look at the watering can!


“Mama, look! I can blow bubbles in the water, watch!” Little Erik cried happily, forgetting his mother’s indifference in a moment of blissful discovery. Bending down so just his mouth was below the surface of the water, he blew. Bubbles roiled to the surface, and he pulled away, giggling.

She nodded weakly, her lips twitching into a strained smile for just a moment. “Yes, Erik.” Closing the book that rested on her lap, she stared intently at the wall behind her son. “Oh god, why have you given me this for a child?” She murmured to herself, face contorting into an ugly grimace.

“Mama, mama, look what I can do!” Little Erik (for that’s what she called him once in one of her rare good moods) was standing up, straining to draw pictures in the steamy mirror that hung above the tub. “Mama -” There was a loud splash, and the harsh, wet sound of skin against porcelain.

Annoyed, she snapped her glance away from the tiled wall and down towards where her son had been standing. “Stupid boy, what are - Erik?” For once there was a hint of concern in her voice. “Stop it, stop that!” She yelled, going straight from alarm to anger.

But Erik wasn’t playing now. He thrashed in the water, unable to gain a grip on the slippery surface of the tub. Water. Water over his head, holding him down. Water seeping into his ears, his nose, his mouth. He screamed for help, calling out the name of the only person that loved him (because this must be normal, this must be how everyone else’s mother’s were?). “MAMA, MAMA!” But there was no sound. Instead, he choked on water, the bubbles that had just a moment ago been a fun game now spelling death. Tiny, chubby hands groping the air, being sucked below the surface.

And she stared at him there in the tub, watching his life slip away second by second. She could just let him drown, she realized, and then she’d be rid of him forever. No more abomination in her house, no more disgrace of a son. Watching his movements grow weaker, she heard him try and call out. He was probably calling for her, she realized with a stab of guilt. He WAS still her son… Stepping towards the tub, she reached out towards him - and hesitated. She could be rid of him forever… The temptation was so strong, the thought so sweet.

Water filled his lungs, and his eyes burned. His limbs felt like lead, and he found himself unable to move. Where’s Mama? Why hasn’t Mama helped me?

Watching the movements of her child still, something deep inside her forced her into action. Lifting him out of the water, she dropped him onto the towel that was laid out on the floor to collect any spilled water. “You idiot boy!” Slapping his good cheek, she glared down at him. Why hadn’t she just let him drown? “Disgusting.” Storming out of the room, she slammed the door behind her.

Staring out at the lake before him, the now grown Erik felt hate and anger bubble up inside him. His first memory of life, his first memory of his mother. And his first memory of death.

Originally posted by lenasevilmind

( @hopsjollyhigh)
Being rich is not about how much money you have or how many homes you own; it’s the freedom to buy any book you want without looking at the price and wondering if you can afford it.
—  John Waters

— favourite One and Only lyrics (ft. Sehun)


Real life Twilight-Zone.

Though she is blind, both ways she’ll look

O Sightless daughter of the rook

that look on hansol’s face after realizing that he couldn’t drink water because his rap is coming up.

Imagine if Ed started to avoid bodies of water because of what he did to Oswald. The river, for sure, but also fountains, pools, ponds. His blood runs cold at the thought of running himself a bath and he thanks his past self for only investing in a shower. When it rains in Gotham he keeps his gaze determinedly away from the ground, avoiding looking at the puddles forming on the pavement.

Imagine that, one day, he concludes to himself that his actions so far are ridiculous, that nothing can possibly happen from simply looking at water. So he does; for the first time since the incident, he looks down. Into a pond, a pool, a puddle.

He looks down, and in the impossible depths of the water he sees Oswald look straight back at him.

just little grantaire things ~
  1. when he stretches his shirt rides up to show his lil tummy and his thick dark happy trail
  2. nothing he owns is free of paint stains - the things he wants to keep nice he keeps at joly and bossuet’s apartment
  3. he smells like coffee and cigarettes and oil paints and cheap cologne sometimes if you get really close you can smell the lavender soap he uses
  4. his favorite scent is lavender because it reminds him of his mother so anything lavender scented he can get his hands on he buys
  5. tons of fake plants around his apartment because he likes how they look and he can’t keep real plants alive (he likes watering Jehan’s plants for them when they’re away)
  6. cats are inexplicably attracted to him. strays wander up to him at every cafe courfeyrac and combeferre have accompanied him to. courfeyrac has started a video compilation.
  7. deeply set, big blue eyes that are slightly downturned and give him a permanently concerned expression (his laughterlines????? A+ good shit)
  8. celebrates hanukkah with musichetta and combeferre every year (grantaire eats gelt all year round because he doesn’t give a fuck and its cheap chocolate)
  9. 20+ plus tattoos that he doesn’t remember getting the majority of but he likes anyway (enjolras also likes them, and makes sure to tell grantaire as often as he can to see him blush)
  10. likes to paint while jehan is in the room writing poetry and he smiles at children on the street and buys homeless people coffee even though he can barely afford one for himself and snorts when he laughs and is literally the softest boy in the world i LOvE
A Clean Plate

“Magnus? What are you doing here?”

Magnus froze. He must have forgotten to cast a warning spell for anyone coming towards him, and he could curse himself for it now. Luckily, it seems like the person who caught him was his own darling Alexander. He quickly pulled his hand back from the vertical row of stacked plates resting on the counter in the Institute kitchen.

“Oh! I was just looking for a glass of water, you know how thirsty enforcing the wards can make me,” Magnus said in a breezy tone.

“Couldn’t you just summon a glass of water…?” Alec asked, confusion written all over his face. “And you were just… stroking the edges of the plates.”

Magnus laughed, “stroking the plates? Oh, you young people- is that slang for something?”

Alec raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Fine,” Magnus said resignedly, “a long time ago, when The Accords were still being written I was invited to an Institute to help. They served us food, and drink- but after it was over they threw out every single item that had been touched by “dirty Downworlder” flesh… So now, when I find myself unaccompanied in an Institute, a rarity I assure you… I…”

“You touch the plates,” Alec said with understanding in his voice.  

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