there was only three right

  • Ravenclaw: There's going to be snow!
  • Sytherin: Yup, enough to bury small animals.
  • Ravenclaw: Why must you be like this?
  • Slytherin: Why are you so excited about it?
  • Ravenclaw: Because now I can sit in front of the fireplace and read books.
  • Slytherin: You do that anyway.
  • Ravenclaw: Yeah, but now there's aesthetic.

You watch the man write the words. “Female. 20. Uncontaminated.” Those are your selling points, your ticket to survival. And only two of the three are right.

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?

5

No, she needs to be around people who better understand the issues she’s struggling with. People more like her.

5

That one time Asami low-key confesses to Korra because you could cut the tension with a knife. Bolin thinks he’s helping.

taken from when the thing happens” by weiweipon

5

Looks like staying up too late to draw bakushimanari comics that make sense only to me is becoming an ill advised habit

things every jew can relate to

1. not keeping any trash cans in your house because they’re not kosher
2. only being able to read right to left
3. having the last name kleinbergowitzman
4. being terrible at driving
5. when you’re in a crowd and someone calls your name and you turn your head and your large birdlike jewish nose takes out the three people to your right
6. only being able to spend money in multiples of 18 (makes splitting the check really hard)
7. getting really sick of only ingesting matzah and the blood of christian children
8. stealing money from gentiles and sensibly investing it while laughing jewishly
9. when your yarmulke won’t cover your horns
10. walking by a church and instantly catching on fire

2

Are you gonna kill him? I mean, I don’t care if you do, but have you thought this through?

6x17 was another great episode for Thiam fans. Although Cody Christian did not have as much screen time as in the last two episodes, he had another brilliant time on screen, along with Dylan Sprayberry.

We see Liam Dunbar nearly losing control and thus almost killing Gabe in the process. He was on the brink of losing it entirely. However, Theo emerged out of thin air and calmed him down.

 Again, Theo Raeken proved how clever he is. He managed to calm Liam down by pointing out the consequences of killing Gabe: “Any idea where you’re gonna dump the body? Nobody saw you grab him, did they?”

 You didn’t kill him. It’s progress.

Hence, Theo does not oppose to the idea to killing him. Not openly, at least. Liam lets go of Gabe in the end.

Liam: You made your point.

Theo: You didn’t kill him. That’s progress.

Liam: Why do you keep trying to save me? You think it’ll make Scott forget about everything you did?


You might want to remember what’s been Scott’s goal all along: keep people alive.

That’s exactly what Theo’s doing: keep people alive. He knocked Liam out at the abandoned zoo so that Nolan could get away. He stopped Liam from losing control and kill Gabe in the process. Is Theo really trying to help the pack? Or is he just protecting himself, pursuing a plan of his own?

Liam commenced to put his trust in Theo. He chose Theo to accompany him to carry out his plan at the zoo. He also allowed the chimera to talk him out of killing Gabe. He realised that Theo was right, as experienced as he is.

There are only three episodes left before it all ends. Fans really adore the growing “thing” between Theo and Liam. Thiam seems to have become one of the most popular bromances of the show. Some ship them as friends, others just want them to kiss already. Whichever you prefer, Theo and Liam share some great scenes together.

The chemistry between Cody and Dylan is phenomenal. You can really see the way their relationship developed from the moment that Liam brought Theo back from hell and to the last scene they shared in 6x17.

Liam definitely seems to trust Theo now. He must also be somewhat important to Theo since the chimera actually stayed around, assisting and advising him.

Some people have expressed their concern about Theo’s motives. Would he betray them all again? Let’s hope not.

cassiebones  asked:

How many girls do you think Alex accidentally flirted with before she realized she was gay? Like she was SO flirting with Maggie before she realized but like how often do you think that happened and she just thought she was being nice or whatever? Fucking oblivious gay nerd.

She’s six and the girl’s brothers had left her all alone in the sand as they dashed into the ocean, yelping and shoving and splashing each other as they barrel deeper into the water.

The girl looks lonely and the girl looks listless, and Alex knows the feeling.

“You don’t like the ocean?” she asks without preamble, because six year old social code permits so much more direct communication than older codes will.

The girl turns to her and sighs. Her face is pretty, even when it’s sad, and Alex bites the inside of her cheek. “I’ll just slow my brothers down,” she says, and Alex holds out an open hand.

“You won’t slow me down.”

They take each wave together, the girl never letting go of Alex’s hand, and Alex never wanting her to.

Eliza, watching from their balcony overlooking the beach, is proud that her shy little Alexandra is finally making a friend.

She’s ten and the pretty girl from homeroom has the best science fair poster in the whole lunchroom.

Except for Alex’s, of course, but Alex doesn’t mention that when she tells her that it looks great, and how did she get such clear images of a monthly progression of sunspots from a homemade pinhole camera?

Alex thinks the girl blushes, but it must be because she’s shy, or maybe she doesn’t like talking in such a crowded, bustling space. Or it’s Alex’s imagination.

Either way, she decides that the best course of action is to keep complimenting the girl, because she deserves it, and if Alex’s life as a professional ten year old nerd is any indication, the girl can use all the compliments she can get.

She’s fourteen, and her newest surf instructor is eighteen, and Alex has never been nervous before classes before, but she almost throws up each time, now, because what if she messes up, and what if her instructor decides that Alex has only been accelerated to an advanced class by luck, and she demotes her back down to surfing with the other fourteen year olds, and – 

“Nice job, Danvers!” she calls, and Alex nearly spills off her board at the way her heart leaps, at the way she says her name.

When her boyfriend picks her up after class – her instructor’s boyfriend, not Alex’s, because who would ever want to date her, anyway? – Alex stands a little bit straighter, gets her instructor to laugh a little bit louder.

“Make sure he takes you somewhere nice: you only deserve the best places, you know?” she tells her, and she thinks she’s smooth, thinks she’s putting the college boy in his place, even though she’s not quite sure why she wants to.

She’s sixteen and Vicky Donahue is always on her mind. And that’s okay – they’re best friends, and best friends are supposed to always be on each other’s minds, right? – and Vicky is nice to Kara and Vicky smells so damn good and Alex wants to be just like her and she usually loves school but god the days before the nights she gets to sleep over at Vicky’s are horribly, horribly long.

Because Vicky’s mother keeps offering to set up an air mattress in Vicky’s room, and Alex keeps telling her, “It’s alright, Mrs. Donahue, you don’t have to go out of your way, I don’t mind the tight space, honest.” Because it is a tight space, sharing Vicky’s bed, but it means that Vicky’s body is close to hers, and best friends snuggle all the time, right?

And friends play dress up, too, even in high school, right, and when Vicky goes through her parents’ closets and tosses her top off without thinking to try on something new, Alex gulps extra hard and she blushes like she’s Kara and she stammers but she obeys when Vicky tells her to come zip her up, and she nearly kisses the back of her neck because friends are affectionate with each other, right, and she’s sincere when she tells her that she’s beautiful, that she’s the prettiest girl in the whole school, the whole town, and Vicky gives her something of a strange look, and she turns her back to Alex before she changes again.

She’s nineteen and she doesn’t have much use for English class, but that girl who sits across from her makes great drawings in her notebook and Alex has to tell her, right, because who doesn’t want to be complimented?

“Hey – I really like your uh… art.”

The girl giggles. “They’re just doodles.”

“No, but they’re really good! You’re really good.”

The girl shrugs, her eyes lingering on Alex’s face a beat too long. But not long enough.

She starts doodling for Alex, nudging her and edging her notebook toward her, sometimes ripping out the sketches and gifting them to a spluttering Alex. She keeps every one of them and she takes them out during long days in the lab, and she chews on the inside of her cheek, and she fantasizes about what the girl’s boyfriend probably likes to do to her in bed, because some of the doodles are a bit sexual, so it’s only natural for the mind to wander, right?

She’s twenty-three and she’s partying way too hard, because college was too easy and grad school is easy but what’s not easy is Eliza’s voice in the back of her head, is the constant guilt of having gone off to Stanford without Kara, is the constant confusion and loneliness because she can get everything else right, but not dating, not men, and Eliza is starting to ask uncomfortable questions.

She goes home with men with clumsy hands and overeager tongues, but she dances with women with scintillating touches and vodka on their breath. She smiles and sometimes, she winks, and sometimes, she puts her hands on hips that aren’t hers, and sometimes, her blood rushes through her veins so fast she can barely breathe because her body will go home with a guy, but her mind will stay here on the dance floor.

She’s twenty-seven and it’s been too long, and that’s okay, because the DEO keeps her busy, the DEO keeps her focused. The DEO saved her life.

But she’s twenty-seven and Lucy Lane walks in and Kara isn’t wrong about how nice she smells and how smart she is and how date-able she is, but she’s the enemy because of who her father is and she’s the enemy because of who her ex-boyfriend-sort-of-still-boyfriend is and she’s the enemy because she almost sends Alex and J’onn off to Cadmus, but suddenly she’s not the enemy because she rescues them and fights for them and she throws everything on the line for them and Alex thinks of that thing she felt during her interrogation, correcting Lucy from calling her Alexandra, Lucy’s piercing eyes when she called out that Alex was lying, Lucy’s uncomfortable shifting when what’s his face was going on yet another xenophobic rant, and Alex can’t think about any of this now because now, she’s on the run, and sure, she’ll always have Lucy to thank for that, but later, later, later.

She’s twenty-eight and it’s her crime scene, dammit, not some arrogant detective’s with gorgeous eyes and gorgeous hair and a confident smirk and god, god, god, how is she that smart, how is anyone that sharp?

She’s twenty-eight and it’s innocent, it’s pool, they’re friends, and of course she’s not jealous when she says she’s got a hot date, because sure, whatever woman has a hot date with Maggie Sawyer is probably the luckiest woman in the world, but Alex is just excited to finally meet someone that can go toe-to-toe with her, that can challenge her, that can change her. And if her stomach flips a little bit when she saunters off in those jeans and that tank top to that date, it’s just because she’d hoped maybe they could go for a drink, because it’s been so long since Alex has had a friend outside of work.

She’s twenty-eight and she’s up all night, because she’s twenty-eight and she’s falling in love. In gay love. Lesbian love. 

God, god, god, how has she not seen it before?

She’s falling in love with a woman, and memories are exploding out of her like water bursting out of a dam, and she’s terrified and she’s confused and she’s never felt more… herself.

And Maggie Sawyer is the reason why.

twitter: its international kissing day

me: sounds like a great excuse to draw something I don’t draw very often

Please don’t tag as kin/me - Please don’t repost to other websites - Please don’t remove caption ✮

I super love the lightning thief musical and be more chill so I made,,, a crossover,, or I’m working on one at least ?? obviously I’ve only drawn these three right now, but I’ve got my personal hcs for everyone else already :0
don’t know if I’ll continue this but it was fun to draw and think about at least !

anonymous asked:

Can you do one where the reader and harry bought a house. They're painting and one of his favourite songs, Tupelo Honey, comes on and they dance slowly while he sings along ❤️

*Not my GIF*

Drabble #2

This had been a long time coming, it had taken months for you and Harry to find a house that you both fell in love with, that was secluded enough for it to remain hidden from prying eyes but was still close enough to where both you and Harry had to be for work. You had finally found a house that you both loved but it needed a bit of work, nothing major just a bit of paint and a few cosmetic details that needed fixing up.  You had decided to do the painting yourselves, Harry had suggested that it would be a nice way to spend some time together after being apart for so long with his tour and your busy work schedule. For the last 2 years you and Harry had essentially been living together, hopping between each other’s places but before now you had not a place that the two of you shared.  

“I think you were right about the colour love, the other one might have been too bright” Harry said standing back to admire his work

“We’ve been together for almost three years now and you’re only just learning that I’m always right” you giggled handing him a cup of tea

“Thanks love, and I’ve always known that you’re right, it’s just taken me this long to accept it” he said with a dimpled grin as he sat down on the ladder

“Don’t get too comfortable Styles, there’s still 3 more walls to go, and then the rest of the house”

He stood up, put his tea down and walked over you, wrapping his arms around your waist

“I think I might need a helper here love, can’t do it all by myself”

You giggle, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his chest

“Or we could stay like this and hire a painter to paint the house”

“Hmm, it is tempting, but we said we’d do it together”

He unwrapped his arms from your waist and took his phone out of his pocket

“How about some tunes?”

“Only if they’re good ones”

He put on his playlist through the little Bluetooth speaker he had bought for this exact purpose and handed you a paint roller

“Come on love, this was supposed to be a bonding experience”

You reluctantly took the roller, “I was hoping to be supervisor and watch you do all the hard work while I sit here and look pretty”

“You can look pretty while you paint”

“Here” he reached out his hand and took the roller, coating it in paint and lifting it to the wall “don’t start right at the edge, leave a little bit of room and roll upwards first”

“Since when do you know so much about painting?”

“I googled it, your turn now”

You took the roller from him and started painting the wall as he did the same. You both spent the rest of the afternoon singing along to all your favourite songs and laughing at each other’s awful dance moves. The sun began to shine through the front window as you were putting the finishing touches on the skirting boards and the first few notes of Tupelo Honey began playing through the speaker. Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at you, eyeballing the speaker and looking straight back at you, signalling his enthusiasm for this song.

“You can take all the tea in china” he sang sweetly standing and taking your hand and helping you up and twirling you into his arms swaying as he sang along to the lyrics.

She’s as sweet as tupelo honey

She’s an angel of the first degree”

You danced along as he sang the song that suited his voice so perfectly, the sun illuminating your faces as you basked in each other’s presence, it had been so long since you’d spent time together like this, and you couldn’t quite believe that you were here, in the house that you just bought together, slow dancing to your favourite song while you painted what will be your bedroom walls.  He rested his forehead against yours and he softly sang the last verse of the song.

“Just like the honey, from the bee
She’s alright, she’s alright with me
She’s my baby, you know she’s alright
She’s my baby, she’s my baby, she’s alright
She’s my baby

My baby honey” he whispered before your lips met.


Drabble’s are not my strong point, but I hope you liked this anon, the concept was so cute, I hope I did it justice. 

Send in more requests xx

Masterlist  

Me: I need a great comet revival like, right now-
Friend: wait, didn’t that show only close three weeks ago?
Me:
Me: I need a great comet revival like, right now

prognostically  asked:

/JUMPS IN HERE HELLO I was wondering if I could make a request!! I love your merformers AU like a lot and I love love love your take on yandere characters as well. Could I hear your headcanons on a yandere merformer of your choice?

Oh yes, absolutely!  :D  I’m gonna do Brainstorm for this, because he seems like the type lol!


It’s Brainstorm’s loneliness that sets him down this path.  He’s not exactly what you’d call a popular mer.  Even among his so called friend group, he has a self-destructive tendency to alienate himself.  It’s not his fault they don’t understand his genius.  At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Meeting you was nothing short of a happy accident.  He spotted your bright, yellow kayak as it passed by overhead one day, and immediately decided to investigate.  He’s seen humans come by in boats to see the mangroves before, but it’s certainly not what he’d call an everyday occurrence.

The first thing he notices is that you’re alone, which to him seems unusual, as he assumes humans usually travel in packs.  Yet here you are, quietly paddling your boat through the crystal clear waters, admiring the sunlight filtering through the branches above you, a faint smile on your face as you softly hum to yourself.  It’s mainly for this reason that he decides to approach you.  Even if it goes wrong, there’s not much one human can do against him.

It’s starling for you at first when he first snakes his way over to the side of your boat, but your shock is quickly replaced by amazement.  You had heard and believed the legends about merformers ever since you were a small child, but you never dreamed that you would ever see one, never mind have one come up and strike up a conversation with you.  Judging by the creature’s somewhat startled expression, you gather that this isn’t quite the reaction he had expected, or at least, not to this extent.  You can only hope that your incessant questions and inane babbling aren’t as annoying as you fear they are.

Little do you know, however, that Brainstorm is far from annoyed.  In fact, he’s ecstatic!  Here is this tiny, strange, inquisitive little creature that he’s never even seen before who showers him with attention and compliments and just generally makes him feel actually worth something for a change.  The more you talk, the more he grows to like you, and the more he likes you, the more appealing you start to become in his eyes.  He didn’t quite notice before how your eyes seem to sparkle like the sun on the surface of the water, or the way your smile seems to bloom over your face like a water lily.  He suddenly becomes very aware of how much he’d like to run his claws over your soft skin or through your hair and the thought causes a bright flush to creep over his face.

He offers to show you all the secret spots of his beautiful home, places that the other humans never even knew existed, in return for a small kiss on the cheek.  You giggle and concede to his request thinking to yourself about mers and their mischievousness natures, unaware of how the small brush of your lips sends his stomach flip flopping.  Brainstorm leads you all over the mangroves, showing you where the spoonbills make their nests and where the best bromeliads grow along the shore.  You’re so in awe of your lovely, almost magical, surroundings, that you don’t realize how long you’ve been here until you see the sun start to sink bellow the horizon.

Biting back your worry, you thank Brainstorm for showing you around and ask him to lead you back out again, which of course he will, for another kiss.  You begin to notice however that he seems much less sure of himself this time than he did when first leading you into the heart of the mangroves.  You chalk it up to the dimming light.  Why else would he seem to be leading you down an increasing number of dead ends and wrong turns?  By the time the sun fully sets you’re nearly in tears.  Not only are you cold, tired, and hungry, but you’re legitimately concerned you might not survive with all the nocturnal predators creeping about (you could swear you saw a pair of yellow alligator eyes watching you from the surface of the water.)

Luckily you have Brainstorm there with you.  Don’t you worry, pet!  He won’t let anything happen to you!  You’re completely safe as long as he’s around.  In fact, he knows of a quiet, secluded spot not to far up ahead where you can rest for the night.  He’ll watch over you the whole time.  He’ll even catch you some fish first and maybe try to find you some oranges.  You do look awfully hungry after all.  It’s lucky that you ran into him or you might not have lasted the night.  You just relax, poppet.  He’ll protect you.  Now how about another kiss?  

You feel a small churning of dread begin to settle in your stomach as he proceeds leads you through the inky blackness of the mangroves with expert precision.