Ok, so when team Voltron find Blue in s1e1 she flies around in broad daylight in the line of sight of the Garrison, and it’s the day after they rescue Shiro so the Garrison probably wasn’t still on lock down at this point. 

As a fully operational school, surely someone apart from Iverson and his off-sider saw the giant robot lion flying around less than a kilometre from the main building? 

I have this headcanon that Pidge somehow connects the ship to the internet, and as Keith is checking in on all his favourite conspiracy theory boards, he sees a new thread linking the ‘mysterious flying shape in the desert’ with some cave paintings found near a giant hole in millennia-old rock and the disappearance of three Galaxy Garrison students. 

The piece de resistance is some really grainy footage of Blue some student shot on their phone.  

Keith: Pidge, come look at this

Pidge, from over his shoulder: Keith… omg… we’re cryptids

Keith, tearing up: I knew we could do it

Castiel Novak: Tomb Raider

Castiel Novak: Tomb Raider by emwebb17
Rating: M/light NC-17
Word Count: 51,700
Summary: When disgraced archaeologist Dean Winchester goes missing, his brother hires survivalist Castiel Novak to track him down. With only Dean’s notes and journal to guide him, Castiel follows Dean’s trail across the globe, discovering long lost treasures and clues leading to the mythical Godland. As Castiel learns more about his target, he starts to develop feelings for a man he’s never even met. Now all he has to do is find him.

Adventure, discovery and mystery shape this amazing tale that defies tagging. When I first took a peek at AO3, I thought - Gee, looks like the author wants to keep us in suspense. Then after I finished this engaging story and tried to tag it, I understood her dilemma! This story defies tagging, in part because like Castiel’s quest to find Dean and Dean’s obsession with finding the Godland, it is all about the journey and not the destination. And it is one helluva a journey.

We start in a cafe in Austin, Tx where Castiel is tasked by a desperate Sam to find his missing brother. Through careful sleuthing and high adventure, Cas uses Dean’s journal and research notes to unravel the mystery of the Enochians and their lost civilization, enabling him to retrace Dean’s steps and hopefully find the missing archeologist. Even though we don’t meet Dean in the flesh until very late in the story, his journal entries make it seem like he is standing right there. The author’s research is epic - I was compelled to look at google maps just to see what she described!!! There are some pretty wild and surreal twists but damn, it was a fun ride!

If you enjoyed the fic, please drop by the archive (AO3) and let the author know with your comments and/or kudos!

Mysterious pyramid-shaped tomb discovered under Chinese construction site

A mysterious pyramid-shaped tomb has been uncovered by archaeologists under a construction site in China.

The structure was discovered in a chamber alongside a similar cylinder-shaped coffin in Zhengzhou, Henan Province.

Experts believe the chamber is a burial site, and could hail from the Han Dynasty (202 BC – 220 AD), China’s so-called “golden age”.

Who was buried there and why remains a mystery, though the site is currently under investigation, reports the Daily Mail.

Chinese media have nicknamed it the “pyramid of Zhengzhou”, though at six feet tall it is unlikely to draw as many tourists as the real things in Egypt. Read more.

“Powerful cloud.” Mt Fuji is a treasure trove of mysteriously shaped clouds. Various forms of clouds appear when a fast air current blows over the Mt Fuji. I stayed in the car during the night at the Inokashira forest road about 0.8 miles above sea level about 25 miles west of Mt Fuji. The small clouds that appeared before dawn grew bigger and bigger. Just before sunrise, they had become a huge cloud covering Mt. Fuji. The shadows of them in the backlight were the most powerful masterpieces. (Photo and caption by Takashi / National Geographic Travel Photographer of the Year Contest)

stop drawing pearl with big boobs 2k16
stop drawing mystery girl skinny 2k16
stop drawing amethyst skinny 2k16
stop drawing the SU gang in a way that makes them more “physically appealing”

rebecca made it so that pearl was flatchested to show that not all women need to have boobs to be beautiful. she drew mystery girl and amethyst thick to show that not all women have to be stick thin. she drew her characters in a way that gives representation to so many different body shapes. stop trying to pretend that their bodies arent the way they really are.

making love on the beach at night: cold, dark, illegal, water is pitch black, sand in your ass, you didnt realize the tide has been rising until its right there, coyotes that sound like people’s voices,15 instances of mysterious splashing and unidentified shapes in the water, a human foot washes up near you

The moon is a reoccurring theme in TYPE-MOON works.
In Fate/Stay Night, the presence of the moon was used simply for atmosphere. In particular, the full moon during the night Kiritsugu died stands out.
In Fate/Hollow Ataraxia, the hollow moon showed that something was wrong with the world it plays in. Passing through the moon is the way out of that world.
Of course, in Fate/EXTRA and its sequels the moon plays a big part as well.
The moon is even in the company name!

The reason for this is that I don’t trust that bastard.
Always hanging in the sky at night, looking all mysterious, changing shape.
There has to be something suspicious about that! 
That is what I thought as a child. When I decided to research the moon and it turned out to be just an ordinary rock, I felt disappointed.
Thus, I swore right there and then that I would never write about an ordinary moon in my life.



“We would probably get in trouble if we got caught out of our beds this late.” Tucker didn’t say it nervously but rather he stated it like a well-known fact. A gentle reminder.

“And I’ll be strapped to a kid sized cutting board and dissected in the basement if my parents knew I was a ghost. But let’s not dwell on that. Let’s go hunting for Mothman.” Danny replied easily, easing his way into his sports bra that doubled as a binder when he was in a hurry.

“So you actually did see him?” Tucker’s eyes sparkled and Danny resisted the urge to kiss him there and now. “What did he look like? How big were his wings?”

“I just saw a glimpse of him in the forest. And his wings were huge.” Danny replied, recalling the mysterious mothman-shaped figure in the forest on his hike yesterday. “It was drinking water in that stream uphill, and when I stepped on a stick it turn and ran away. I don’t know what else it could be!”

“It has to be him!”

“And we’ll find him tonight! Even if it means staying up all night!” Danny transformed and grabbed Tucker by the arm, flying them though the cabin ceiling and zooming towards the forest, cackling loudly when he heard Tucker’s surprised shriek.


“Tucker!” He shouted back, grinning wildly.

“You better not drop me, asshole.”

With that Danny got a simply evil idea and swooped down once he spotted the creek, dropping Tucker in six feet up and laughing madly when he came up, hair plastered to his forehead and eyebrows crinkled together.

“Get down here! It’s on, Fenton!”

Danny floated several feet higher than he originally ways before transforming, diving into the water in a perfect swan dive. Underwater he opened his eyes, his eyes glowing green and lighting up the murky water around him. A large fish darted away from the thin boy, and he kicked upwards.

Breaching the surface and not even bothering to take a breath, he looked around for Tucker and let out a surprised yelp when he was pushed underwater, mischievous green eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“You little-”

And then Tucker’s lips were on his, contrasting nicely with the coolness of the water and hands buried in Danny’s thick hair. Danny’s eyes fluttered shut and he floated to keep them both above the waterline, enjoying the taste of Tucker in his mouth and feeling the outline of his hips though his wet clothing-

And then he was pushed underwater again, thick fingers ghosting up his sides and he let out an involuntary laugh, bubbles escaping through his mouth.

“That’s revenge for dropping me, Fenton!”


  A small family consisting of a  husband, wife and their daughter were driving through the woods when they spotted three mysterious peanut shaped beings gliding over the ground.

According to the family the three peanut-creatures were completely covered in white hair and possessed no visible appendages or facial features. Apparently, they resembled the Shmoo, a then-popular creature from the Lil'Abner comics.

Day Fifty-Seven

-I was thoroughly underwhelmed and relieved by the amount of customers we had last night when we opened the doors. Unfortunately, the real Black Friday shoppers apparently decided to wait until today to come in en masse, and it was more terrifying than I had ever imagined. Thankfully this did not stop Cat Lady from coming in four separate times during my shift without making a single purchase.

-A woman attempted to specify to me which items she wanted a gift receipt for. I would ask, “All of it?” She would reply, “No, just these,” gesturing to everything. This cycle went on for an entire minute at which point we finally reached the understanding that she did in fact want a gift receipt for everything.

-A gaggle of elderly guests shouted from a location I could not determine, repeating, “Excuse me. Excuse me.” in what was simultaneously a whisper and a shout. While it may be later than they would have hoped, I would now like to formally excuse them from all that they could have been asking for.

-Far too many people have come through the store treating Black Friday as a sport, seeing who can sacrifice the most manners to attain the most savings. The winner is whoever spends the least money while purchasing the most stuff. The loser, their cashiers.

-An older woman purchased $150 of Pokemon cards, but at no point did she mention any gift receipts or anything about presents at all. I hope this means that she is working her way towards being the best that there ever was and establishing that Pokemon trainers can, in fact, age past ten years.

-A woman in her sixties purchased Cards Against Humanity along with several expansions. Whether she is entirely unaware of what the game holds in store for her or entirely aware of what is to come, I want nothing more out of my life than to be the Czar.

-The only genuine winners of Black Friday are the two amazingly polite dads who came through with their toddlers in hand, boasting to each other of how much they saved on their kitchen appliances.

-I watched on in confusion and terror as a woman deliberately passed up dozens of smaller bills, one at a time, to ultimately draw out a $100 bill to pay for her $11 purchase. If her goal was to prove herself the highest of rollers in the store at the time, she accomplished this with flair.

-A sweet old woman entered my lane, a mysteriously goatee-shaped bandaid on her chin, pristine white gloves on her hands, a gray sweater with the hood altered to function as a cape perfecting her ensemble. I want her to adopt me as soon as we can both fit it into our schedule, or at least sign her as my fashion consultant and see if I can commission a cape-hooded hoodie from her.

-I handed a young girl the book she had so eagerly purchased. She excitedly took it and ran to the end of the lane as her parents continued the transaction and began to read the story aloud to all within earshot. She spun the tale of the two kittens with such passion that I was left wanting more than another chapter as the family left the store.

-I was greeted by a mother-daughter shopping duo who had also come through my lane the previous night. They were passionate about their savings, but equally concerned with my well-being and lack of sleep. If I had the energy, I would have wept a single tear as they walked away, leaving me behind to watch the closest things I had to friends in this shift attain the freedom I so dearly desired.

-”You have incredible hair,” a bald man told me wistfully, eyeing my unreasonably thick brown mop. The sadness in his eyes made me consider cutting off a lock to hand to him, but I thought better of it, lest we enter a giving-a-mouse-a-cookie style scenario.

-An elderly woman placed her bills down on the conveyor belt one by one to count them out. I picked them up as she placed down the first couple to ensure they were not swept under the belt. I gestured for her to place them in my hand rather than on the moving surface. Instead, she took this as a challenge, throwing her money across the counter, avoiding my hand as best as she could, cackling to herself as I made a mad dash to pick up each. I never expected this sort of chaotic evil to come from such a frail body, but I have learned my lesson. I will never underestimate a potential nemesis again.

-As I was walking towards the guest services counter, I passed a shrieking baby and a mother desperate to soothe him. I happened to have a strip of stickers in my pocket and, before thinking about it, swooped in to hand them to the child. They immediately ceased the crying and the mother shouted her thanks as I walked away. I am now a gracious sticker fairy and I will pursue this new path wholeheartedly.

-The information that I used to work at Forever 21 has leaked to the management, and I became the subject of a battle between a front end manager and a soft lines manager. I believe soft lines won out in the end and I may have been brought into a new line of work.

-A father attempted to heckle me, asking if I would accept his Kohl’s cash. I turned the tables on the man, telling him that I would gladly take it, but it would not lower his total at all. His family found this hilarious, laughing at him uproariously as he pouted to himself after being roasted so severely. Let this be a lesson to all cashier-hecklers: we are doing our best and our jobs are hard enough and some of us cope with humor and sometimes you will get brutally burned.

As to the definition of “feminist,” I don’t know. I have loved and I love feminism because in America, in Italy, and in many other parts of the world, it managed to provoke complex thinking. I grew up with the idea that if I didn’t let myself be absorbed as much as possible into the world of eminently capable men, if I did not learn from their cultural excellence, if I did not pass brilliantly all the exams that world required of me, it would have been tantamount to not existing at all. Then I read books that exalted the female difference and my thinking was turned upside down. I realized that I had to do exactly the opposite: I had to start with myself and with my relationships with other women—this is another essential formula—if I really wanted to give myself a shape.
—  The Mysterious, Anonymous Author Elena Ferrante on the Conclusion of Her Neapolitan Novels | Vanity Fair

There is simply too much to quote in Elena Ferrante’s interview and profile in Vanity Fair done by the blazingly talented Elissa Schappell. I recommend reading it in full, a few times over.
Panic Attacks

Nico sped through camp, anxiously avoiding the infirmary. He almost tripped over a fallen branch in the dark. He has just had a panic attack in front of everybody at the campfire. Worse, in front of Will. Worst, Will had just finally officially asked him out. It’s not like Nico had never had a panic attack. On the contrary, they were quite often for the Ghost King, but he can usually keep himself calm till he gets to his cabin. Will can’t just put him on the spot like that, in front of everyone. 

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Highway to Hell

Originally posted by wonhontology


Warnings: Mentions of violence (not super graphic but still a bit graphic).

The woods are still and silent as you wait. The last rays of sunshine are beginning to dip below the horizon and you know that it’s only a matter of time before they begin to stir. You want to hit them at just the right time, before they fully come to but when they’re conscious enough for you to be certain that you’ve killed them.

The moment that you hear the faint sounds of voices drifting from the derelict warehouse, you know that it’s time to act. There’s an art to killing vampires, after all. You’ve taken out enough nests to know that.

Your movements are nearly silent as you slip your machete from the sheath at your waist. With your weapon at the ready, you tread carefully through the dead leaves. You’re painfully aware of every noise that your boots make as you approach the warehouse but know that there’s nothing more you can do, you’ve taken every precaution and eliminated every variable. If they attack, they attack.

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anonymous asked:

It happened accidentally at first; Cas left his coat, which Dean, of course, wore around the bunker (he definitely did not walk around with it flapping behind like a cape, nope not at all). The next time Cas leaves it was at night when he left to do 'angel business'; Sam went into Dean's room that night to find that he was fast asleep practically hugging Cas' coat. And as much as he denies it, it was the best nights' sleep he's had, and Cas may or may not leave his coat on purpose ;)

The coat smells like Cas, too. He didn’t used to have a smell - probably because angels didn’t sweat or give off any kind of body odour. But lately Dean swears he can detect a hint of Cas’s impossible to describe but unmistakable scent. And his shampoo too, as Cas had fallen into the habit of taking regular showers, though he didn’t need them.

When Sam jokes one day at the breakfast table that Dean should get one of those body pillows and dress it up in the coat, he only narrowly avoids the pancake thrown at his head.

And if a pillow-shaped package mysteriously turns up in Dean’s room one day when he returned from the grocery store to find Sam gone (the note said he was visiting Eileen), well, nobody need ever know that it didn’t immediately end up in the trash…

Rune Magick

Hey, all! So today I’m going to teach you about runes and how to use them in everyday magick. There are, of course, many different types of runes but for this, we are talking about Germanic runes. 

So, first off I’ll tell you a little about what runes are. Runes are a form of script, dating all the way back to 150 AD. They were eventually replaced by the Latin alphabet somewhere around 700 AD. Because they are so ancient, some witches use them not only as a secret script but also in their magickal workings. 

You might be asking, “Well how do I do that? Wouldn’t that be like using the letter A?” Well, yes and no. I have no doubt someone could find a way to use the Latin alphabet for magick, but in this case, runes are more… symbolic I guess? Take the rune peorth for example (see “p” above). It resembles a cup lying on its side. When the opening points to the right, it represents birth and beginnings. When the opening points to the left, it represents death or endings.

Each rune symbolizes a specific thing or idea. Say, for example, you wanted a quick charm for safe travels. You could draw Raidho ® somewhere on your person as it is the rune of travel. To use rune magick simply draw, paint, or inscribe it where you want to use it. You can also “draw” it in the air or on an object/person with your energy. 

 Below is a list of all the runes, their names, and their uses/meanings (order is from left to right).

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Drone footage has revealed two elaborate new crop patterns in the English county of Wiltshire, home of the iconic Stonehenge circle. The images were captured by MrGro, a website that publishes drone videos of the mysterious shapes.

TagsUK, History,Design,Science,Drones

Since the 1960s, the phenomena have been cited as evidence of the existence of extra-terrestrials, but sightings of irregular crop patterns date back to as early as the 1600s.

The team at MrGro, however, have an alternative theory about these particular curved crop shapes.

“Are these circles mysterious? In our opinion, no they’re not,” they say in a blog post linked to the video. While the patterns are distinctly “alien looking” there are a few sound reasons why they probably aren’t.

“We tend not to wade into the whole theory of how the circles are made. Occasionally, however, we do like to dip our humble photographer’s toe in the pool of the bizarre, mysterious and darn right insane and this is one such occasion where we feel we would like to offer an opinion,” they write.

They say the “wonky” lines are one reason to discount the possibility of alien involvement.

READ MORE: Coastal UK residents at ‘high risk’ of deadly asteroid tsunami, scientists warn

“Firstly, if the aliens were able to travel all the way to Southern England and felt inclined to leave us a message in the form of a crop circle, you’d think that they would be able to keep the straight lines of the formation, well, straight. Let’s look at what we are talking about. The Stoford circle, it is very uneven and messy, look for instance along one of the lines below and see how wonky it is.”

“We think that the two designs were produced by men,” they said.

“Very talented men with interesting design ideas that translate very well into pleasing crop circles that people enjoy photographing and analyzing. We think that these men work very closely with a crop circle photographer with the aim of delivering designs as and when they are required.”

Wiltshire is home to Stonehenge, a circle of intricately balanced stones, which has stood on the hills surrounding Amesbury for thousands of years. Its original purpose still baffles experts.

mysterious shape or beauty mark

saturday night, boys’ night ft. charlie and braxton

There was a racetrack in his mind. Synapses flared at 200 mph, tires squealing, crowds roaring. There was nothing slow about the way Charlie existed. He often found himself popping pills to operate at normal speeds when it got too much. That night, he was headed straight for a car crash. 

He’d come home the night before to Brinley and Braxton asleep in his bed. He was torn between feeling glad that Brin had gotten there safely, and some other weird mixture of emotion he didn’t have the energy or the desire to decipher. His phone was heavy in his pocket, its presence unrelenting. He slept in the bathtub.

The texts were still there, on Saturday. Charlie’s greatest talent, however, was ignoring his problems. He fed himself hard liquor until nothing mattered anymore and his sole focus became a fun night with the guys. Poor Braxton, really. No one should’ve had to suffer Charlie’s full focus.

“Four shots of Don Julio,” was his first order of the night. Charlie had learned that ordering top shelf shit usually bypassed the whole carding process. He was right, and they were free to drink themselves silly without issue. 

It was a cool bar, relative to the shitholes they normally snuck into. They’d decorated with vintage memorabilia, and some indie band was covering a 90s one hit wonder. The crowd was college-aged, but not the usual sorority/fraternity spread. Hipster bar, that’s what Charlie called it when he told the guys. 

“They’re gonna dig your glasses,” he’d told Braxton when he got exasperated complaints from both Dean and Oliver.

He was trying, they had to give him that much. 

Perhaps in a manner that was more obnoxious than helpful, as everyone would find out as the night wore on. Charlie approached girls with his standard confidence, spoke to them with his standard bluntness. He was honest, sharing his philanthropic effort of attempting to get his best buddy laid. The girls either found him gross or charming in that ridiculous kind of way, but it was having a zero percent success rate and Braxton was on his phone. 

“Who are you fuckin’ texting? I’m gonna throw your phone in the toilet and let some dude piss on it.”


Braxton said it like it should let him off from Charlie’s threat. He didn’t know, though. He had no idea. 

It’s not that Charlie was mad at her. He was… he didn’t know what he was. He just grabbed Braxton’s arm and tugged him over to a new set of girls.

“Ladies, ladies,” he greeted as he approached, reluctant and annoyed Braxton in tow. “Meet my friend, Braxton. He’s smart, he’s handsome, and he’s very single.” 

“Charming,” one of the girls said, sarcastically. “And what’s your name?”


“Well, Charlie,” she said, “my name’s Alana. This is Meg and Cassie.”

“Pleasure,” he replied. He swung an arm around Braxton’s shoulders. “So which one of you wants to have the night of their dreams with my boy here? C’mon, look at this face.” He touched Braxton’s chin. It was a little dim in the bar, so he couldn’t tell whether Brax was amused or annoyed. 

He saw Brax’s phone light up. He persisted.

“We might have to pass, we’re classy girls,” Meg said over her giggling friends.

“They’re playing Salt-N-Pepa,” Charlie pointed out. “You can’t stand alone with your friends to Salt-N-Pepa. That’s so fuckin’ depressing.” 

“Yet here we are,” Alana said coyly.

Charlie groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to feel like this is a lesbian bar.” 

“So what if it was? Would that bother you?” 

Charlie grinned a devilish grin. “The day I complain about a girl kissin’ another girl is the day they lay me down to rest.” 

A silent expression passed amongst the three girls. Alana turned back to Charlie and Braxton.

“Is this where the fuckboy asks us to kiss for him?” 

“I mean, if you’re offering…” Charlie could feel Braxton shove him a little, maybe in an effort to rein him in. 

“We’ll kiss,” Cassie offered, earning herself an immediate sharp look from Alana. She held up her finger, as if to say ‘wait for it’. “But only if you two kiss first.” 

The three girls laughed at this, clinking glasses as though they’d uncovered a genius way to get Charlie and Braxton to run off in a panic. 

The major crack in their plan was this: 

They didn’t know Charlie North.

He’d never kissed one of his guy friends before, but he’d never been asked to before. There’d been that time they were playing spin the bottle and it had landed on Dean, but Dean had quickly refused before Charlie ever had the chance to admit he wouldn’t mind. 

He put his hand on Braxton’s chin again, to turn his face just so. Then he kissed him right on the mouth. He could feel a hesitation in Braxton, and he was fully prepared to be pushed away. But it wasn’t happening - not immediately, in any case. The girls were squealing, laughing, and Charlie was pulling his friend closer. 

This was Braxton. Brinley’s brother. Her twin. Her… 

Braxton who meant more to her than Charlie ever would, ever could. Braxton who Charlie played second best to. 

Charlie’s hand slid to the back of Braxton’s head, threading fingers through his hair as he insistently deepened their kiss to elicit some kind of response.

Kiss me back or punch me, either way I win.