I see a lot of people suggesting her Assault on Arkham outfit but to be honest, I'm an all or nothing kind of a person. Either give me the full jester outfit or not at all.
Honestly, kinda disagree. The Assault on Arkham outfit isn’t a bad idea. It has the more “blatant-sexy-aspect” that more recent outfits keep trying to accomplish, yet it doesn’t go overboard and still retains the Jester theme.
So if they try any outfit for Gotham City Sirens, AoA is the way to go. Or at least something similar.
I listened to the Rogue One soundtrack after the finale and this just kinda happened
You know, I didn’t even like Rebels before Season 2
“You remember what happened the last time we tried something like this?”
The question was leveled her way by Sabine, the young Mandalorian’s tone flat and borderline monotonous. On a soft sigh, Hera’s posture sagged, momentarily struggling to balance herself. Yes, she remembered. Their assault on Lothal. It had cost the Rebellion more than the attack that forced them to flee Atollon. Worse than that, however, it had taken a wretched toll on the Ghost and her remaining crew.
Green irises reflecting the swirling tunnel of hyperspace, Hera’s grip on the controls of her prized vessel tightened a fraction. “We’re going to win this time, Sabine,” she said firmly.
“That’s exactly what he said,” Sabine muttered, crossing her arms over her stomach. Hera winced at the vulnerable way she seemed to curl into herself, lowering her gaze. Her chest tightened for a moment, bitter bile leaping to her throat before she reaffirmed her resolve and straightened.
“We’re going to win,” she repeated.
“How can you be so sure?” Sabine asked, looking ‘round at the undeterred pilot. Hera paused to consider her reply, eyes never leaving the viewport.
“I can’t,” she admitted. “But I believe we’re better equipped than we’ve ever been to fight the Empire. And this time, we don’t have a choice. If what Galen Erso’s daughter reported is true, we have to win. It’s not us and them anymore. We’re talking about the fates of entire planets. The Empire can’t be allowed to use that weapon, Sabine. You of all people should understand that.”
Sabine stared at her for a long minute. Then, and with a smile that seemed to take an eternity to appear, she nodded. The nav computer beeped, signaling the inevitable approach of their destination. Fingers danced over familiar controls, pilot and co-pilot following the motions of combat preparation as they had countless times before.
“Ezra, ready to go?”
The boy’s reply was quick, though the undying enthusiasm in his voice was nearly a palpable thing, “Always, Hera.”
“Chop, ready the forward deflector shields, and divert backup power to the engines,” she ordered. Something told her, rather insistently, that they were going to need it before the battle was over.
Pulling back on the throttle, the Ghost emerged into normal space in a passing whirl of streaking blues, jumping in off the port side of the lead MC75 cruiser, Profundity. Before them lay the shimmering cyan jewel of an ocean planet, filling the lower portion of the viewport.
“This is Admiral Raddus of the Rebel Alliance,” the rough voice of the Mon Calamari Admiral filtered into the cockpit as the newly-reformed Pheonix squadron took up position on the Ghost’s tail, “All squadron leaders report in.”
Hera closed her eyes, taking a brief second to order her thoughts. The Alliance was ready for this, though they had no choice regardless. Brave men and women were risking their lives - all but throwing them away - at this very moment to get them information that could potentially mean the Empire’s downfall. They would take their first victory here, or be destroyed. There was no turning back now.
How often my conversations about feminism have spiraled into requests for assault. I say, “Women don’t need men to defend them,” and am asked, “Can I punch you, then?” And I say, “Women belong in movies and video games and everything,” and I hear terrible things, unprintable slurs and demands for my assault, the threatening of a young woman to shut up: What they would do to silence me. The things they’d shove between my teeth. I say, “Men cannot threaten any woman they disagrees with,” and I’m told, “Women are just as cruel. Am I not supposed to respond in kind?” In my inbox today I have deleted sixteen messages asking for my life. When I say, “Your virginity only means what you want it to mean,” I’m asked, “If you believe in sexual freedom can I fuck you?” When I say “All it takes to be a woman is to want to be a woman,” I am asked, “So if I just say that I’m a woman, can I watch you in the shower?” As if women stand shadowy behind each other in our private moments. As if being woman means sexually assaulting each other.
Part of me - cynical, unwilling to be frightened, says that it might be a nice dose of reality. My shower where I am naked but my hair becomes streaky and thin, where my body sags, where my makeup smears. To witness a woman less than sexy, legs akimbo while shaving, pulling up flab thighs to reach the underside. Part of me dares them to punch me because I fight to win and am small but I’ll kill a man if he touches me. Once I dropped a U.S Marine. Part of me, hellfire and ice queen - says come on, then. You want a fight? Come fight me.
But more is scared. More timidly deletes messages, makes sure my name is hidden, doesn’t answer the endless antifeminist comments. The insertion of men and their opinion on simple things like “I teach children to ask before hugging.” When I close my eyes sometimes I wonder if they’re right and that scares me. How much am I going to change when my voice only echoes around me.
Why are you angry. Why are you angry. What do you think we are taking from you? If it’s not already equal why would equality frighten you.
The ancient art of being a woman and trying to get your voice heard: the gentle suggestion, the peaceful comment. The quiet listening to another opinion and the fact we must acknowledge it before we can continue. That I must educate, be sweet, be feminine in my feminism or else it’s “invalid.” I must present my declaration as a timid thing: “Women maybe should be part of more things.” And then the apologies: of course I don’t hate men, yes I like plenty of things with men in them, no I don’t think women are better. And then the explanations: women are people, here is the number of women in media, here is the number of dead women in media, here are the number of shows led by men. And then I brace for it. For the bullying.
Every time I speak it’s from a flinch. From “maybe this isn’t always the case but for me it is.” From please listen. From less demanding. God forbid I state factually that men are violent. If I speak about our fathers and brothers and the cycle of anger unfolding. God forbid I suggest that just once we should cut the bullshit and treat women well without pandering to men about how that helps them. What if I say “Men shouldn’t hit anyone. Hitting isn’t an answer.”
I’ll tell you what happens. The post was up for four seconds with three notes. The message I get is “If hitting isn’t allowed I’ll just go ahead and shove a gun down your throat.”
there are hundreds of guro/horror mangas out there the only reason why killing stalking is so popular is because of its homoerotic content
like. an attractive guy is held captive by another attractive guy and the only way hes keeping himself alive is being sexually available????
“im not fetishizing gay men” lmao yall are so full of shit