*writing* Oh wow, they are going to love this. This is by far my best work!
*witty lines* *perfect love making* *fluffy enough to kill us all* *a dash of angst, a smidgen of hurt/comfort*
Oh man. This is it. This will be my legacy! *sweats into fic* *bleeds into fic* *cries into fic* *spends days perfecting the grammar and verbage and sex scenes* *has 15 betas look over it*
Okay. It is finally time to release my baby on the world. Here you go fandom. You're welcome.
Ha, cute. *like* *kudos*
* * *
same fanfic writer:
*writing* Whatever. This is shit, I don't even care right now. A singing squirrel? Sure, let's do it. Haha, cheesy lines that make no sense, sure. Grammatical errors out the wazoo? Why not. No one's going to read this piece of crap anyway, I literally wrote it on a scrap of 1 ply toilet paper with a broken yellow crayon.
OMG THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU HAVE EVER GRANTED US WITH, WHERE HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE, OMG, I NEED A SEQUEL IMMEDIATELY, PLEASE. WHAT THE. I'M NOT EVEN WORTHY. *kudosrebloglikereccomment*
I am So Done with these criticisms I keep seeing like “It was good and all but Diego Luna didn’t work for me casting-wise, he was too wiry and soft-spoken, not action-movie enough” and I’m like??? SPY???? That’s the point????
Honestly people need to stop forcing the Hypermasculine Jason Statham Aesthetic bullshit irrelevantly onto characters that bear literally no comparison.
I imagine that when lance has a crush, he holds them in such a high regard, that he ends up putting himself down in the process. It gets to the point where if he has it bad enough he’ll go through long bouts of severe depression.
Draco was having a lovely Thursday evening, spending the time reading books on new Quidditch techniques and scribbling down any potion ideas that came to mind. Of course, Draco could be more productive.
Wait. No, he actually couldn’t.
Because Harry was playing unnecessary, loud, cantankerous garbage. Usually, Draco can drown it out and chalk it up to Harry going through a ‘hardcore’ phase.
But it’s been over a year.
His so-called “music” booming from underneath Draco’s room was trembling the floorboards, shaking the windows, and rattling the thoughts inside Draco’s mind. Which wasn’t “punk rock” at all.
Can you tell us about the Empires propaganda machine?
Later, after, in all the holonews segments and all the long ‘net articles furnishing further analysis, they—and here ‘they’ is vaguely defined, reporting is is too scattershot in a galaxy marked by lightyears and hyperlanes—will not be able to pinpoint the place where they went wrong. Where it was all tipped from earnest republican v. separatist reporting to laying the groundwork for imperial v. everyone else. When they stopped, or when their blades met with armor they couldn’t pierce, or—
But by then it’s too late. It’s too late, the Empire is already wound itself through every word spoken and every reference made; it’s in everything, a dark undercurrent of emotion and justification—don’t you love the Republic? don’t you care about other galactic citizens? don’t you want to follow the laws and reward those who have justified their existence as you have justified yours? you have worked so hard, the day is long and the rewards few, why would you give those to others? why would you share?
(’Sharing’ is a dirty word, under the Empire. To each according to his strength, that is the Imperial motto. But ‘strength’ is a narrow gate, and it cuts many off at the knees, the ankles, those unguarded places—)
There is no question that human beings are afraid of difference they have been afraid of that since whatever primordial swamp they crawled out of but—they have always put it aside, they have always at least pretended to the idea of recognizing other species, the claim of xenos to homeworlds. the equal right of existence. Et cetera. Never mistake how hard human beings will try, when confronted with tentacles, if there is profit or benefit in ignoring any difference.
But humans also reproduce like orburs in spring, and they colonize, multiply out into the galaxy like a plague. Like a—spore. Like something biological and not, because nothing in nature moves without regard to the animus they generate. And they are a tetchy species, measuring everything in relative value. It doesn’t matter if—
Luke does not stop to question the holoradio adverts he hears, the faded propos papering the Toshe public hall, saying ‘JOIN THE EMPIRE TODAY! FLY FOR THE EMPIRE! BE BRAVE BE TRUE BE STALWART!’ Anywhere is better than here, right? Get closer to that bright center and anything is better—
(It is still hard to find that bright line between the Republic under the tyranny of the Clone Wars and the perpetual state the Empire embodies. That is just how these things go.)
Leia is on the first line of defense for the Rebellion, she watches propos and listens to senators argue, quoting lines from holodramas—ironically, but also as illustrations. (She learns very young that a well-told story, even fictional, has quicker legs than one badly told and true. She disapproves, but that is the way of things.) It is amazing how many late Republicans would have supported he Empire despite explicitly stating they did not support the Empire, its agents, or any move toward a less democratic structure of government. It is amazing how weak it makes them seem, given what she knows about the inner workings of the capitol. It is—
Han is good at finding cantinas where, if the Imperial propos cut into he grav-ball match, everyone groans aloud. He smiles a little against the curve of the mug as everyone curses out the poor bastard who has to—
(Han always feels a little bad for him. Her. Whoever—he knows what it’s like to have your neck under someone’s boot, to know you don’t really have choice in this. At least he’s busy smuggling, can’t be much a spokesperson that way.)
The Resistance does not have the access the Empire does, but the Rebellion has feed hackers, holonet ‘ware corrupters. The Alliance blasts every inbox with public reveals of complaints, salaries, donations. Saw Guerra’s people de-encrypt transmissions, and release them to the ‘net in vicious anarchic fashion. (Make of it what you will, that Tarkin sent a transmission to Krennic saying ‘stop being so gentle on your workforce,’ after Krennic’s 12-hour days resulted in its first overworked, dehydrated, malnourished death.)
Regional reporters dump their findings onto the holonet, saying, look at what the governor is doing, we buried the jedi but we found, we—
look, they say in unison. look at this. you are not alone. you are not crazy. something has shifted, something significant has changed and you are not alone in thinking this. We are here, together, and this is dangerous, this is—
you are not alone. you are right, your perception of the world is—there is an objective reality, and they depart from it. you are right. you are sane. it is the galaxy that has gone insane in the interim.
“Senator?” the holonet reporter asks, when Mon Mothma falls silent, and she is smiling down at the podium. “Senator, if you could—”
“According to the study conducted by the Galactic Agency for—” she begins, and the briefing room falls so quiet she is afraid she has lost them. But there is a holonet reporter in the first row who has pressed her hand to her mouth, even as her eyes are wide, fixed on Mon’s face; and out of the corner of her eye, Mon can see Leia Organa (so much Bail and Breha’s daughter, even now) pressing her lips together, her eyes shut. And this is good. They are good, they are better. Here is the study. Here is the definition. Here is the closest she knows how to get to objective reality.
She justifies. From the root word, meaning justice. Meaning to make right. Meaning, more than what is what is available on the surface, more than what is unquestioned. More.
DID YOU KEEP THE VOICEMAILS?? / OR DID YOU DELETE THEM / GOD KNOWS YOU NEVER LIKED WHEN I SHOWED YOU AFFECTION / LIKE I WAS A PLAGUE AND YOU WERE HEAVEN / NOTHING COULD TOUCH YOU WITHOUT TOTAL DESTRUCTION.
KEEP IN MIND YOU TOLD ME IT WAS OKAY TO FUCKING CALL // lily rain
me: Man-Ew is abusive because he fits more than half of this university’s women’s center’s signs of abuse. He gets possessively jealous, his behavior is unpredictable, he belittles and humiliates the woman he claims to love in public where her co-workers can both see and hear, he refuses to respect Kara’s decisions in a situation where she has more experience making decisions than he does, he refuses to listen to Kara and actively chooses to break promises he makes to her, then when things go wrong because he does what he wants anyway and Kara has to get very firm and harsh with him to get him to hear her she ends up being the one portrayed as the bad guy and has to apologize to him instead. Also he calls her his “kryptonite” and pushed her to make a decision about her job that could get her fired when he had no right to make that decision for her and proceeds to not look or sound sorry at all when she does inevitably lose her job. No little girl watching this, or older girls and women for that matter, should have to watch this and be told through the narrative that it’s what romance looks like.
karahell shippers: WHAT A CRAZY DRAMA QUEEN YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND HIM IT’S HOW HE WAS RAISED YOU’RE SUCH A PROFESSIONAL HATER!!
me: Replacing James Olsen, a Black love interest, with Man-Ew, a white male slave-owning love interest, is racist. It’s part of a larger pattern of interracial couples in film and television getting sidelined because fans and creators didn’t “see chemistry” between the characters. Usually it’s the Black character who gets written/killed off and the white character gets paired off with another white character of the opposite gender. And if the writers did just genuinely feel that James and Kara had no chemistry and wanted to introduce a new love interest, they could have made that character also a character of color so as to avoid the critique that the decision was actually based on race. At the very least, they could have let Kara have a female love interest, even if she was white, so that the relationship was still breaking boundaries and not just replacing an interracial relationship with your standard, generic, white hetero relationship that is actually abusive.
manolo stans: WHAT DOES SKIN COLOR HAVE TO DO WITH IT?! YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE BRINGING UP RACE HERE SO YOU’RE THE RACIST! AND HOW DARE THEY “BLACKWASH” JIMMY OLSEN, I DON’T SEE YOU CALLING THAT RACIST, YOU’RE JUST A CRAZY FEMINAZI WITH A LIBERAL AGENDA, YOU DON’T EVEN READ THE COMICS!!
me: nvm, y’all voted for Lord Dampnut anyway, so there’s no point to this
Flying over an entire continent and one ocean ought to have
put me in the mindset of being somewhere exotic or mysterious. At the very
least, I thought I would feel as if my feet were touching something foreign. But
exiting the airport and stepping on British soil didn’t feel different at all. Despite
the cab driver’s accent and the vehicle moving on the opposite side of the road,
nothing seemed out of place. Along the way, the buildings weren’t so unusual
either. Some of the architecture is a bit different, but the variance isn’t as
shocking as igloos might have been.
I’ve ridden on the Tube and even had a proper tea, but none
of it made me feel as if I were actually in London.
That is, until today. This afternoon, I took a little field
trip by myself. Prior to today, the other students and I had been traveling en
masse as none of us wanted to get lost on the London Underground. The Tube can
be intimidating to those who have never traveled extensively on public transit
and we thought if one of us was to get lost, we all should.
This being my second full day here, I decided it was time to
be adventurous. So after leaving school, I took a different train than the
others and went a different way. I had a general idea of where I was going, but
not what I would find. I exited at one station and found a lovely little garden
to walk through. My favorite color greeted me in the form of stunning purple
tulips lining the path. It was beautiful and my pace slowed to a meander. Coming
out of the garden, I could see a bridge crossing the Thames. Perfect.
wind played havoc with my hair. But the view! To the south, I could see Big Ben
and the Palace of Westminster. Such icons associated solely with London. I
stood there for a while. Letting it sink in. I’m here. I’m in London.