sometimes my mom will ask me if i have any advice to help my little sister navigate the treacherous waters of high school and i will never understand why she thinks i can help because in high school i
had such a goddamn mess of a backpack it took me ten minutes to find everything, which you would think would inspire me to organize it, but instead i started keeping a rubber chicken and a giant key and a wooden spoon and a fake bag of blood in there so that while i was hunting for my homework i would end up pulling these things out thus transforming my inability to find anything into a hilarious bit instead of a failure of executive function
would intermittently become convinced that i had a really obvious moustache and everyone was going to be staring at my awful girlstache, so i would paint on a clark gable stache with liquid eyeliner, thus ensuring that everyone would definitely be staring at my moustache and i wasn’t just paranoid
would have emotionally delicate days where i could tell i was going to end up crying for no goddamn reason so i would bring a three-foot tall stuffed toy dog with me, because a teenaged girl crying for no reason is a cliche but a teenaged girl crying into a comically large stuffed dog is performance art
dropped out after two years because i felt like i got the gist
In this dystopian future, people are willing to replace their living body parts with machines, sacrificing their HUMANITY for the power granted by TECHNOLOGY. When we can no longer tell where man ends and machine begins, have we not truly lost-
Wait, so people can use cybernetics technology to change their bodies according to their wishes, compensating for disabilities or reshaping their forms to better fit their identity?
Yes, but can we really afford to abandon our natural-
I want to see Zeus in a tailored suit and shaggy beard, a
walking disparity of the loud, brash, post-graduate frat boy variety who can’t
pass a woman on the street without catcalls, who has more one-night stands than
he could possibly keep in his head, for whom adultery comes as naturally as the
weather he predicts on the Channel 4 News—with startlingly accuracy, and an
endless wealth of charisma.
I want to see Hera walking tall, six-inch heels and not a
wrinkle in her skirt, knowing her boyfriend is cheating, and knowing with equal
certainty that she is better, stronger, fiercer than he will ever be, a wedding
planner with an eye of steel, spotting vulnerability, slicing it open, teaching
every woman who crosses her path to value themselves over any mistake made in
the name of men and love.
I want to see Poseidon in Olympic prime, a gym rat who
skives off class to shatter backstroke records, who spends his summers
lifeguarding at the city pool, who keeps an ever-expanding aquarium in his
bedroom and coaxes all the pretty girls up to visit his fish, his charm as
impressive as the earth-rending temper he generally uses to fuel his competitive
I want to see Hades, big, hulking, quieter than his brothers
would ever think to be, who dresses in neat dark clothes, and polishes his
boots, and spends more time reading than fighting, who debates eventuality and
ethics, who stoically reminds everyone how enormous, how terrifying, how
inescapable a thing like silentinevitability can be.
I want to see Hermes in a beanie, with watercolor splashes
of tattoo crawling up his arms and holes in his Chucks, a bike messenger with
no helmet, no regard for the rules of the road, all cataclysmic laughter, lock-pick
tricks passed along to every kid who thinks to ask, thumbing through his iPhone
without a care in the world.
I want to see Athena with reading glasses pushed high on her
head, six books in her bag and a switchblade in her back pocket, her clothing
as neatly ordered as her mind is feverish, brilliance and temper clashing and
blending, doing her best to look dignified—even when her brain chemistry
rockets ahead of her well-intentioned plans.
I want to see Apollo splattered with acrylics, board shorts
and Monster headphones and a beautiful classic car, busking on street corners,
not because he has no choice, but because the sunlight catching on a
sticker-patterned acoustic is summer incarnate, because music is blood, because
the act of creation is the ultimate in sublime.
I want to see Artemis in ripped jeans and haphazard topknot,
star of the soccer team, the track team, the archery team, who rides a
motorcycle, and keeps a tribe of girls around her at all times, and does not
care for men, for expectation, for anything but volunteer hours down at the
local animal shelter and falling asleep under the stars.
I want to see Aphrodite in sundress and scarf, homemade
jewelry and lavish amounts of bright red lipstick, who is excellent at public
speaking, at theater auditions, at soothing bruised egos and sparking epic
fights, who kisses as easily as she breathes and scrawls poetry onto bathroom
I want to see Ares all but living in the boxing ring, cutoff
shirts and sweats, red-faced under a crew cut as he punches, punches, punches
until the noise in his head dims, a warrior with no war, all crude jokes and
blind fury, totally incapable of understanding what it is to sit, think, plan
before running screaming into the fray.
I want to see Demeter with the best garden you’ve seen in
your life, with a lawn care business she runs out of her garage, a teenage
prodigy grown into a joint-custody single mother, who teaches her carefree
daughter all she knows while scaring off the hopeful neighborhood boys with the
pet python draped across her shoulders.
I want to see Dionysus with a joint in one hand and a bottle
of wine in the other, baggy hoodies and three-week-old jeans, who brews his own
beer in his basement and greets all visitors with a fresh pack of Oreos and
half-stoned theories of the universe, of birth and death and partying mid-week,
because why not, man?
I want to see Hephaestus with a workshop taking up the
majority of his house, whose kitchen is overrun with blowtorches, whose bathrooms
are home to all manner of hodge-podge invention, who walks with a cane and
forgets his laundry for weeks at a time, and strings together the most
beautiful steampunk costumes at any convention at the drop of a hat.
I want to see wood nymphs fighting against climate change,
waving their signs and pushing for scientific progress. I want to see epic
heroes sitting down to Magic: The Gathering tournaments, poker brawls, Call of
Duty all-nighters with beer and snapbacks. I want to see Medusa working a women’s
shelter, want to see Achilles training for deployment, want to see Prometheus
serving endless community service stints for what he calls providing necessary welfare with stolen goods.
Give me modern mythology. I could play for hours in that
Have I mentioned how much I enjoy the thought of Harry and Draco back at Hogwarts years after they leave? If not, let me take a few moments of your time to elucidate:
Inter-house rivalry at the head table
inter-house rivalry between classes
Knowing (memorizing) each other’s schedule and casually bringing it up in conversation–with or outside of each other
Seeming like a married couple to everyone else but not realizing it themselves
Intense quidditch debates in the staff room
students like to hang around outside because they’re always loud and always hilarious (and sometimes often result in creative new insults to add to their repertoire)
Grading together in one of their quarters and snarking over ridiculous student answers
Quibbling over teaching methods to the point of pedantry just to be annoying to the other
Trying the “I’ve never been more shocked by student behaviour in my life” approach on students who misbehave, none of whom believe it because they’ve heard stories of Harry and Draco’s time at Hogwarts (usually by the other in classes, ex. Draco climbing a tree because he wanted Harry’s attention)
Patrolling the hallways over Christmas hols
“Here. This is the statue Flitwick said he’s caught kids fooling around behind. Go check it out.”
“Why do I have to go?”
“What are you, scared?”
“… Fine, you absolute tosser. …Woah, Malfoy, come check this out.”
“What? What is it?”
“Just get back here and you’ll see.”
“I’m not going to fall for your tricks, Potter. I’m not going back there.”
They end up necking behind the statue like students
So being in simultaneous heck with Season 2 finale of both Star Vs the forces of Evil and Voltron Legendary defender, what better than me to mash them together in fake screenshot redraws that took way too long
Do I have an exact au in mind? not really, but at least in this context Keith’s “galra puberty” is more so in protective instinct mode and less of a boy crazy one, so he’s trapping Pidge because she’s family and he’s like ‘must protect my pack’ kind of thing. Also in this Au Allura would totally be the Magical Princess from another dimension (SHE EVEN HAS THE ROYAL CHEEK MARKS)
i have Strongly Considered doing a version of the time travel fic where Martha and Thomas come to the future instead of the reverse, and while Martha is fun Thomas is A GODDAMN NIGHTMARE by which i mean completely fucking hilarious to anyone who is not his mortified son
“No, no, this can’t be your girlfriend, I thought that was your girlfriend. What did I teach you about picking on people your own size? Look, I’m sure she’s very nice but I want grandkids and if you get her pregnant she’ll be more baby than woman. She’ll die. I’m a doctor. Neither of them are your girlfriend? So is this your boyfriend? I’m not mad, I know I just said I want grandkids but this is the future, right? You can have some test tube babies. Science is amazing. Or you can adopt, I don’t mind adoption. You already adopted? What do you mean, ‘technically’, do I have grandkids or not, help me out here, I went through all the trouble of traveling to the cyberpunk future and so far I’m underwhelmed. Hand me a small child so I can feed him candy and teach him old-timey cusses.”