can u find it. Is in the water a lot because Vriska is desperately trying to regulate her body temperature and has v little energy to say mean things which everyone is grateful for. To make her feel better, Terezi engages in wildly uncreative insults that Vriska can easily latch onto without having to put much energy in. “Hey Terezi is the water cold?” I don’t know john, is your FACE cold? “Terezi that doesn’t even make any sense”, your face doesn’t make any sense! She cackles as if this is some High Brow Humor every single time.

Jake: has an irrational fear of seagulls, they keep coming for his food and that makes him nervous because the monsters on his island were one thing but this? This sly and wily creature? Dirk is like,,,buddy,,,it’s just a seagull? It’s just a bird? “They’re eating my fries, Dirk, I won’t stand for it!” Jake has a little ukulele that he knows like five songs on, he sits outside by the boardwalk and just strums it sometimes after dark. One night, two little kids come by and give him 6 dollars in crumpled singles for his playing and he started crying he was so touched.

Jane: is having the TIME of her life, and is also the Mom friend. She’s simultaneously kicking ass at beach volleyball and reminding everyone to put on their sunscreen and reapply every two hours please! She’s also having a good time experimenting with cooking seafood some nights, though once she made the mistake of bringing in crab and Karkat did Not take it well. It took an hour to calm him down. Jane felt awful and made it up to him by buying him a nice hoodie w a happy crab on it. Bought a cute little blue boogie board and hangs out with Jade and Roxy in the water, she’s not very good at it but she likes swimming around a little.

Dirk: he’s that one friend that goes way too hard in casual games tbh. Like, they’re just playing a friendly game of volleyball Dirk can you please stop spiking it every five seconds. The grind never stops, Roxy, don’t hate the player hate the grind. Jane looked at him w so much disappointment in her eyes after he said it that he felt the force of her stare physically and had to take a step back. Tries to show Jake that seagulls aren’t scary by feeding them, but they start attacking him for his fries which does not help prove his point at all.

Roxy: “the babe” Lalonde has been ready for a beach trip her entire life. She is checking out the lifeguards, she’s checking out the other gals and dudes strolling about the beach, she’s got her best friends with her, what more could she want??? She buys a cutesy pink surfboard and Dave makes fun of her for it and she smiles sweetly. Oh sorry Dave? I forgot you were so good at surfing?? No one knows how or when Roxy learned to hang ten but THERE SHE GOES. She finds a lot of pretty shells and rocks and sand dollars and is just enthusiastic about everything tbh. She brightens everyone’s mood always.

Calliope: cherubs can’t float so Roxy’s overprotective ass won’t let her near the water unless someone is with her and making sure she’s safe. This is Fine with calliope bc that means that she’s never alone and therefore she’s never lonely and really that’s all she’s ever wanted so!! She’s v content to watch Jade and Roxy surf, she will sit w Jane sometimes when she isn’t in the water. She also likes digging for sand crabs with Karkat bc she likes their little legs. She wants to dig deep enough to find a lobster and no one has the heart to tell her that’s not how it works.

Sollux: this idiot. This boy. My sweet sweet son. Makes the horrible mistake of falling asleep on his towel. He was underneath the big umbrella when he started, but as the sun moves and he’s not putting on more sunscreen?? John, Dave, and Karkat take it upon themselves to not only write “beefucker” on his forehead, but also draw dicks on his whole body in sunscreen so he burns (trolls turn a darker shade of their blood color) and ends up with these pale gray dicks surrounded by a horrible dark, mustardy burn.

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

2

A/N: Request from anon. A lot of depression and angst here but I’d say it’s fluffy too. It worked well with that idea I had in mind, so without further ado… enjoy!

Words: 1662
Warnings: angst, depression

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Nectar of The Goddess

Originally posted by stylesinthewild

@permanentcross I told you it was coming soon, hopefully this will make a good little miniseries

“Bet yah taste sweet,” He purred in her ear before cleaning off one of his fingers and letting out a groan of his own. “Oh yah do love, best thing ‘ve ever tasted. Even better than those drinks yah make me. Although, guess it should be huh, after all it’s the nectar o’ the goddess. Why don’ yah go head and taste it.”

He held his other finger to her lips and Y/N seized the opportunity she saw. Her lips closed around his finger and she sucked firmly, running her tongue around it as she rocked her head back and forth slightly. Harry knew that if he fucked her right now that he was going to climax way too quickly, he had to prep her more, needed to get her all ready for his cock and build up her orgasm.

“Want to truly taste yah love. Got to taste the nectar o’ the goddess from the source.”

or

Y/N is a bartender who makes all sorts of drinks for Harry, but Harry’s favorite drink is Y/N’s juices

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Flowers and Inks

Prompt: “I work at a flower shop and you’re a tattoo artist from across the street and you always come in here to practice drawing flowers and you’re really hot” AU by @aesocias.

Word Count: About 3,900.

Warning(s): Swearing, cheesy flower symbolism, all the fluff.

Author’s Note: Modern AU; Sirius Black x Reader. I’m just going to admit that this isn’t my best work and I’m sorry. But I hope you enjoy, nonetheless! Working on a Remus one next. :)

MASTERLIST

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anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

She's Not You | TOM HOLLAND X READER

Description: In which the reader, in an effort to get over her crush on Tom, decides to set him up but for some reason none of the girls ever get a second date. Tom’s problem is that the one girl he wants to go out with seems to be hell bent on setting him up with someone else.

Author’s Note: I’m back hoes what’s good? I’m pretty proud of how this turned out and I hope you liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Inspiration for this fic came from something I read a while ago and last night it popped into my mind for some reason so yea now there’s this. Anyway, let me know what you think!

Word Count: 2219

FANFICTION MASTERLIST



“So?” I prodded Tom, dragging out the o’s as long as possible. We were in his dressing closet after a long day of filming as he took out his regular clothes at a snail’s pace. You’d think since he’s somewhat of an athlete he’s be a quick changer but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

Tom took out a pair of jeans and threw them on a nearby chair. “So what?” he asked not looking at me.

I threw my head back with a groan, he knew exactly what I was going to ask him. It was the same question I always asked him every time I set him up with a new girl. Each week I’d find a girl who would go on a date with Tom, which wasn’t that much of a challenge, and each week he’d take the girl to dinner.

The only problem was that none of these girls ever got a second date. Not a single one and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.  I like to think I know Tom pretty well so I’m always surprised when the girls I think he’ll really like never get a second date.

“How was your date with Quinn?” I asked, eager to hear what he thought of her. This is the same question I’d ask every week with another girl’s name. I was hoping that Tom would say he liked her and that he would be taking her out again but-

“It was fine,” Tom answered pulling out a t shirt and shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

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Touch of Your Love

 Hey guys! This is an imagine based on this textpost: “when his hands are so nice u just want him to put his fingers in your mouth.” When I saw it, I was like…. me @ Tom…? Basically, it’s as smutty and fluffy as they come, so I hope y'all like it!

Touch of Your Love

She loved his hands because they always engulfed her own.

She loved his hands because they were always warm, but never sweaty, or ever cold.

She loved his hands because they would always be there to guide her to safety.

She loved Tom’s hands because of all the things they did to her in the vehemence of their everlasting moments together.

They would wind themselves like vines against her skull, softly aiding her to wherever he wanted her the most. Sometimes, if Tom couldn’t wait, they’d hold her down against his touch while he worked his fingers, tongue, or hips against her.

Pressing her legs together, she cursed herself for thinking of Tom’s hands when she should be focusing on her professor’s lecture.

There was an in-class discussion occurring about Tennessee Williams’s play, ‘A Streetcar Named Desire,’ which happened to be one of her favorite plays, but she just couldn’t get Tom’s hands, and everything she’d like them to do to her, out of her head.

Her mind wandered to their morning together.

Whenever he was in town, they’d always stay together, no matter what the two had going on individually the next day.

Tom awoke earlier than she did, even though he didn’t need to be up yet because he had a rare free day from work, and he’d turned off her alarm and instead kissed her awake.

After he’d managed to untangle her from him, Tom had gently pushed her hair from the nape of her neck to pepper it with kisses. Then, he pressed hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down her body, and over the sweater she’d stolen from him to wear bed.

Stirring slightly, she shifted in bed, causing the fabric of the sweater to reveal her midriff. Tom thanked the goddess of love for this blissful opportunity, and began trailing his fingers up and down her body.

She moaned in her sleep and Tom smirked, cracking his knuckles.

He dipped his calloused fingers into the sweet, pink panties she wore and tapped his forefinger against her clit, moving his mouth up to tease her neck with warm licks and kisses.

“Wake up darling,” his voice rasped against the base of her throat.

She awoke, wide-eyes and wet, with Tom’s untamed curls tickling her collarbones and Tom’s fingers preparing to curl inside her.

“Look at you, so lovely and ethereal.” Tom meant it too. He just couldn’t wrap his brain around how she always managed to look like an unearthly, delicate fairy when she awoke, while he resembled an exhausted bear. “Let me give you something to think about while you’re in class.”

Barely rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she burrowed her head back into her pillow and whined.

Tom didn’t make any move to further her pleasure, instead he propped himself up on one elbow to observe her clearer.

Wiggling her hips around, she tried to make Tom understand that she so desperately wanted him to give her something to think about in class.

“You know what I need.” Tom said.

She knew that Tom was waiting for her consent to go further, just as he always did. He always wanted to make sure that she was okay with what they were doing, so he always gave her time to agree or disagree.

“Please Tom,” she finally breathed out, curling her own tiny hand around his wrist.

With that, Tom moved in to kiss her, dragging her off the pillows, so that she’d be closer to where he needed her to be.

Her hair had fanned out around her head in an oh-so-fitting halo, Tom thought.

His mouth pressed urgently against her soft lips and his hands pushed her underwear down and she kicked them off the bed.

Tom hitched one of her legs around his waist, and cradled her hips to his own, his morning wood pushing against the warmth of her center.

Bringing a hand up to his mouth, he sucked three fingers into his mouth to slick them with saliva. She could’ve moaned at the sight.

Tom snuck his fingers back down to where she ached for him, and he pressed one against her clit.

“Fuck,” Tom groaned, doing his best to maintain his cool, “you’re fucking drenched for me. Did you wake up with this in mind, sweet girl?”

Her eyes rolled back when Tom slid a finger inside of her, doing his best to help her prepare for his others.

“Dreamt about you last night sweetheart. You were on this bed, lingerie and heels, all for me. Said you’d been a fucking bad girl and needed a punishment, so I had to drag you over my knee and spank you till your ass was cherry red.” Tom knew she loved being talked to in bed.

Tom couldn’t figure out why, but she was still shy and a little uncertain of herself when she was with him, and it made her feel better, and less embarrassed, to know how badly Tom wanted her too.

He rubbed the palm of his hand against her clit and used his other hand to press her bucking hips back down onto the bed.

Tom guided another finger into her and she gasped his name.

“And then I wake up, and see you looking like a fucking angel, all curled up against my chest, and it was too much, darling. I could feel you breathing, and hear you gasping in your sleep. And then I thought, I gotta fucking have you before you go to class, you’re too much, baby.”

Her thighs squeezed him closer to her and she kissed him, ever so softly, on the throat, her hands guiding themselves up to the nape of his neck.

Tom could tell that she was close, she always held onto him when she came.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you angel? Let me see you cum, darling, I need something think about after you’ve gone too. Come on, darling, let me see you finish.” Tom curled his finger inside her and mercilessly rubbed her clit.

She screamed and tried uselessly to lift her hips off the bed to force his fingers to delve deeper inside of her.

“Tom, please, please please.” Her eyes were fluttering, unable to stay open because she was too focused on Tom’s hands.

“What is it, m’love? Want another? Ask me politely and I’ll give it to you. You know that I’d give you everything, you just need to ask.” Tom kissed her lips and used the hand on her hips to trace hearts on her bare skin.

“Tom,” she was barely breathing, “please, I need another one.” She tried to shift her hips up to meet his hand, but Tom only smirked and held her down firmer.

“Of course, darling. All you had to do was ask.” And with that, Tom slid in another finger and began to use his thumb to draw the words, ‘I love you,’ on her clit and he wanted her shake, and moan, and grip his shoulders.

“Cum, my sweet girl, you’re alright, I’m here. Cum.” Tom ordered, and with that, she did.

Her legs shaking, and her body trembling, and countless ‘I love yous’ fell freely from her lips.

Tom wished that there was some way to bottle up those words, so that he could hear them, breathed into his ear whenever he wished.

He held her close and rubbed her back while she recovered from her early morning orgasm, and he counted each freckle that painted her skin.

“Wanna help me clean up?” Tom asked, bringing the hand that she’d gushed all over, up to her lips.

She tipped her head back opened her mouth, clearly understanding what Tom meant, and he dipped his fingers into the wet confines of her mouth.

Her lips closed behind his hand as she sucked and licked his fingers clean of her.

“Holy fuck,” Tom groaned, rubbing himself through his boxers.

She released him with a pop and Tom hurled himself at her, winding his hands into her hair as her pulled her on top of him.

Sitting so she straddled his lap, she smiled at him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Tom murmured, looking up at her and lovingly stroking her thighs. “Go on and get ready, or else I won’t be able to let you leave.”

She clamored from his lap with shakey legs and crossed to the bathroom to begin her morning routine.

Tom laid back in bed, tugging at himself softly while she pranced around the room, removing shirt after shirt, before finally cheekily smiling at him over her shoulder as she settled on one of his sweaters.

He removed his hand from his pants and walked to the door to kiss her goodbye, promising to pick her up for lunch after school.

As she walked to her friend’s waiting car, she looked back and blew him a kiss before rushing to the vehicle.

When Tom had finally seen her off, he leaned up against the door and jacked himself so hard that when he came, he shouted her name.

Little did he know, that now, in her lecture, all she could think about was wrapping her pretty, pink lips around the length of his cock.

Truly, Madly, Crazy, Deeply

Writer - @damndescendants

Requested - @averagefangurl23 

Hi, I love your work so much so I decided to request an imagine.Could you write a Thomas Doherty imagine where the reader has been getting a lot of hate on social media and the Descendants cast notice she isn’t herself so they all try to cheer her up and Thomas is being all cute and sweet and the cast die over it as the reader and Thomas both like each other but both are scared to admit it. Just a like lot of fluff. If you could do this I would die

Disclaimer - I do not own any of Descendants’ characters and/or ideas all credit goes to the creator and producers of Disney Descendants

Pairing - Thomas Doherty x Reader

Summary – (Y/N) is one of the stars of Disney Descendants who is beginning to get backlash and the cast, including her crush Thomas Doherty, try to cheer her up. 

Warning(s) - people being mean (Play nice!), fluff

Originally posted by froyst

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Muse

Originally posted by sugutie

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst (it will contain smut in the next parts)

a/n: The story will have another part. So dont worry, im not cutting you off

Description:Jungkook is a  photography major in collaage. Every girl likes him yet he only has eyes for his camera, until he -even tho he hasnt realized it yet-  finds his muse.

Part1 Part 2  Part3

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anonymous asked:

Hello!! <3 Love your headcanons!! So could you do for rfa reacting MC drunk and not recognizing them? Like him trying to kiss her as always, but she walks away saying that she has a boyfriend and loves him? Lol Something like that..?? I think it would be cute and funny. haha >w< (Sorry for my bad english)

Your english isn’t bad, love. (who am I to judge, anyways?) 

Here it is! Hope you enjoy it! ^^


RFA with a drunk MC who can’t recognize them


Zen

  • You told him you were gonna be at this club and he should join you after work
  • So crowded! It would take so long to find you… oh, not really, there you are! You look so sexy dancing like no one is watching
  • But the thing is a lot of people, guys mostly, are watching. OH HELL NO!
  • “Hey, babe! I missed you!” he comes behind you holding your waist gently, and feels legitimately hurt when you pull away and nod negatively.
  • “Nah nah ni nah no, buddy! Not happening!” and you just… walk away! Why? IS he that late? He goes after you, noticing how much you’re bumping into other people…
  • “B-Babe? I’m sorry, I…” “I won’t say it twice, dude! I’m taken and you’ll back away if you know what’s good for you!” what? You’re not recognizing him? Maybe it’s the lights or the loud music?
  • Oh no, it’s not! He watches as you go the bar and look around squinting your eyes and frowning your nose, it’s so cuuuuttte! Also, it’s a very familiar sign that you’re very drunk, he knows that by now.
  • “Oh no… not you again!” “Hey, calm down! I’m… I won’t make any move, I’m just worried about you! Are you ok?” “I’m g-reat! Just waiting for MY REALLY STRONG, HOT AND FAMOUS BOYFRIEND THAT I LOOOVVVEE!” oh god… is it bad he thinks this is too charming?
  • “Oh… tell me more about him, then.” He manages to get close enough so nobody will try to approach you. “I’ll show you!” you pick your phone and scroll through all the pictures you’ve taken together.
  • “This is him during one of his musicals! This is him on his bike! This is him on piggy tails I did when he was sleeping! Isn’t he adorable?” he gags a little “Oh… I think… I think this wouldn’t be good for my… for HIS image, don’t you think?” “Nhaaa, this is just for fun! I won’t even show him! I care a lot about his image too, since I’mma be his manager one day, just you wait! “Oh,is that so?”
  • He convinces you to text your boyfriend, so he could answer he would be waiting you outside so you could take a cab. He doesn’t even mind your text makes no sense!
  •  “ZeeeNnNY! I missed you so much, you… should be proud of me! I acted all scary and made this guy back away! Are you proud, Zenny? Are you proud?” you shake him as you hug him when you go to him outside. “You have no idea how much, my princess.” He hugs you back
  • He hopes your hangover is not that bad tomorrow, as he really has some business matters to go over with you…

Yoosung

  • Although he’s the college student, you’re the one having the time of your life at this frat party.
  • He wasn’t that comfortable at first, but seeing you having so much fun made him loose it up a little
  • He’s wondering if the guys feel jealous when they see this goddess moving her hips so seductively and stopping all of a sudden to give him a little peck on the lips and a ‘boop’ to his nose…
  • But it’s been a while you’re not doing this anymore, you’re not even looking at him… you’re looking all around the place, except for him.
  • So he goes to you and touches your shoulder: “Are you okay, honey?” you look at him from head to toes and… turn your back on him. What?
  • “H-Honey! Did I do something wrong?” “Yeah, dude, you’re making a move on a girl who have a boyfriend!” “Well, yes… I’m the boyfriend!”
  • “Yeah, you wish, but sorry… it ain’t happening!” You scoff. He’s so shocked! Are you breaking up with him like this?
  • Oh, wait! He’d  seen your eyes like this before, you’re… drunk! Very drunk! Yes, your half-lidded tipsy eyes…  and you still manage to be beautiful…
  • “Hey, so uhm… are you Yoosung Kim’s girlfriend, by any chance?” “Yeah, why do you ask?” “Nothing, I recognized you from all the photos of you he shows, it’s… it’s nice to meet you in person! He talks a lot about you!” he tries to be friendly so you don’t run away.
  • “Pffffff, he showed photos of me? So embarrassiIIiiIng! I’ll tell him to stahp when I see him!” “Oh… Please don’t get mad! It’s just… just… he thinks you’re the most beautiful lady in the world, he… really really loves you… at least that’s what I heard from him.”
  • “Ahhhh, I can’t be mad at him!” you sigh dramatically. “He’s sOoOOOOOo amazing! And cool… and his hair is so badass, and we’re here just because I dragged him… and those cheeks nnnnnng” What about his cheeks? “I’ve gotta find my man!”
  •  “I.. I… s-saw him outside, next to the door, y-yes! Over there!” he needs to run before you get there, but he’s so flustered… well, that can wait!
  • “Yoosungiiiie! I’ve been looking all around for you!” you jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m sooooo sorry for dragging you here, next time we’ll stay at home and play LOLOL, pinky promise!” you tangle your pinky at his, seriously… how can you be so adorable? “Nah, I’m… I’m really having fun, MC!”
  • You two go home by foot and you keep snuggling at his arm the whole way. “Hey, MC?” “Hmmm?” “Do you… do you like my cheeks?” “Yep, especially on those jeans.”
  • It takes a while for him to get it, but when he does… he’s dead! Why would you talk about his butt to a stranger? I mean… it was him, but you didn’t know, yet it was him… should he get mad? Or embarrassed? Or…? Or…? ERROR

Jaehee

  • She meets you at the bar you two usually go together.
  • It isn’t that crowded but it is a little noisy, she’ll have to talk loud to get your attention.
  • “Hey, MC!” she greets. You look around frightened and look back to your drink… weird!
  • “MC?” she gets closer and touches your arm softly. “How… how do you know my name?” What? She looks at you, puzzled. “Anyway, I’m waiting for my girlfriend, don’t waste your time, lady!”
  • “Hum… MC, I’m…” “Stop stalking me, seriously, my girlfriend warned me about your type!” she’s still confused, but your face looks so funny, you are trying to look mad, but you can’t frown your eyebrows without blinking… so cute!
  • And by that she gets what’s  going on, that and the three martini glasses next to you…
  • “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just curious… where did you buy that dress?” “My girlfriend got me, it’s her favorite color in the whole wide worrlllld!” “I see…” she wants to laugh so much.
  • “Well, she must have a good taste!” “Yep, she used to walk around only on a dull suit because of her asshole former boss! He’s my friend, so I’m allowed to tell him he’s an asshole… actually, I… I should tell him right now!” you pick your phone.
  • “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea, miss…” “Shhh, he needs to know he can’t be an asshole to my cookie! She’s  a-ma-ZING!!! That potato needs to know that!” Cookie? Potato? You’re killing her with your drunk cuteness, but she can’t let you do something stupid!
  • “I… I’m sure your girlfriend already knows how amazing you think she is, you don’t really need to… tell other people!” “Ugh, that’s right! Why she doesn’t let everybody know how great she is? I shoudn’t be the only one to see it, y’ know? I’m… I’m a potato just like Jumin Han… I already told him that twice this week!” Forget that you’ve been drinking twice this week and calling Jumin to cuss him, what matters now is… YOU’RE POUTING! Oh my god, so adorable…
  • She can’t keep up with this anymore, she needs you to recognize her right now! So she walks away and calls you, telling she’s waiting for you outside to come home.
  • “Yay, Baehee is here!” you run to her and give her a sweet peck on the lips, she grabs your hand and leads you to the cab.
  • “So… MC, have you been talking to Jumin lately?” “Wh-Who? Me? Noooo, noe, maam’!” you are a terrible liar when you’re sober, just imagine when you’re drunk. She’ll make you apologize for being such a potato, but that can wait…

 

Jumin

  • “Jumyinh, I amm at this gui haus, but he is coooooooooooolll, don’t worry!” he tries to decode your text. Why are you texting him when you are under the same roof?
  • “Where are you, MC?” “@ his bathroom, it’s bigr than my house” what kind of joke is that? You were drinking wine with him a couple of minutes ago and excused yourself to go to the bathroom…
  • “look @ this soap! So funny!” you send him a blurred picture, oh… so that’s how it feels to get one of these! He gets it now!
  • He goes to the bathroom and knocks at the door. “I’m not opening! My boyfriend won’t like it!” and then his phone buzzes. “looks I been caught” and you send a selfie, it’s not blurred and he can see the huge blush on your cheeks, oh… you’re so drunk right now, aren’t you?
  • You call him, he answers a little reluctantly. “Yes, kitten?” you giggle “Jumin, this guy called me kitten too, but don’t worry! I told him to back off!”
  • “What could you possibly be talking about, MC?” “I don’t remember coming to this party, so I won’t let the bathroom until you come to pick me up! You… you can track me by… GP and S, right?” not even him believe he’s really laughing at this. “Yes, I’ll come to you, my love, just wait!”
  • He knocks at the door. “Are you okay… miss?” “Bro, I already told you! I have a boyfriend and we gonna marry soon!” “Oh, I see… did he propose to you?” “Not yet, but I found the ring on his closet!” uh oh… surprise ruined for both of you. “But I’ll look very surprised, cause I know the proposal is going to be suuuper special, like on a colorful hot air balloon or something like this…”
  • He opens the bathroom door and almost falls due to the way you jump at him, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I missed you so much! Is the party over?” “Yes, it is. Shall we go home so you can rest, my angel? Tomorrow will be a very busy day…” “Really? Why?” “Just wait and see.”
  • As soon as you doze off, he calls Jaehee telling there will be a change of plans, he needs to rent a hot air balloon asap!


Saeyoung

  • “Oh my God, Saeran! Don’t you have any respect for your brother’s girlfriend?”you got out for a couple of drinks with your friends and got back swearing the one standing in front of you is your brother-in-law, not your boyfriend!
  • “MC, it’s me! Look at my glasses!” “No! You two are not pulling this prank on me again! It didn’t work last time and it won’t work again now!” when you’re sober, you can tell who is who very easily, even when they change their outfits. But right now…
  • “MC, Saeran is sleeping right now!” “Well, MC thinks talking in the 3rd person is ridiculous!” Oh lord… shouldn’t he be recording this?
  • “Please, come with me, I’ll help you take a shower and put you to bed…” “Saeran! Would you really do that with your brother? No… no… you’re so nice, and he’s so nice! He doesn’t deserve this!” you look so shocked and disappointed, he’s feeling bad for you as if this was true.
  • “Saeyoung loves us both very much, Saeran. We can’t hurt him, NEVER! He deserves only happiness from now on! Seriously, I… I was going to say yes to moving in together,  but I won’t do it if this is how you’re gonna act around me!” wait! Are you serious?
  • “Oh… so you actually considered it?” “Yes… but I can’t do this if you keep hitting on me!” okay, joke’s over!
  • “I’m sorry, MC. Saeyoung told me if I acted like this, you would buy it, that idiot! But it’s impossible to trick you! I’ll… I’ll call him back, okay?” you sigh in relief, and it’s so cute!
  • He goes to the hallway yelling to Saeyoung to come out, turns around and goes back to you with a big smile, you smile back and open your arms, waiting for a hug. “Stop doing these silly pranks, what if one day I really mistake you two?” you ask over his shoulder
  • “Yes, I should start being more mature if you’re going to move in with us.” “I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet, Saeyoung!”
  • But you said yes during the shower you shared the next morning


You can see Saeran and V here ~

punsbulletsandpointythings  asked:

Your myth retellings are gorgeous. Would you tell another please? Maybe something with Hermes?

Pandora is made from earth, shaped by the hands of Hephaestus and made in the image of his beloved wife. Aphrodite gifts her with grace and charisma. Athena teaches her to weave and bestows cleverness upon her.

She stands in front of Hermes, and the god frowns and touches her with a single fingertip on her chin, moving her head one way than the other. “They’ll eat you alive,” he says, and she doesn’t understand.

She tilts her head to the side and smiles a vacant smile. All of the cleverness in the world will do her no good without any context. “We are the same,” she says, pressing a hand to Hermes’s chest. She is made from earth and has the skin to mach. He is a celestial god, and his skin is the same rich shade of brown.

He did not ask to be born any more than his mother asked to bare him. His creation, just like hers, is at the whims of Zeus. All for some little lost fire, all because Prometheus wanted his people to be warm, and, well, he is the god of the thieves after all –

So he gifts her with deceit, with selfishness, with cunning. Her smile leaves her face all at once as she’s filled with self-awareness. “He’ll be angry with you,” she says, “I am not what you were supposed to make.”

“Gods have short memories,” he says, and doesn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice. “Do not worry about me, gifted child. You have larger problems than my fate.”

He has turned her from something pure into – something more like him. Her face darkens even further as her perfectly crafted mind slots all the pieces together, and he can’t help but find her lovely. It’s how she was made, after all. “I can’t stop it, can I? Whatever they’re planning for me to do?”

“No,” Hermes says, “but now you might be able to survive it.”

“Will I want to?” she asks, and he doesn’t answer. She doesn’t expect him too.

~

She hides from everyone, lives in a cave at the edge of the city. The gods had called her the first woman, but that’s not true, she can see.

There are women. They smile and laugh have work roughened hands. She aches to join them, but she has the beauty of a goddess. They will know. If she joins them, they will know she is not of them, and it will set into motion whatever trap Zeus has planned.

She is not human, not in the same way, molded from clay by a god’s hands. But she is of humans, and not eager to bestow upon them the harm she’s destined to bring them. She bathes in streams where only nymphs reside, steals into the city in the cloak of night and pilfers from the baker’s trash.

“When they said they sent my brother a wife,” a low, amused voice says too close behind her one night, “I had not expected a begger.”

She whirls around, hard bread clenched tight in front of her, an incredibly inefficient shield. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees him, dark and tall and eyes like the night sky. He looks like Hermes. Like her. “Who are you?” she demands. They’re in an alley corner, and of her gifts flight is not among them. She’ll have to fight him to get away.

She’s not afraid of him. Maybe another mortal would be, cornered in the middle of the night by a man she doesn’t know. But she’s no normal mortal woman, and besides – he has something comforting about him, like the hearthfire attended by Hestia. Something warm.

“I am Prometheus,” says the man, and no wonder he reminds her of fire. “What do they call you?”

“You are meant to be in the deepest pits of Hades’s realm,” she snaps, and shifts her grip on the stale bread so that she can throw it at him. He’s the whole reason she’s here to begin with, him and his thievery.

He shrugs and walks closer to her, watching her like one would watch a wild animal. Good. Here, in this dark alley where no one would find a cooling body until morning, it is he that should be afraid. “Gods forget,” he says, “and Hades had grown cold in his place beneath the earth.”

She pauses, considers. “You stole fire for Hades?”

“No,” he corrects, “I stole fire for the people. But Hades benefited as well. Enough that he was willing to forget the terms of my punishment.”

“What do you want?” she asks for the second time. “Why are you here?”

He stops, too close to her, “The question is why are you here?”

She steps into his space now, following him as he backs away from her, “I am here because of you, fire-stealer, because gods may forget but they do not forgive, and I am the punishment they have unleashed upon the world.”

“What a punishment you are,” he says, looking at her lips, and she forgets to hate him only long enough to kiss him.

~

Hermes watches her, watches them. He doesn’t know Zeus’s plan, if this is part of it or not, but he watches her, and he worries. He thinks it is, he can see Aphrodite’s magic clinging to Pandora, but he doesn’t know why.

He would go to his mother, but she’s always difficult to find, Gaea preferring to live in streams and rivers rather than face the man she bore a son for. But his mother’s father, on the other hand, is always in the same place.

“Grandfather,” Hermes greets, touching lightly down onto the earth, “How are you?”

“How am I always, boy?” Atlas grunts out, legs and arms straining as he holds up the sky above the earth. “Tired.”

Hermes lips quirk up the corners. Some days, he thinks he’s more Atlas’s grandson than he’s Zeus’s son. “I need some advice, Grandfather.”

Atlas raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

So Hermes tells him everything, from beginning to end, because he can’t figure out what his father’s plan is, but Atlas might. He’s known the man for longer, at least.

Atlas nods, slow, and says, “A bride of gods, a gifted child. I can think of only one reason to create such a child.” Hermes waits. Atlas sighs and says, “There is a jar, within Olympus, that becomes sealed when it leaves the realm of the gods. After that, only a being neither mortal nor celestial may open it.”

“What are they planning to put inside?” Hermes demands, heart spiking. What are they planning to unleash upon the unsuspecting earth?

His grandfather smirks, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is this – what are you going to put inside?”

Keep reading

Castaway {ACOTAR/ Chapter 1}

Word Count: 3,001

Summary:  A modern-day University AU, from the A Court of Thorns and Roses universe. All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas. The idea for this fanfic hailed from prompts sent in by Anonymous, and @queen-archeron.

Author’s Note: I want to begin by stating that I am not for Feylin, nor do I support them as a couple. But, as in ACOTAR, it is vital that the story begins with them as a couple. I have been so excited to share this with you, and already can’t wait to share chapter two. As for chapter one, I hope you enjoy. :)



August 16 – It felt like the first time.

My first time having sex was not romantic.

It was horrible.

To say it was awkward would be an understatement. Hell, it would be an improvement.

The only articles of clothing removed were our pants, and my panties, and it took place in the bed of his truck behind his parent’s barn. He kept making uncomfortable grunting noises, and his shoulder kept bumping into my chin.

I think we kissed once during the entire atrocity.

Oh. And he called me Claire.

That’s not my name.

Tonight was different, though. He made me feel like a princess, like every inch of my body was longed for and respected. He took his time with me, and there was nothing awkward about how he touched me, or how he held me, or how he looked at me.

And when he whispered my name, my entire being unraveled.

I won’t be sleeping tonight.

Love,

Wide Awake but Lost in a Dream

 

September 2 – Move in day

Feyre could hear their voices before she turned the corner, her heart nearly pounding through her chest with every step.

Trailing behind her, Elain was carrying a box full of art magazines and photographs, while Nesta was hauling so many pillows that she couldn’t quite see where she was going. Feyre, on the other hand, only carried her clothes, which she managed to stuff into two old duffle bags that she had managed to save from decaying in her dad’s attic.

“Shouldn’t your new boyfriend be helping?” Nesta mumbled, tripping over her own two feet. “He could probably carry all this himself.”

“He’s moving in today, too,” Feyre proclaimed, defending him, although she did wish he was there with her.

They had been dating for a month, just about, and Feyre had to admit that she was loving the honeymoon stage. They spent hours kissing until their lips became chapped, and holding onto each other until ridiculous hours in the morning. 

They had met at orientation while Feyre was waltzing through the Greek Row booths.

He was there, with his fraternity, watching her move from booth to booth. He was quiet, a little bit awkward with his words, a little bit stiff and short when he spoke, but there was something about him Feyre could not ignore, could not forget.

He was mesmerizing.

Their first date was the next night. 

And they had spent nearly every day together since.

She sure wished he was there, though, helping her move in, to begin this new chapter of her life. She was finally free, gone from the small town an hour away that held her father, the man who was too lazy and too far broken for Feyre, or either of her sisters, to heal. They had been trying for too long. And Feyre was exhausted.

The thought of leaving used to make Feyre feel guilty. She was the only one left, as Nesta had moved away five years before and made a life for herself in the city. And Elain, sweet Elain, had left just a year after to chase her own dream.

Feyre was his last hope, and she had failed him. He doesn’t want to be helped, Nesta would always tell her, and near the end of her time spent under her father’s roof, Feyre was beginning to agree.

You need to make yourself happy. You need to take your own path, Elain would follow, more graciously than their elder sister.

So, she did.

She had applied to the University of Velaris a few months before, and before she could think twice about leaving her little, dinky hometown, and her father, Feyre was moving to the City of Starlight. She couldn’t wait for her first night there, to find out how the city got its nickname.

Soon enough.

Keep reading

Leave A Message: Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

Summary: AU, After a night of heavy drinking, Betty Cooper realizes she’s left a series of revealing messages on her crush and roommate, Jughead Jones’s phone. 

Words: 1,600

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, swearing, sexual dialogue but mostly embarrassing fluff. 

A/N: I’ve edited this myself so I apologize for errors. 


Betty Cooper’s head was pounding. She had made the mistake of going out with her roommates Cheryl Blossom and Veronica Lodge to celebrate the end of finals. Now she was sitting at their kitchen island cradling a cup of coffee, trying to figure out if IHOP delivered.

“Good Morning!” Cheryl sang as she skipped into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her luscious red was piled up on top of her head and her skin was glowing. She looked like an angel not someone who had partied hard the night before. “How are you?” She asked Betty.

“I’m so hungover” Betty groaned resting her head on her arms. “I’ve never been this hungover.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have done all those shots of Liquid Cocaine.” Cheryl chuckled and began taking out a few frying pans. “You want some bacon and eggs?” She asked.

“I do!” Veronica answered, her silk black robe trailing behind her matching her beautiful black hair. She walked up to Cheryl and gave her a soft kiss. Cheryl and Veronica had been dating since before they had left Riverdale and their relationship was goals.

“How are you guys not hungover?” Betty asked.

“We didn’t do three shots of tequila and then perform a Coyote Ugly style dance on the bar. You drank so much you should be dead.” Veronica informed.

“I wish I was dead.” Betty said sliding off her stool and laid on the floor. “The tile is so cold. I love the tile.”

“You’ve seen better days, Cooper.” Jughead Jones exited his bedroom from the other side of the loft and sat in the stool Betty just occupied. Jughead was Betty’s fourth and final roommate and she had developed a deep crush on him since the four of  them had moved from Massachusetts to California for school.  

Jughead had blossomed in the sunshine state. He had taken up surfing and gotten a tan, transforming himself into a ripped golden god. Whatever girls didn’t like about his moodiness in Riverdale, they loved here. Betty hated that she didn’t make a move sooner and now that he was bedding Californian goddesses, she knew she didn’t stand a chance.

“Oh god.” She muttered rolling onto her back. She was so dehydrated she could hear herself blinking. She focused on Jughead messy mop of black hair when he appeared above her.

“Up we go.” He said lifting her into the sitting position. “Take these,” he dropped two extra strength Advil in her palm. “And drink the entire glass.” He instructed.

She did as she was told and steadied herself against him when she stood up. “I need to go back to sleep.”

“Yes, you do.” Jughead agreed walking her back to her room. “Do you need to use the washroom?” He asked.

“I’m not a child, Jug.” Betty snapped.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you not just rolling around on the floor moaning?” He cocked an eyebrow and helped her into bed. She got underneath the covers and he tucked her in. “Get more rest, you’re gonna need it.” He winked and left her room, closing her door.

Her brow furrowed at her choice of words but she was too tired to give it much more thought than that.

She woke up at 3 in the afternoon feeling much better. Still hungover but manageable. She stumbled out into the living room and found Jughead reading a book. “There she is!” He exclaimed. “I got more Advil out and grabbed some water. There is some left over Thai from lunch in he fridge if you are hungry.”

Betty grabbed the Advil, headed over to the kitchen and began heating up her food. Once the Thai was nice and hot she made way back over to the couch.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked not looking up from his book.

“Mmmm” She answered with a mouth full of food.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” He questioned.

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“So you don’t remember dancing on the bar?” He inquired.

She shook her head.

“You don’t remember leading the whole bar in a rendition of ‘Come On Eileen’?”

“How do you know this? You weren’t even there”

“Cheryl was sending me videos.” He paused. “Do you remember making a phone call?”

“It’s 2018, Juggie, no one makes phone calls anymore.” She rolled her eyes and took a gulp of her water.

“You sure about that?” He asked again.

“I haven’t spoken on a phone in like two years.”

Jughead took out his cell, began scrolling and finally pushed a button. He held it up so they could both hear it.

“Jughead, mother fucking, Jones.” Betty’s gravelly drunken voice rasped out of the phone.

Her eyes widened and she started choking on her food.

“You fucking idiot with your stupid hat and your stupid attitude and your stupid face like you don’t know how amazing you are. Well, I guess you kinda do now with that revolving bevy of girls in our apartment all the time. And what is wrong with me huh? I’m hot, I’ve had six guys hit on me tonight. Six!”

She heard herself yell through the phone and she buried her head in her arms. “No, no, no.” She repeated over and over again.

“I’m smart too and my personality is okay, so what’s your problem Jughead, huh? I’ve been told that my vagina is like, the actual best. Like, what do I need to do? I guess there is a possibility that you aren’t interested in me but I’m the tits so why wouldn’t you be.” She paused. “Another thing, you actual piece of shit-” She was cut off and he lowered the phone.

“Please tell me I didn’t call you back.” She asked, looking at him through her fingers.

He was smirking and she wanted to smack him. “That was the first of fifteen messages. My favorite was how you told me that you obsess over how big my penis is but it’s probably just normal size and that you should stop worrying about it because this isn’t a romance novel.” He chuckled.

She made a whiny, crying sound, her face burning hot.

He didn’t say anything like she expected. She expected him to tease her, she expected him to tell her that they were friends but their relationship wouldn’t be anything more than that but he didn’t. She felt his weight on the couch beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“Would it made a difference if I did?”

“Uh, yeah, kind of a big difference, do you know how you appear to others? Do you know how intimidating you are?” His voice was soft and sincere.

“What are you talking about?” She snapped, rubbing her temples.

“You’re beautiful, smart and funny. You make everything seem so effortless, you should date an architect or something.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with architects?” She moaned, falling back into the cushions of the sofa.

Jughead sighed. “Betty, did you ever think about just asking me out?”

She threw him some serious side eye. “Oh yeah Jug, I’ll just walk up to you and be like, ‘Hey, I know we’ve known each other forever and I’ve ignored you for most of it but now that you’re all hot and dating models and shit, you wanna go out on a date?’” She scoffed.

“Okay.” He replied.

“What?” She sat up quickly, wincing when he head throbbed.

“I’ll go out with you.”

“Why? You date hipster girls who wear glasses they don’t need and are way too big for their face. You date girls who always look good in a romper, always have perfect Coachella hair and eat avocado toast everyday. I go days without showering, I’ve slept in the library more than once, I’ve dropped a McDonalds hamburger on the ground and still ate it because I had spent my last dollar on it and it was all I could eat for 17 hours until I got paid. Last night I threw up in my hamper-”

Jughead cut her off with a kiss. Betty was taken aback by the sudden gesture and it took her body a moment to relax and really accept what was happening. Betty had fantasized about this moment every night for months. What he would smell like, what he was taste like, how he would feel. He tasted like the cinnamon tic tacs he was always eating, spicy and sweet. He smelled like clean laundry, the sea and coconuts from using the girls shampoo all the time. Betty ran her hands through his hair bringing him closer to her. His body was hard and muscular and he pushed it against her, his skin warm and tan and so different from what she expected.

He parted from her, a smile on his face. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Liar.” Betty whispered, her eyes still closed.

“Betty, I’ve had a thing for your since the ninth grade.” He admitted, kissing her again.

“Do you want to take this into the bedroom?” She cooed running her hands over his chest.

“No, Bets.”

Her head jerked back. “What? Why? You take all these girls to bed and not me?”

“Betty, you aren’t all girls, you’re the girl.” He smiled and kissed her again.

She smiled back. “Can you please, for the love of god, delete all the messages I left you.”

“Um, absolutely not, this shit belongs in the MOMA.” He took out his phone. “Prepare yourself for message number two.”

may these memories break our fall. – Nashville secret sessions story

“Is that Kara?” she asked loudly over the music as she grabbed my hands and twirled me around. I was stumbling on the pillows below my feet but grasped her hands so tight. All I could do was aggressively nod and hope she couldn’t see the tears forming in my eyes in the dark, candle-lit room.


I have read dozens, if not hundreds of Taylor meet and greet stories. I have cried out of love for her and happiness for my friends and sadness that it wasn’t me. I have felt so close to meeting her and insanely disappointed when it didn’t happen. But the feeling I had on October 25? The feeling like my dreams were coming true but that I was also maybe going to pass out? That feeling was worth it. It was worth everything to me. So, here’s my story. It’s been a long time in the making. (I’m leaving out the stuff from before because it was just getting so long, but I got my message on tumblr from TN on Saturday and my call on Sunday. i bought flights Monday and my mom insisted on flying from DC and meeting me there to make sure it was all legit, even though she couldn’t come with).


OKAY SO once we got to the secret spot, I saw people I recognized and made lots of friends waiting (hi everyone!!!) We got checked in, did security all that jazz. We finally got to her house and mingled outside and ate. There were chick-fil-a nuggets (which is so funny because a few months ago I messaged Taylor to come to my Fourth of July party and all I said was “Come to my party. We will have chick fil a nuggets” LOL. on brand) and sushi and the REP cookies and M&Ms. Not a lot of people were eating much but you BET YOUR ASS i was chowing down. 

They let us into the room where we would listen to the album and I got a spot slightly to the left of where Taylor would be sitting. The floor was just covered in blankets and pillows and it looked like a huge slumber party was about to go down. 

Before we knew it, Taylor walked in with Abigail and of course we all lost it. I think you have all seen what they were wearing by now, but god they looked like angels. Taylor looked exactly like I imagined and yet so different too. It is such a strange feeling seeing someone you have always seen in pictures in real life. Someone you see virtually every single day. I teared up because I just was so so excited and felt like it wasn’t real life. 

So obviously y’all know what is next and that is she played us all of reputation. The album blew me away. It’s not like I was surprised, because I knew it would be good, but like it was just SO good?! And so cool to watch Taylor and Abi, Tree, Andrea and Scott singing along and doing these little dances. All of us were just JAMMING on the floor listening along.

I thought it was really incredible how Taylor made eye contact with every single person in that room. Every single one. Multiple times. It didn’t matter where you were sitting. She looked at you and sang to you and smiled so big. I love her. 

It was when we got to Look What You Made Me Do that she decided we could have a little dance party to shake out our legs and take a break. Someone dimmed the lights and since we all knew this song, we were able to just sing (scream?) the lyrics together with our idol dancing along our side, which was a dream. She was towards the middle of the room, so I made my way over there to dance near her. 

Before I knew it, she reached out to grab my hands and looked me dead in the eye. “Is that Kara?” she asked me, trying to get closer to see my face. It was like a million butterflies were released in my stomach at once. I was in shock. I was so happy. But I was speechless. I nodded and we danced to the bridge. It was literally at the “I’ll be the actress starring in your bad dreams” part, which was my tumblr bio. SO ON BRAND. SO PERFECT.

So we heard the rest of the songs and they continued to blow us away. Before long, we had finished the album. She was so honest with us about each song and I absolutely love her for that. She trusts us so much it is unreal. And y’all are not prepared for how good this album is. i CANNOT WAIT

OKAY OKAY NOW THE FUN MEETING HER PART

At first they called a few people by name to go first, but then they let everyone else just go whenever they wanted. A bunch of people seemed to want to wait until the end, but I knew my nerves would only get worse. I watched her meet some people from the corner, which was so incredible. It is honestly almost as exciting as meeting her yourself. You get to watch how she interacts with each person and takes her time. She also looks them dead in the eye and listens so intently. She never rushed anyone. It was beautiful.

OKAY SO FAST FOWARD TO MY TURN HERE WE GO

“Kara!!! Oh my god I’m so happy you’re here!” she said as she quickly walked toward me with her arms outstretched. I hugged her so tight trying to keep the tears back.

“Thank you SO much for coming!”

“Are you kidding, thank you so much for having me!”

We pulled away from the hug and I was looking right in her eyes, slightly looking up because she’s so tall. She said something along the lines of “I’m so glad we are finally meeting. You’re so lovely!” and I just sort of laughed and said “Oh my god Taylor, my mom isn’t going to believe you said that” (referring to her knowing my name and such).

“But you are Kara! You’re so lovely and sweet. Like you’re amazing, tell her I said that!”

oKAY SO YOU KNOW IM DYING ON THE INSIDE BUT TRYING TO STAY COMPOSED. MY LEGS WERE SORTA SHAKING BUT I WAS DOING BETTER THAN EXPECTED. 

I tried to keep myself together and tell her how much I loved reputation and just said “Taylor, the album is amazing” and she smiled, but she looked a bit distracted as she was looking at me and sort of interrupted and just said “Kara you’re even more beautiful in person. Like you are so naturally beautiful! Like you aren’t even wearing makeup and you’re so pretty?!”

excuse me WHAT. In my head I’m laughing as I know I’m definitely wearing makeup but that a lot of it came off when I cried earlier and that I don’t wear all that much in general but like WHAT I WAS SO SHOOK LIKE SHE CALLED ME BEAUTIFUL ??? THE FUCK 

All that I could muster up was a “Oh my God” and “thank you so much” as I wrapped my arms around her neck again and she pulled me in for a hug (and yes she smells so good like a vanilla goddess).

So after she SHOWERED me with compliments that my poor heart couldn’t handle, I knew I had a few things I could talk about with her. I told her about studying abroad in London last semester and she asked what school. I explained my program through my home university and told her about how I interned in SoHo. I joked because I told her I knew she was there at the same time, supposedly undercover, and said that we probably ran into each other on Oxford Street. She said how amazing it was that I had that opportunity. We talked about other places I traveled and I mentioned going to the Canary Islands for spring break and said “how casual” and she laughed and nodded. I just said how much I loved London and that city life. She said something along the lines of “That is soooo amazing. You’re getting to see the world and have these opportunities! I’m so excited to see all you do, Kara. I’m so proud of you!” she said, giggling.

….this woman….is proud of ME….im proud of YOU you queen WHAT 

I think I said “thank you so much for saying that” and hugged her again. I needed a second to think of the next thing to talk about so I asked her if we could take our picture. She said of course and pointed to the mantle behind us that had Grammys and Moonmen and a bunch of her awards on it. “Do we want to hold a Grammy or something?”, but I hesitated and said “well..” and she asked “or did you have a pose in mind?” and I just said “Can we just act we’re best friends having the night of our lives because that’s basically how I feel right now” and she smiled and said “of course!”

So we turned towards the camera, which was probably the only time I looked away from her during our entire time together, and we hugged super tight and I smiled bigger than I probably ever have before. I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE IT BUT IM NERVOUS 

She turned back to me and I still had a few more things to say and ask. Something I thought about during the session was just a silly question for her. “So I’m in college and like I just need to know what’s your favorite drinking game?” and she laughs and says “Oh God, my favorite drinking game?!” as she turned away to think about it. “Well I will play any of them and I love playing them…and I sorta think that’s the problem…” and she smirked at me. I NEED TO GET DRUNK WITH TAYLOR SWIFT ONE DAY OKAY LIKE WHAT 

I was feeling like my time was running out so I hugged her again and she said “It’s so cool meeting you. Like I sort of feel like I’m just your older sister…just like stalking you on the internet” and my jaw kind of dropped. “I love seeing your life online and I’m sure we will talk there!” and I just said “That means so much to me. Thank you so so much” and we hugged again.

“I’ll see you on tour and of course online,” I said. She smiled and said goodbye and that it was nice to meet me. I turned to leave and looked behind my shoulder and just said, “love you!”


It was the most surreal experience ever. I think i blacked out like i can barely remember it anymore, but wow it was so amazing and the fact that she KNEW ME AND RECOGNIZED ME made it even more incredible ? i never expected that in a hundred million years. 

AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF SHE STALKED ME AFTER AND LIKED SIX OF MY POSTS ABOUT THAT NIGHT INCLUDING DANCING WITH ME AND RECOGNIZING ME. LIEK WHAT THE FUCK SHES SO INCREDIBLE AND I FEEL SO SO LUCKY. PLEASE DONT GIVE UP YALL I NEVER EVER SAW THIS COMING

From the bottom of my heart, thank you Taylor and thank you Taylor Nation. I didn’t think things like this could just happen to people like me ? I’ve never felt that special or deserving of things like this, but you’ve proved that we all deserve this opportunity. I love you so so SO much. I’m still not sure how it happened, but oh my god am I glad it did. I will never forget this as long as I live. 

See you on tour and online, big sister.