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Small things matter

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

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The wings help her fly!!!

Wow

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Someone else on tumblr pointed out that PASSENGERS might have been a more meaningful movie if it was about just THE ONE person dealing with being alone on the ship for the rest of their life.  And if, to cope, they go through and make it a point to learn everything they can about all of the other people on the ship.

And I just keep thinking about this idea.

There are 4999 other people on that ship and what if the protagonist spent the remainder of their life (and they do live their full life) learning about each of them.

They took an interest in their hobbies so that they could have some sort of connection to them.

As their sanity flexed in an effort to cope, they could have had these really involved imaginary conversations with the crew about their interests. And by the end of their natural life they will have known everything they could have ever known about these other 4999 people.

…

AND THEN THE REST OF THEM WAKE UP. And they have some 90 odd years of security footage of this one crew member talking to each of them in turn. And it goes far beyond ‘I have figured out how to cook that one dish you were struggling with’ or ‘I have read THE SILMARILLION at your suggestion and Jesus Christ I have thoughts about it.’

They actually start making connections between all of the crew.

Like ‘You like bugs! You should totally talk to Cindy! She’s an entomologist!’

Or ‘Did you know that you and Said’s grandfathers were both in the same infantry?’

Or ‘You and Jamie are both avid bee keepers and I think you need to meet.’

Or ‘I know you’re really struggling with this, but Aneesha said she went the exact same thing and I think talking to her can help.’

And because all of these crew members are watching the videos that have been individually addressed to them (Because why not? They’re colonizing.  There’s not a lot yet available by way of entertainment) they sort of start talking to each other at the Protagonist’s suggestion.  And within a year they are THE MOST unified interconnected colony of any of the colonies because this one crew member broke the ice for them a lifetime ago.

Several of them are engaged.

Two are about to have children named after the Protagonist.

…

AND BECAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS EVERYONE NOW they notice when one week a crew member isn’t out and about and no one can get in touch with them.  So finally somebody goes to check and they find them huddled in a ball and mourning.

Because Protagonist is dead.

And the other people are like: ‘Yes. We know.  This is literally the first thing we knew about them.’

But Mourner is like: ‘You don’t understand. I got to the end.’

And then everyone realizes that the mourner has basically been BURNING through all of the videos Protagonist has addressed to them and got to the last one they made to them before they died. And Protagonist left a final message for each of them.

Suddenly everyone’s having a real frank conversation with themselves about how fast they’re going through their videos and if they’re prepared to keep going at that rate and get to the end, or if they should put it off indefinitely.

And one by one, in time, each of them realizes they can’t put it off.  Not only are they invested in the end, but they care enough about Protagonist to really acknowledge their death.

Each crew member does this at their own pace.  It becomes a rite of passage of sorts. And Protagonist is given some sort of proper memorial so the colonists all have a place to go when their time comes to grieve.

…

BUT BEFORE EVERYONE GETS TO THE END, someone has started noticing how Protagonist treated the robots on the ship over the years. And surprise, surprise, Protagonist named all the robots too and treated them like individuals depending on their quirks.  So now someone has finally solved the mystery of why droid 808 insists on being called ‘Bob,’ and why 239 knows ASL, and why the auxiliary robots are so salty about nobody ever being able to tell them apart.

Not only that, but security logs shows that the robots were about 19% more efficient when Protagonist was alive than they are now.  And THE VERY SECOND the rest of the crew starts observing the same habits Protagonist used in treating these robots ALL OF THAT EFFICIENCY COMES RIGHT BACK.

Because they missed Protagonist too.

…

And things settle.  Everyone thinks they’ve reached the end of Protagonist’s surprises.

…

THEN THEY ARE FINALLY ABLE TO START TRANSPORTATION BETWEEN THEMSELVES AND THE OTHER COLONIES.

And a visiting party shows up.

The visitors are surprised to see HOW WELL everyone on this colony is getting along, because, wow, people are civil where they come from but GODDAMN.

And one of these visiting members is really excited to see their sibling. 

And ‘Oh, that’s so nice!  Who is it?’

And then the visiting member says a name every single person on this colony knows.

The colonists have to tell them what happened to their sibling, Protagonist.

But they also HAVE to tell the sibling what knowing Protagonist MEANT to them. And what Protagonist knowing THEM, meant to them.

And it’s sad.

The colony pretty much wholesale adopts Protagonist’s sibling as a part of their family because they don’t know what else they can do to fill that void.  But just in case, they give the Protagonist’s sibling THE ENTIRETY of Protagonist’s security footage.  Because there is 90 years of it and that way they can carry their sibling with them for the rest of their life even if only in video.

And then the colonists think:

‘This. This was the end of Protagonist’s story. And this was a good a proper way to observe it.’

…

AND THEN ONE DAY A SHIP SHOWS UP THAT IS NOT LIKE ANY SHIP THE COLONISTS HAVE EVER SEEN.

And the people driving it aren’t human.

They speak English and passable French.  They can chicken scratch Urdu, Mandarin, and Swahili.

Everyone is stunned and wants to know ‘why…?’ and ‘how…?’

And the aliens are just, like, ‘Oh. Protagonist.  We ran into them while you were in space. They told us you’d be settling here and asked that we check up on you whenever we were rolling by this quadrant next.’

‘They were really nice. Taught us English. Gave us the files on a couple of your other popular languages as well just to be safe. How’s the colonizing going anyway?’

And everyone thinks back to THAT ONE MONTH of security footage where Protagonist was NIGH IMPOSSIBLE to find.  And when they finally did come back to their normal routine they were really quiet and thoughtful for about a week before really getting back to themselves.

The linguists all suddenly remember that IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THAT REALLY WEIRD MONTH, Protagonist had a new coded language saved to their personal affects and was very insistent that they LEARN IT.  ‘FOR REASONS.’

And very quietly, the entire colony makes peace with the fact that Protagonist established a very successful first contact while they were all asleep.

Because of course they did.

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Old dog, awesome new tricks!!!

name something purer than this. i’ll wait

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So unbelievably cute, especially considering the long-suffering expressions on some of them!

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“our teeth and ambitions are bared” is a zeugma

and it’s a zeugma where one of the words is literal and one is metaphorical which is the BEST KIND

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Texts From Superheroes: The Best of Wonder Woman

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Because teaching should be a calling.

“I didn’t find out that I liked teaching until I was 45 years old. I was working as a graphic designer, and I volunteered to teach a group of kids from a poor region. It was part of a special program aimed at teenagers who’d dropped out of school. At first I was scared. Many of them had behavior problems. Some of them were addicted to drugs. One of them even brought a knife to class. But I discovered that I could really connect with them. Sometimes I could even reach kids that refused to talk to psychologists. I learned that I could transform someone’s life just by listening. The program only lasted six months, but it gave me such sense of satisfaction. I’ve been training for the last two years to become a real teacher. My test results just arrived and I got assigned to the school I wanted. I’m going to teach Portuguese to elementary school students.” (Montevideo, Uruguay)

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Lyrically written, and quite an unexpected treasure! 

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are sofine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddessAthena.”

Arachne tosses herhead, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanchesand looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with histime. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for herwares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman withgrey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarledhands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid,but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyesand declares, “Athena should thank me,since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her andkeeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into thecrowd.

They will tell tales ofher hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumpsinto the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place,mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, andArachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do issay her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she sayscoolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as avirtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers herto a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard tofind, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” thebaker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for takingmoney from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag ofsweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well thefirst dozen times.

“Thank you for yourhelp,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She growshungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. Thesun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’stall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens tooverwhelm her.

But Arachne does notbelieve in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those taleswill be true.

She ties a scarf aroundher braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only toher thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma andbegins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legsand arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once whitedress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her bodyand drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her headand bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easilyto the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. Sheswallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts hishead to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might besmiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” sherepeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, lookingat her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweetbread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are bigenough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Insteadhe gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comicallysmall in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He lickshis fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying thesecond time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaverArachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales ofHephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad,angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legsonly to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?”he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into acoughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, anddoesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up atthe corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive insidethe volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal thatshe can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to awful lot of trouble to find me,girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack offher shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I havewoven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrowand doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal handscould be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind theoppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its placestands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of herhusband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales ofAphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,”she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully.It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and upalong the clock is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage andher worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experiencedartist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part insurprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestussays, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t takeoffense.

The goddess smiles andArachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphroditeis the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” thegoddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows.Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber.Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena willlose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says,“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales oftheir friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because whywouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, bothhappily married.

Gods hate being made tofeel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they sayAphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne winsthe weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestussays, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at herreflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestusleft if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrenchupon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger ather. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weaveme a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite asthe goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes asexpected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goesred in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept thedeath blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’svolcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has nohope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe indefeat, in loss.

It was a terribly longjourney on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now shehas eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps inbetween crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver ofsunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke ofallowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellowcolor – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven yearsfor her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all thattime, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’sa large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as thesun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched theearth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t returnto her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurriesand runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking forand scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looksonto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skittersdown his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is thata piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him,waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand–

His face slowly fills witha cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  Shejumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in hismassive hands, “We must find the Mater immediately!”

She jumps down, landingin front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s runningafter her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost toosmall for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares forseveral moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himselfout of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that samebreeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exactmoment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, madeentirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brushdown the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, thatAphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in sevenyears.

They’ve told tales ofher hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at theweb, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto thegoddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in frontof a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “GoddessAphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” shereturns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stayscool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuckin this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course availablefor her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Pleasecome with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dressfor Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take yousomewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at herloom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would youlike me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Ofcourse not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing thespider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for thegoddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for amoment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at thegoddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where elsewould I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your companyequal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of herhubris.

“An excellent point,”Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

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Flailing about because I love these gifs so much!

OTP Aeryn Sun-John Crichton!

Fangirl challenge  | Relationships Farscape, Aeryn Sun and John Crichton

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Wonder Woman, carrying DC Comics' future movie franchise hopes.

Diana carrying the men

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Love this because it's so so true. It's because Maria Hill's super power is competence, and it's not meant to be sexy.

Tielan already wrote about how women's work (cleaning up messes, literally and figuratively) isn't glamorous enough to warrant any notice.

But a character who makes a lot of noise, and even more mess? The more dysfunctional, the better! (see MCU's Tony Stark, the Hulk, Thor, the Winter Soldier, even Dr Strange)

So there's no doubt that Maria Hill doesn't get enough love! She's the ultimate Fixer!

Check out some of the stories on AO3 that start with "5 Times Maria Hill Fixed Everything".... ok, I'm done now.

MCU Ladies Week Day 2

Maria Hill, Unsung Hero

I’m a badass jumping off a moving train, I’m a Jane Bond, putting all the guys to shame, I’m a wild card, and I’m gonna steal your game; You’d better watch out…   [♥]

So, imagine a character who survives a shoot-off with Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye. Imagine a character who challenges Nick Fury and calls out Tony Stark, and whom they respect enough not to mock off-hand. Imagine a character who blackmails the World Security Council rather than knifing her boss in the back.

Imagine a character who hides out among a heavily armed enemy so she can rescue Captain America, the Black Widow, and the Falcon on a day when they’re one TV crew away from public execution, and whom a national hero trusts to sacrifice him in order to save three million people.

Imagine a character who’s trusted enough to criticise Captain America, who’s a barefoot-while-wearing-Cap’s-jacket-drinking-and-teasing level of friends with the Avengers, and who casually picks glass splinters out of her bare feet whileholding a discussion on world security.

Imagine a plain old ordinary human doing all this in a world of ‘supers’.

Now imagine this character not being recognised for it - either in-universe, or out of it by writers or fandom.

Kind of boggling, isn’t it?

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Whoa, but a helluva read! Love the sass and defense of HRC

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This is me, thinking about going back to school on Jan 3!

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BUWAAHAAAHAAAA!  I love that someone else experiences that jarring disconnect while reading, something so frigging glaringly WRONG that it pushes you out of your reading zone and smack into rant rage! 

i just started reading a bakery au and am officially HORRIFIED, because the writer genuinely seems to believe that making croissants is a <30min job.

SO LET ME TELL Y’ALL ABOUT CROISSANTS

croissants are a laminated dough. what this means is that you prepare the dough, then you make a butter block–literally a block of butter, shaped to fit within the rolled out dough, but still thin enough that you can roll it out–which is placed into the center of the rolled out dough and fold the edges of the dough in around it, completely covering the butter. some people say this is where you do the first refrigeration, but i personally tend to immediately do my first roll out and fold. that is literally where you roll the dough out lengthwise until it’s nice and thin, then fold it all up.

then you chill the dough

for AT LEAST THIRTY MINUTES

repeat the process of rolling, folding, and chilling ~3-4 times

that’s about TWO FUCKING HOURS of INACTIVE RECIPE TIME

‘but, coffeebuddha,’ i hear exactly no one who is writing a bakery au ask, ‘why do i need to do all of those steps? why can’t i just make the dough and immediately shape and bake it?’

BECAUSE MOTHERFUCKING LAYERS, BITCHES

YOU KNOW HOW PROPER CROISSANTS, DANISH, AND PUFF PASTRY HAVE ALL THOSE DELICIOUS, FLAKY LAYERS???

THOSE LAYERS ARE A RESULT OF THE LAMINATION PROCESS, WHICH CREATES HUNDREDS OF PAPER THIN LAYERS OF BUTTER IN YOUR DOUGH. THEN WHEN YOU PUT THAT DOUGH INTO THE OVEN, THE HEAT CAUSES THE CHILLED BUTTER TO BURST OUT INTO THESE LIGHT, DELICATE LAYERS OF AIR, WHICH IS WHAT MAKES THESE PASTRIES SO LIGHT AND PUFFY AND DELICIOUSLY FULL OF GOOD OLE BUTTER FLAVOR.

in short, you cannot whip up the fully finished dough for croissants in ‘several moments’ and you most CERTAINLY DON’T proceed to BREAK PIECES OF DOUGH OFF AND THEN ROLL THEM, OMG, ARE YOU CRAZY, WHY WOULD YOU RISK DESTROYING YOUR BEAUTIFUL LAYERS LIKE THAT, WHY DO YOU HATE BOTH YOURSELF AND GOOD THINGS??? IF YOU AREN’T GOING TO ROLL THAT SHIT OUT IN ITS ENTIRETY, THEN YOU NEED TO USE A SHARP KNIFE OR A DOUGH CUTTER TO PORTION IT OUT SO THAT YOU DON’T MANGLE ALL YOUR HARD WORK

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Reblog if 2016 has hurt all 3 of your feelings