what if medusa was a real woman. i mean: what if the woman with snakes in her hair was once a tiny girl with beautiful braids in her black hair.
what if the stories came from her smooth hands. when she was six she could make pottery that looked like flowers blooming in your palms. could carefully create replicas of any plant she saw.
and medusa was smart. ran from home, tucked up her hair so it looked short, made herself into a little boy. besides, they liked pretty boys. medusa at school with top grades, sending her unknowable stares at the other men. because the whole time she’s learning the planes of their faces, the way they look while they’re thinking, the slight twist of their hand that meant they were lying.
medusa going home to sketch every little figure. comes to school in the morning with her hands caked in pottery clay. medusa learns. scrubs dirt on her face to mimic their planes. tilts her head the right way when she’s thinking. doesn’t twist her hand when she’s lying.
in her back yard, a little garden grows. statues of ceramic boys only three feet tall. at first, she can’t quite get the faces right. men are not the same as plants. there is something weird about the proportions she uses. medusa frowns.
she starts making animals instead for a bit, annoyed and disheartened. she’d always just been naturally good at it, and the fact she couldn’t just make something felt as if she’d lost her gift.
she makes cats and dogs and her neighbor’s birds and keeps going.
the snake wasn’t her favorite. he just wouldn’t leave her alone, so she gave up and let him sleep on her in the cold nights. besides, he was a small garden snake, couldn’t even bite her hard, just wanted a place of warmth. she let him rest on the angles of her shoulders, right near her neck, even if he sometimes forgot and held her too hard. that was okay. when she was little, she forgot too, sometimes, and shattered the slim walls of her pottery. the snake had a lot of growing up to do.
she loved no one. not because she was cold-hearted. just because it wasn’t something she wanted. she was busy with her artwork.
she chose an apprenticeship under a master craftsman. his sculptures made her breath stop. she was careful in the workshop, kept her things simple, kept her mouth shut. he called her stupid often. she would duck her head. sometimes she would make mistakes on purpose. all the while he only made sculptures of men. said there was no beauty in women. often made savage remarks about those they saw in the market.
and all the while, she watched him. she watched him and she went home and sketched. this is how his hands were when he made a vine. this is how they were when shaping a nose.
and her back yard garden would grow. little boys became her master, over and over and over, until she could get his jaw right. ceramic became sculpture.
he was who took her to athena’s temple. who shouted at her about how beautiful the statues were against her own. every week he’d come back and shame her. asked how the women there were smarter than the man she was supposed to be. medusa ducked her head and grit her teeth.
in her back yard, she made them. she made every god and goddess she’d seen in the city. her favorite was athena. she ached over her features. had spent so long in the world of men, was blinded by the beauty of women.
it was a black night. and medusa thought her master had left the temple before her. she loosened all the bindings that kept her from breathing. took her hair out. worshiped in peace. placed on athena’s alter a small and beautiful thing. the goddess, head tilted, thinking.
when he found medusa, what made him angry was not her small frame. it was the statute. a delicate thing. much better than the ones he had ever made.
he took it and snapped it in half. threw it deep in the temple’s well to rot. pulled her by her hair. demanded to know where it had come from.
medusa, angry, tired of hiding, tired of late nights and being a boy and pretending: medusa, athena-mad, spat on him. “I did it,” her voice is strong and full of hatred, “A woman made something better than a man could.”
He meant to kill her. To bash her head into the temple steps, claim it was an accident - or better yet, the spite of a god made flesh.
when he grabs her hair, the goddess bites back. athena, patron of creators, patron of the arts, patron of girls and those who are smart - she turns medusa’s hair into snakes.
it is a quick little thing, darts out and draws blood, almost falls from her hair as a result. she catches the creature and runs, runs until she feels numb.
and what if - while her master is making up a story about poseidon and athena’s rage, explaining medusa’s back yard full of frozen men as being evidence of her evilness - what if medusa finds friends in blind women. and they teach her how to feel what she is seeing. how to use her hands with her eyes closed to make maps of whatever she holds. she starts with plants again. her snake is big now, and has babies. she moves on to their little wiggling forms, amused when they make tiny rings around her fingers. she does not live in a cave. she dresses as a man again, goes to market, sells her roses and vines and beautiful (simple) things. buys herself and the women a nice house out beyond all the noise of it. fills their garden with frozen men.
when the men come to kill her - because now her name is known, it is whispered, sticks in the throat - they don’t find her. they find a tall man who tells them: look in the mountains. when they don’t come back, it’s no fault of medusa’s. frankly, she thinks they should have brought more supplies than their swords into the deep woods. she’s not cruel. when they leave, she makes a statue of them, as her version of a memorial.
but one man is not like the others. he finds her with her hair down, humming, dancing around a marble stone. her snakes are warming in the sun.
medusa? he asks her. it’s a name she hasn’t heard in a long while.
she is tired of being hunted. she just wants to make art. she waits for the sword point. but he hesitates. looks at her full in her face.
strikes a bargain. if she makes him a head for his shield, he will tell the others that she is good and dead. and he will sell her art to better patrons when he could - although he suggests at least hiding the signature she has with maybe a little less snake-like scrawl - he would make her name known.
but medusa knows men. knows they will chomp down on a horror story faster than that of the artist. she is already permanent. she says: no, here’s what happens.
after many months, he has his shield. she wouldn’t let him leave with the first nine hundred versions, always found something wrong with them. he grows fond of her in this time, agrees to her terms. even he can’t really look at the shield head-on. she has captured a scream, a rage, too much. it is so utterly human and at once not that it makes his skin crawl.
where medusa’s blood drops, serpents sprawl. or at least, that’s the code she uses. when he finds little girls who can make art, he sends them to her.
medusa does not expect to be known for the school that she starts. she is a women artist in a time of men, and her name is already dead to them. but i know medusa. i know her. she is known for her work.
after all, who can speak about medusa without mentioning how she froze the world?
“It’s important to teach little boys consent-”
Seriously I work at a preschool and if you think it’s only little boys who need to be taught consent I have some news for you. Just the other day I told one little girl that she should not touch another little girl’s hair if that little girl said “stop”. Even if she said you could braid her hair she has the right to revoke that permission at any time because it’s her hair. I’ve had to tell her to keep her hands off the boys too. PLEASE do not single out little boys as the only ones needing help learning consent and say nothing when girls invade the space and privacy of other children. These are important lessons for EVERYBODY.
Summary – Children
can be so cruel; can Dean make it all better?
Word Count –
Warnings – Is Daddy!Dean a warning? I think Daddy!Dean should be a warning…
A/N –Request by @youtubehelpsmesurvive:
“First of all, I’m a really big fan of your writing!! I was wondering if you could
do a Dean x reader story based off either the song Wanted…by Hunter Hayes. AND I had two requests for a
Daddy!Winchester story, so I’m going to combine them both in this one.
Dean truly loved the life he had now, but he was about to
pull his hair out in frustration. You
were away visiting relatives out of state, and he was left as the sole
caretaker of your six-year-old daughter for the week. He was at a loss to figure out how to do the
fishtail braid that the little girl was demanding he put into her hair.
Imagine how the Egos would react if a small child turned up on their doorstep and they had to take care of them for the day before retuning them safely to their parents.
(I saw a post the other day that kind of gave me the idea for this. The situation involved Anti finding the child instead, though. But anyway, hope you guys enjoy!)
Silver finds it, the child, a little four year old girl with something sticky smeared on her mouth and big crocodile tears in her eyes. “Where’s my mommy?” Silver screams, and that doesn’t help the situation at all.
“How did it even get in here?” Google wrinkles his nose at the small child. “Disgusting.”
Bim braids the little girl’s hair and sings to her with a calming voice. “Be nice, Google. She’s just a baby, after all.”
“‘m not a baby. I’m four and a half,” she holds up her fingers to show Bim, and he smiles.
Wilford takes her into the studio and lets her try on costumes, which he uses his abilities on to make them fit her. They blow bubbles, eat cotton candy, and when she’s good and worn out, the little girl falls asleep in his lap.
Ed eyes the two of them on the couch in the living room. “I’ll make ya an offer for her. Fifty bucks down payment, bet I could make a nice profit…”
Wilford glares at him. “No.”
Dark finds them next. “What is that?” His voice makes the little girl stir from sleep, and when she sees him, she immediately starts screaming and crying at the top of her lungs. Dark claps his hands over his ears to shut out the noise. “Make it stop! You there, stop that this instant!” His compulsion makes the girl stop crying, but she continues to sniffle as Dark paces closer. “We’ve got to find her parents and return her, Wilford.”
The pink Ego hugs the child closer. “No, she’s mine now! I found her, and she’s cute.”
The Host wanders in. “Oh, good lord,” turns around and walks back out. Dark chases after him, and together, he and Google search for the child’s parents. It takes several hours to convince Wilford that giving the girl back to her parents is the best thing for her.
The forgetful father? Chase Brody.
Wilford grabs him by the collar of his shirt, causing his stupid, oversized hat to fall off his head, and drags him forward so the two are nose to nose. “Lose that sweet child again, and I will end you.” The little girl just giggles and keeps blowing bubbles.
Okay can we talk about how freaking awesome the difference between the way Mother Gothel treats Rapunzel, and the way Eugene does? It’s all in the body language. The first thing Mother Gothel does when she sees Rapunzel is check her hair. Eugene is always brushing it from her face. Mother Gothel is always kissing her hair, not Rapunzel. Eugene is always staring into her eyes. Eugene commissioned little girls to braid her hair to make it easier for her, and really liked how she looked free from it’s burden. Mother Gothel took out the braid at soon as she could. And lastly we can’t forget how Mother Gothel practically HUGS the hair, while Eugene’s last act was to cut it so she could live a normal life.
Do you have any headcannons on hidden talents the tog characters have ?? Like idk singing or dancing or juggling or drawing or making up hilarious limericks on the spot or baking fucking amazing bread or just being really good at frenchbraids ?? I don't really know where I'm going with this I just thought it would be interesting to ask !
I’m including ACOTAR characters too.
Each and every member of the Thirteen is a FANTASTIC singer. On the level of sirens, only everyone is mesmerized by their voices.
Chaol can juggle. He started doing it one say for shits in his office, and found out that he is actually good at it.
Dorian can do the splits. He is actually quite limber.
Cassian quilts. Rhys’s mom taught the boys how to mend their own clothing, but she used to stay up quilting, and Cassian used to help. His brother’s don’t know this. But he can sew a mean quilt. And when Rhys’s mom died, he asked Rhys is he could keep some of her quilts and Rhys let him. He keeps them in a locked trunk in his house. But his favorite one hands on the wall. It’s both a work of art and a memoriam to the only mother he ever knew.
hc that lance eventually stops flirting with allura and they end up having 'girls night' where he braids her hair and talks about Keith with her (allura totally sees the forest he's created with all of his pining but he is in denial)
lance, talking about keith: idk allura he’s just… he’s just so— ugh ya know?
allura, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow: oh rlly? and what was that i heard you telling hunk the other night? something about keiths eyes putting the stars to shame?
lance, hiding his blushing face in allura’s hair: i dont wanna hear it. you havent shut up about shay once since we left balmera
“Promise me you won’t let anything happen to him.”
A Captains Wish
It came second nature to baby Bucky. The man was a walking cuddly bear. So Steve wasn’t surprised when he had brought his friend in the compound and a special tech worker was bewitched by James.
She was a very good tech, so good that she became the second hand for Maria Hill, helping her hack programs and websites to the point where she could do it in her sleep. So having her roaming the compound wasn’t very strange. She’s an eater, wastes half her time chewing on junk food. So waking up at around half past three to grab a chip bag wasn’t out of the norm. But finding a slightly trembling hunched Bucky, sure as hell was.
From then on, the girl kept crossing paths with him. Seeing him sitting beside her in movie nights, finding his chair closer to her during the time the whole avengers gather to eat together, finding his things with hears, (her headphones would be next to his wallet, her shoes would be close to his boots.) And she liked it. Very much, actually.
"Hey Bucky,” The brunet tech asked, as she walked closer to the man on the stool. “What are you up to?” The girl grabbed the milk jug and poured herself a glass.
“Nothing,” Bucky grumbled, pushing away his hair before grabbing his water bottle. Eyes trained everywhere but her.
“Well, its Sunday.” The girl grumbled, making an icky face. “Wanna do something before it strikes Monday?” She offered, drowning her cup before opening the cup bored and grabbing out her stash of junk food. She would always re fill it. Seeing as half the team takes whatever they want. Albeit she never showed any sighs that she didn’t want them to, or that she found it annoying, because truth be told she didn’t.
Bucky didn’t respond. His metal plates squeezing the plastic, as his hair fell before his ears and covered his cheeks. Grumbling incoherently he pushed it back behind his bitty ears, slightly scratching his skin from his rough metal slits with the force he had added.
“Can I braid your hair?” The girl asked, turning around to show him her hair. She had Dutch braided it to the tip of her ass, the wave looked magnificent.
“Go ahead.” He sat strainer in his chair, having the girl come behind him and running her fingers through his skull. The pads of her thumbs grazed his soft roots, while she parted three stands and started its brim.
“So, do you still want to do something?” She hummed, focusing over the braid. “I thought maybe we could go out,” She contributed, her tone faltering. “I mean it’s so stuffy being here, I mean maybe we should just go out and see the park, the one that has a forest in it.” She stoped after a while, having ended right at his ear lines, “Bucky do you have a hair tie?”
The tech didn’t say, but ran a hooked finger behind his ear and pulled a strand of lock. She might as well finish it to the bottom.
“There,” The brunet stated, she had removed one of her hair ties and enclosed it around his hair. “You look very handsome.” She giggled as he turned around but couldn’t see his hair. “Let me take a picture.” She pulled her phone then clipped him a shot.
“Looks very nice.” Bucky answered, running his soft metal plates over the contraption.
“Let’s just watch something. I don’t feel like getting out.” Bucky honestly replied. He put his bottle in the fridge before turning to her. “I don’t care what movie, it’s too cold to go out.” Pointing to the window to further prove his point. Cobwebs of frost caked the windows, but evident flakes drifted the nights air.
Together they walked and sat down, the common room being empty, they watched movies after countless movies. Both funny, scary and dumb. Bucky was enjoying himself. Having his foot patched up the table while half his body laid over the couch. His laugh was contagious, boisterous chuckles filled the void with her perky giggles laced together in perfect harmony.
And before they knew it, as Monday neared it’s peak, Bucky had fallen into a dreamless blissful sleep, while the girl stood up to push the super solider over the couch and cover him with her blanket. Kneeling down, she pressed a hot kiss to his cheek before being caught by Steve’s lingering look.
The day Bucky had entered the life of the avengers, Steve made it clear he didn’t want his friend to feel out of place, and gave Sam a long lecture of behaving himself before Bucky. He even begged Tony’s new recruit to heed his thoughts and stay away from the metal arm. Something about Peters love for science would annoy Bucky.
“Promise me you won’t let anything happen to him.” Rogers interrupted, motioning to his only link from the 90’s. "He means everything to me, (Y/N).” Steve corrected. “Promise me,” Rogers asked again, "You won’t let anything happen to him.” Captain walked from the door and closer to the couches.
Nodding her head, The super solider crushed her between his chest. The platinum hair shoved in between her eye sight. “Thank you.” Rogers chanted, as he crushed her with each embrace.
“It’s fine Steve,” The young lady assured. “He means a lot to me too.” The lady spoke softly. Returning his embrace as he picked her up From the ground and and continued to find solace in her embrace.
Their heads shot to the side once Bucky made a move to stand up. Not even blinking an eye towards his friends sharing an intimate moment together. But fell back right onto his pillow, his snores loud and clear.
When they realized he was a boy, the Gerudo panicked. It used to be that the birth of the Gerudo male was a time of happiness and celebration. The goddesses promise to them was still there. Then Ganondorf came.
Even his mother wasn’t sure what to do, turning to their chief, chosen by Nabooru herself to lead them and keep the peace between the Gerudo and all other races of Hyrule. She held him for a long time before making her decision.
“We’ll raise him to be humble,” she said, “No destined to be king. If he wants to lead, he must earn the right.” The Gerudo sighed in agreement.
“He will grow up knowing he has to save even the smallest of us,” she said, “He will be raised to be a hero.”
Request: This isn’t word for word but essentially I got a request about the reader being married to Newt and they all make it to Paradise and the girls are all hanging out with the reader. While doing this they begin to spy on Newt discussing how cute he is and calling dibs and one is about to go talk to him and he comes up and kisses the reader. Lots of fluff was specified so get ready for the fluff ride of your lives!!!
breathe, my love, get high hp au, marcus flint/oliver wood 8131 words
Marcus counts the days in the hours he can manage to get through, the hours he can spend avoiding floppy-haired, Scottish Gryffindors who try to follow him with their eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about something that will only leave them both burning and rotting in the end. Something that can never be kept safe. A flame that will only die out in the cold. He spends his nights in bed, whispering the name over and over to himself, the name he has kept hidden in his heart for so long and wants to etch all over his skin–– Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.
notes: this may or may not be the most self-indulgent fic you will ever read in your life, and it’s probably completely ooc and unbelievable and wow i’m not selling this to anyone but yay for flintwood??? yes??? this is dedicated to yenna @owvlery, erin @mxrcusflint and everyone else who makes the beautiful flintwood art/fics/everything that has dragged me into this 6ft hole of cute angsty quidditch boyfriends. (also i stole a line from lolita and managed to reference little mix’s ‘touch’ so u never know what ur going to get with me)(also sufjan stevens was my soundtrack writing this enjoy)