im rambling in the tags

new genre concept: soft apocalypse

the world as we know it has ended and mother nature starts taking back what’s hers. there are no zombies or cannibals or murderous bandits. the most valued members of the community are those who know how to garden and farm, sew and weave, treat wounds, work wood or build with bricks, cook from scratch. 

people bond together to begin rebuilding instead of killing each other. everyone teaches each other whatever they do know and works together to figure out the stuff none of them know. books become incredibly valued resources because they’re often the only way to learn critical information. if someone is elderly, disabled, or otherwise unable to work at the same level as most of the community, they’re taken care of by the others, not told any sort of “survival of the fittest” bs.

as the generations ware on, communities begin expanding into small cities. some of the settlements even find ways to repurpose solar or wind power on a small scale and have electricity in some of their buildings. storytellers wander the countryside telling tales of the old world in return for some hot stew or a place to rest for the night, and the mythos of the new world start to incorporate elements of the past. the only thing that remains constant is that humans survive, and they do it by working together.

  • luke skywalker is terrifying. 
  • no, shut up, come back.
  • you have to understand:
  •  to you or me he may not be; he may be all sunshine smiles and corngold hair and the biggest eyes this side of the galaxy, but imagine you’re Dagger (stormtroopers don’t get proper names), firing at a boy, only the bolts never hit. They sing to the side. You think that there’s something wrong with your blaster, maybe, but none of your friends can hit him either. Finest shots in the Empire, you are, but you can’t hit this boy. And he cuts you down. He wields a weapon whose name you’ve never learned and he cuts you down into smoking bloodless bodies and your friends die before you – only he leaves you. Knocks you out with a blow of the Force – and isn’t that a nightmare of its own, unseen hands blotting out your thoughts – leaves you there in the cooling blood of your squadmates.
  •  Imagine that you’re Cara Ilhyre and you’re a dancer for the Hutt and you hate it, of course you do, but it is a living, a living, and this boy comes in, fresh-faced and young and he says surrender or be destroyed only he and you both know that the Hutt do not and never have surrendered and when he says destroy there’s this grin on his lips, thin and sharp, and he’s kind, of course he is, but –
    • so you’re Cara Ilhyre and you’re a native of tattooine and like many of your specis you are force-touched and you were a girl, once, a very little girl, and your mother told you tales of krayt dragons who slumbered beneath the sands and gentled their young to their pearl-heavy breasts. krayt dragons are tender mothers, she had said, and it was meant to teach you something of the duality of nature, or to fear those with young to protect, or something; but all you can think is this boy, how he smiles as kind as your mother did, once, but you’re convinced that if you were to cut him down the middle you would find dragon-pearls in his ribs and fire instead of a heart
    • the boy cuts downs jabba’s goons like they are nothing, nothing, and afterwards, afterwards, you sense his sorrow. and somehow that makes it worse.
    • because you say, later, to your mother’s ghost (maybe) or to the desert, he knows that killing people is hard and that weighs on him and he does it anyway and –
    • and, you say, it isn’t as simple as: he makes the hard choices. he knew the hutt would fight. he wanted to burn them down, oh he did, and that sister of his –

*sees a vld ship*: Yoooo that’s so fucking cute

*sees another vld ship*: YOOOO THAT’S SO FUCKING CUTE

Me @ all vld ships:

Y̹͕̖̖̳͍͗̋͌̆́͊͠Ò̴̡̦͎̯̟̩͓͎̪̥̐̅̌̅O̤̟̠̠͍͐̈́̀͑̓̕̚͢͠͝O̡͉̦̖͕̠͚̙̽̉̋̊͆͆͋̏͢͢ Ţ̸͖̘͖͍͖̣̜̬̥͐̃͌̅̒̈́͂͞H̷̘̮̬̼̜̭͈̝̥̔̍̍͒̔͜Ä̴̧̘̱̼̘̰͉̫̦̈̐̐̅͘T̵̝͉͖͈̗̻̰̝͐́͌̔̍͠'̨͎̙̪͉̭̌̅̈́̐̌ͅŚ̷̡̡̙̙̗͍͕̤͖̗͒͗̽̓͋ S̛̹̮͎͔̱̏͊̅̀̎͂O̸̝̥̹͕͚̭͊̎͒́̚ F̤̳̙͈̣̫̝̮̅̓̉̋̂̕͢Ù̢͖̱̘̝̟̖̱̆̄̾͋̉́̕̚͜ͅC̸̛͓̜̰̪̩̎̂̒̎͐͋̉̚͠ͅͅK̼͚̳͖͓̦̈͛̉͐̊̿̄͜͝I̡̥͇̺͎͎͔͔̭͗̐̂̆̌̽͜͝N̢̘̤͋̾͂͆̌͛̆͟ͅG̯͚̬̹̝̯͔̖͉̒̋͊̊̏̓̄͒ C̶̞̳͙͙̞͑̑͒͐̕̚̚Ú̸̯͎̤̤̟̏̓̋̍̉͌T̼̜̜͖͕͇͑̀͗͋͗͑̋̽͂͂ͅE̻̯̫̝̼͍̻͗͋͋̇̄̾͢

2

hey @eightmonkeys , y’know that au where laurens lives??? i can totally dig that :^^)))

Mothers’ Weekend

Hello there! Long time, no see (my bad I know) but, here: an Alicia Zimmermann-centric piece as she goes to Parents’ Weekend during Jack’s freshmen year. [focus on Alicia, Jack, and Shitty] 6k


Somewhere, deep in her heart, Alicia Zimmermann knows she is a bad mother.

It started out as a worry, as maybe it does for all new mothers, that she will be a bad mother. That she won’t know what to do with a baby or a toddler that one day she will accidentally drop him or forget to feed him or feed him something he is actually allergic to or maybe she’ll scar him emotionally somehow and she worried but she survived his childhood okay. And then, after he was five or six, she stopped worrying about it. She thought she was doing pretty good. Jack had hockey and loved hockey and, sure, they didn’t have deep emotional talks but she didn’t exactly have any basis of comparison. Television families told her she was doing okay. No teenage boy wanted to have deep talks with his mother. And, look, if Jack didn’t talk to her all that much as he turned 12 and then 13, at least he was still talking to his father. Mostly still about hockey but she… she thought that had counted. Hockey was like French, to her. Another language she could understand but couldn’t quite speak. But Bob could. He was on top of it. Jack was taken care of.

She loved Jack. That was never the problem. The problem was that her love wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter. It didn’t alert her to any of the facts and maybe it even blinded her– She loved her son and her son loved hockey and so she loved hockey too. She loved her son and then her son seemed to love a boy named Kent and they never talked about it but she let Kent come over all the time and she figured they would discuss it at some point. She just… assumed everything was okay. Even after he was diagnosed with the anxiety disorder and given pills. It was always… well, that was a little problem but it’s handled and under control and everything is okay now.

See. Bad mother.

A good mother would have known somehow.

A good mother would have pushed and prodded or sensed it without even having to be told.

A good mother would have paid attention to how hard Jack was on himself. A good mother would have made sure her son had interests outside of hockey. A good mother would have known that Jack’s long silences after losses weren’t normal. A good mother would have preached balance and fostered friendships with different types of people and stopped the fucking hockey.

She didn’t though. Stop the hockey. No, not Alicia Zimmermann. She encouraged it. She went to the games and cheered the loudest and she even loved it a little bit because she thought it brought him joy, like his father. She bought into the vision: Jack playing hockey like Bob, the Zimmermann legacy continued throughout the ages…

God, she even used to tease Jack about how it took his father three years to win a Cup and she was sure Jack could manage it faster than his old man.

A good mother wouldn’t have done that. So, see, she’s always been a bad mother. Even now, now that she’s almost lost him, now that she’s promised to do better, now that she’s finally read all the books and online articles about anxiety and pressure and the danger of sports and hockey culture… now she’s still just as bad. Just for different reasons.

Now she is a bad mother because it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s been at Samwell for almost three months and she does not feel like mothers are supposed to feel in this moment.

She glances around. At the sea of other mothers and fathers crammed onto Samwell’s campus for Parents’ Weekend. They are not nervous. They are excited. Happy. Enthusiastic. Overjoyed to see the teenager they had left just a couple months ago again. To her right is a father almost (but not quite) breaking into a run to give his son a hug. To her left, a mother has burst into tears. Happy tears.

And then there’s her. She’s not excited to see Jack. Well, no. No, it’s not that she’s not excited. She is. She is. (She is. She repeats it once more just to remind herself). She is just…

She is nervous too. More nervous than she is excited.

Keep reading

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i’m,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,Dead,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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🎨

I love butch lesbians so much like…….. I love them….. I want them in my life….. In my arms…….. No one is as enchanting and alluring as a butch lesbian….. No one…

  • Albus: Teddy, pretend to be my mom to Scorpius's mom.
  • Teddy: [picks up the phone] Hello? This is...Mum Potter. The children are playing swords. Sorry. Playing with swords. Oh no. They are dead. Do not call again. [hangs up]
  • Scorpius and Albus: ...
  • Teddy: Sorry, I panicked.

daichi just wants to watch the movie in peace