imagine……. thor….. w long hair……. w flowers braided in his hair……… and a soft flowy shirt……… smiling happily in a field…………. delicately making a crown for his partner……. dr bruce banner………
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the signs as fairy tale aesthetics
- aries: stolen treasures, flashing swords and thunderstorms
- taurus: wild woods, hidden curses and fur gowns
- gemini: gingerbread cottages, wildflowers, and potion vials
- cancer: glass slippers, enchanted springs and gemstones
- leo: sleeping dragons, secret keys and gold crowns
- virgo: pressed flowers, wild hair and fairy wings
- libra: ermine trim, magic mirrors and a throne
- scorpio: eternal love, haunted forests and crushed velvet
- sagittarius: red roses, magic lamps and a castle steeped in fog
- capricorn: swan feathers, ice palaces and a string of pearls
- aquarius: leather-bound spell-books, wooden cabins and mason jars
- pisces: mermaid tails, crescent moons and a raging sea
i will not buy flowers for a girl because flowers are stupid and worthless and they die like really fast. get a girl a rock. rocks are strong. rocks don’t die after 2 days
diamond
the word you’re looking for is diamond
Diamonds are overpriced and far too common. Hand-forge a ring. Etch a script into it. Use it to ensnare the world leaders and take over the world.
There are literally two trilogies telling you why that is a bad idea
#ourgeneration horror stories
- They find a book written in Latin… one guy doesn’t take Latin and doesn’t want to mess up the pronunciation. The girl is studying Mandarin. Another guy recommends sticking it into Google Translate but that’s likely to land them with gibberish. They leave it alone.
- The car won’t start. They call an Uber.
- The vampire captures the girl and insists that she wears the gown to dinner. The gown is actually hella cute. Only problem is it’s not in her size. Oh, it only comes in 2’s and 4’s? Sorry, vamp, you want me in that dress you contact the goddamn company and tell them to get their shit together.
- “How did you possibly know that? It saved our lives!” “I’ve got two degrees and I spend way too much time on Wikipedia.”
- They encounter a spirit that gains power the more people believe in it. One girl makes a vine and uploads with, “fakest ghost ever!!! Right??” Twenty minutes later the spirit is destroyed.
- The circus is in town tonight. Except she’s lived her whole life here and the circus has never come before… it’s also in a pretty sketchy part of town, not somewhere you’d want to walk alone at night. She goes to a movie instead.
- “You’d need an ARMY to fight this evil!” “Okay. I’ve got 20,000 followers, lets see how many can make it.”
- The Evil Whispery Voice of Doom tells the jock that it’s going to kill his pretty blonde girlfriend. The jock gets offended because, excuse me, Cindy and I are just friends. However, Marty over there is my boyfriend and I’m not saying you should kill him, just stop making assumptions yeah?
- “This spirit tried to convince me it was Jerry when it texted but its texting style is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT so yeah that didn’t work.”
- We could have easily gotten lost and ended up at some creepy cabin in the woods, but luckily we all had functioning GPSs. Beach party, we’ve arrived!
- “We have to find a way to destroy it! We—what are you doing?” “Looking up ‘exorcising demons’ on Google. Oh look, first hit.”
- The child she bares will be the devil’s spawn. Good thing she doesn’t want kids. Or if she changes her mind she can always adopt.
- “How can we possibly outwit this serial killer…” “… There’s gotta be an app for that. Lemme look.”
- Only the virgin will survive… Turns out they’re all virgins. One is asexual. One wants to wait until marriage. Two just haven’t found the right person yet. One is meh about sex. So we all survive, yeah?
- The girl does not fall. She was on varsity track.
- “Quick! We need someplace to hide the artifact. And then decoys to confuse the beast! What have we got?” “… I’ve got a hundred plastic bags stuffed into another plastic bag.” “PERFECT.”
Where’s the goofy teen comedy where the popular girl gives the shy girl a makeover she can Get The Guy™, only to realize that she’s actually falling in love with her and then they have the classic Arguing In The Rain scene because the popular girl is sad that the shy girl went on a date with The Guy so she angrily confesses her feelings and then they kiss and it’s all the feels?
I dreamt that I was standing in an empty field in Illinois and a truck drove by, hit a bump, and thousands of doughnuts began tumbling out of the back and bouncing down the road. I ignored the shouts of my 4th-grade teacher as I ran to collect as many doughnuts as I could and shove them into my face. I ate three at once and kept the rest for a girl I knew was recovering from a demon possession.
So tonight I drove 2.5 hours to visit my friends, but 2 hours in, my phone crashed and wouldn’t turn back on. I was stranded with no way to get where I was going or contact my friends, so I pulled off the road to look for help. The first place I saw was Tim Hortons. Immediately upon stepping through the door, my eyes locked upon three doughnuts. The doughnuts from my dream, the ones I ate first.
“This is very Twin Peaks,” I thought, and decided to wait there for my friend.
i think the most egregious example of the manic pixie dream girl trope was this play i but I just remembered seeing it, several years ago…
it was about this sad-sack guy driving across the country to try and reunite his old band for one last show
he’s accompanied by this girl who he was in the band with, back in the day… and he was in love with her then, and she’s cool & smart & funny & talks only to him for the entire play, even when the rest of the band joins him on the drive
& at the end of the play it turns out that she was a ghost the whole time, nobody else in the play could see or hear her, & the ‘last show’ he kept referring to is actually going to be her funeral wake bcs she died..
That her ghost had accompanied them on this trip bcs he was grieving & she wanted to help him let go of her…
which, you know, was a surprise & it was really emotional & legit the play was pretty good
But I just started thinking about it randomly…
And I keep being struck by the fact that the play only works if the entire audience is so used to the idea that a female character would literally only speak to the main male character for the entire length of a narrative.
Would only converse with him, interact with him, even when there were other people around.
That even as he talked about what he was doing next, she never discussed their future goals. She never touched any props or anyone other than him.
That nothing she did or said would genuinely have anything to do with herself as a person, except in the context of how he felt about her.
The entire play hinges on the audience not expecting anything hinky about a female character who acts like that,
& most of the audience bought it, hook, line, and sinker.
even I did. there was genuine feeling of surprise in the room
and I just…
A woman can literally be an incorporeal ghost & as long as she is emotionally supportive of a man we see her as a fully realistically person
if that isn’t a sad indictment of how female characters get treated idk what is, honestly
i think the most egregious example of the manic pixie dream girl trope was this play i but I just remembered seeing it, several years ago…
it was about this sad-sack guy driving across the country to try and reunite his old band for one last show
he’s accompanied by this girl who he was in the band with, back in the day… and he was in love with her then, and she’s cool & smart & funny & talks only to him for the entire play, even when the rest of the band joins him on the drive
& at the end of the play it turns out that she was a ghost the whole time, nobody else in the play could see or hear her, & the ‘last show’ he kept referring to is actually going to be her funeral wake bcs she died..
That her ghost had accompanied them on this trip bcs he was grieving & she wanted to help him let go of her…
which, you know, was a surprise & it was really emotional & legit the play was pretty good
But I just started thinking about it randomly…
And I keep being struck by the fact that the play only works if the entire audience is so used to the idea that a female character would literally only speak to the main male character for the entire length of a narrative.
Would only converse with him, interact with him, even when there were other people around.
That even as he talked about what he was doing next, she never discussed their future goals. She never touched any props or anyone other than him.
That nothing she did or said would genuinely have anything to do with herself as a person, except in the context of how he felt about her.
The entire play hinges on the audience not expecting anything hinky about a female character who acts like that,
& most of the audience bought it, hook, line, and sinker.
even I did. there was genuine feeling of surprise in the room
and I just…
A woman can literally be an incorporeal ghost & as long as she is emotionally supportive of a man we see her as a fully realistically person
if that isn’t a sad indictment of how female characters get treated idk what is, honestly
i need a modern day hades and persephone plot like i need air tbh where hades is the big bad mob boss who has so many tattoos and wears leather jackets and kills people for a living and Persephone is this beautiful and nice girl who always had flowers in her hair and wears a lot of flowey dresses and pastel colors but he’s so in love with her hES WHIPPED AND I JUST NEED IT GIVE ME IT
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 explaining her 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?
Love love love this.