Globally, a woman’s period is perceived as more disgusting than rape. Society deems a natural, female bodily function as vile and even punishable in different cultures. We are expected to cover up, hide, and be ashamed for an uncontrollable, anatomical expectation of our bodies. And just…why? Why have women been brainwashed to accept and adopt this misconception? It’s time we make it known that this twisted standard of women is a bloody obvious mistake.
A soft little future fic, but I haven’t sought out any spoilers for the end of s4, so if you’re avoiding those, it’s safe here. Actually, the canon we have seen is a little loose. We don’t need it; it’s fine.
Title from Tangled, because this was originally inspired by that scene.
The end of the world doesn’t come like she expected.
There is no bang, no whimper–just three long beeps from the Geiger counter hooked up to the air outside their bunker, a mundane signal for the wave of radiation destined to wipe out their humanity.
Even before the doors closed, it already had.
Monty sits in the corner, face drawn and blank as he stares at the wall ahead of him. Jasper’s still outside the confines of their safehouse, and no one’s tried to touch him since the locks closed. Octavia’s pacing and anxious, Bellamy’s back turned to her like it pains him, but the only thing their childhood left stronger in Octavia than her defiance was her determination to survive.
All the lights in the main room glow low. People sit slumped against the walls and each other, some sleeping and some shaking, so many haunted by this place where past and future meet.
There’s not much left to do now but wait.
Clarke wonders if that’s really what it means to survive.
The end of the world is quicker than she expected, too.
After two years, they load a boat and head upriver.