say no to barbarism

“male circumcision is barbaric male genital mutilation!”
do you….know what ur talking about..have you actually done any research on it like…at all. next people are gonna say that cutting the umbilical cord is barbaric…or cutting your baby’s hair..

English is the largest of the human tongues, with several times the vocabulary of the second largest language - this alone made it inevitable that English would eventually become, as it did, the lingua franca of this planet, for it is thereby the richest and the most flexible - despite its barbaric accretions…or, I should say, because of its barbaric accretions. English swallows up anything that comes its way, makes English out of it. Nobody tried to stop this process, the way some languages are policed and have official limits…probably because there never has been, truly, such a thing as ‘the King’s English’ - for the King’s English was French. English was in truth a bastard tongue and nobody cared how it grew…and it did! - enormously.
—  Robert Heinlein, Stranger In A Strange Land

anonymous asked:

What is your opinion about writers who advertise themselves too much? Is there such a thing as overexposure?

Why would I care?  This seems like some kind of jab at people.  I mean ‘advertise themselves too much’ has a negative connotation built right into the rhetorical structure.  

This seems like a kind of, “ladies don’t call attention to themselves” throwback, as if there were some inherent virtue in being demure and self-effacing.   There used to be this idea that a lady would be in the paper only three times in her life: her birth, her marriage, and her death.  Anything else was crass, vulgar, not the done thing.

Be crass.     As Walt Whitman would say, sound your barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.  Be bold, bolder, boldest. Do not cringe back in fear from asking people to read your story, posting links to your story, asking for a raise, asking for a promotion, asking to be seen, demanding to be heard, not settling for the demure, appropriate, quiet shadows.

Shine on.

the way i’m running with you honey

Summary: Oh, brother. She is going to kill Jake when she gets her hands on him. 

Presuming, of course, says a very unfortunate voice in her head that sounds eerily like Captain Holt, that he hasn’t suffered fatal asphyxiation first

Amy loves Captain Holt, she really truly does, he is her mentor and hero and on better days somewhat of a father figure, but that is categorically not helping anything right now.

anyways so like five million years ago i started a draft of this story for @elsaclack‘s birthday and it has sat, drafted but not edited on my desktop for all this time, gathering dust. i finished it. i finally mcfreaking finished it. here it is, folks, because apparently in order to cope with season 4 i have to go all the way back to the season one angst and write half-silly content there. hope yall – especially em, im sorry this is historically late – enjoy.

If one were to compile a detailed historical record of Amy Santiago’s Comprehensive Dating Experience, the Amy Santiago in question would most likely give you a thumbs up, stack her office supplies in a suitcase, and move to Venezuela. 

This is, at least, what Jake Peralta had once said, a statement that earned him a rather violent elbow in the ribs – no less aggressive because of the fact that Amy herself was secretly in accordance. 

Her dating history was, indeed, miserable. And, even more importantly, she would most definitely stack her office supplies in the suitcase, because even in a moment of panicked exile, anything less than stacking where office supplies are concerned is just plain barbaric. 

Everyone knows that

Keep reading

Nessian Headcanons (as first time parents)

Think I might do these for all my ships. Cos why not 💁🏻

Rowaelin Manorian Feysand


-so you think Nesta can’t get any moodier well strap yourself in because pregnant Nesta is a tyrant.

-which turns out well because when Cassian finds out she’s pregnant he becomes so sappy and sweet and honestly as much as she yells at him (which lets be honest is all the time) he can’t help but just smile at her.

  -they are both pretty nervous though because no ones really sure how a baby with someone who was Made is gonna be like because Fae having children rare enough as it is let alone a half/Illyrian half Made Fae.

  -Nesta likes to put on a front like she doesn’t particularly care like she’s having a baby what of it but one day Cassian comes home from spending time with Az and Rhys and she’s sitting on the couch clutching her stomach and she’s crying her eyes out. At first he thinks she must be in labour but then realises that she’s just really, really scared. Scared that she won’t be a good mum and scared that something will go wrong because she loves her baby so so much and she would die if anything happened to it.

-Cassian comforts her through all her breakdowns and gently kisses her forehead and reassures her. Because he knows Nesta better than he knows anyone, and he can’t think of a better woman to be the mother of his children.

-Nesta is convinced that they are having a boy and Cassian thinks it’s a girl and they fight endlessly about it (*spoiler Nestas right as per usual*)

-one day Cassian and Nesta are having dinner like normal when her stomach starts convulsing in this weird ass way. It’s like when the baby kicks (btw the first time that happened Cassian and Rhys both cried while Az comforted them. They were just 3 very happy brothers) but on steroids and they were both like ‘what the fuck’ but then Cassian realised its just the baby stretching it’s little wings trying to get comfy.

  -Nesta is over a week overdue and it’s so pissy about it. The only people who can stand to be near her are Elain (bless her soul) and Cassian (who lowkey finds her outbursts hilarious)

-Cassian has to go away to the Court of Nighmares with Rhys while she’s still pregnant and is extremely nervous about it and does not want to leave her alone. Feyre and Elain both stay with her while he’s gone and it’s like a big sleepover except Nesta goes into labour because when has the timing ever been convenient in her and Cass’s relationship?

-Cassian makes it back just in time to see his boy born and cried hysterically while he’s holding him. Then he hears a not-so-subtle uh hem and whoops he forgot to show Nesta their baby.

  -All three of them huddle together for the night and it’s so wonderful. Their son has rich black and purple wings and Cassian is convinced he will be the most powerful Illyrian ever and will be able to beat him and his Uncle Az and Rhys in a fight before he’s even 5 years old.

  -the first time the baby flew was when it was 3 months old and Cass wasn’t there and Nesta was like ‘shit Shit shit Shit’ because it’s not like she can fly after her son. It’s turns out okay though because he can’t get very far when he’s so young, and he is content just to fly around the lounge room.

-Cassian is devastated that he missed it, but then realises that this means he can start teaching his son to fly.

-Cassian and the Bub get up to so many shenanigans together. Once when the bub had just turned 4 they accidentally ruined a painting Feyre had made for Nesta and when Nesta questioned them about it Cassian just crossed his arms and was like 'I have no idea what your talking about Sweetheart’ and their son copied his daddy right down to the crossed arms, stance, and smirk on his face.

-speaking of the smirk it GETS. THE. KID. WHATEVER. HE WANTS. Seriously. One smile from the boy and people will sacrifice anything for him.

  -and more 'let’s give mummy a heart attack’ fun, when their son is 4 and a half Cassian throws him out the window of the House of Wind as a prank (both father and son knew it would be fine they had been practising in secret to surprise mum) and Nesta was absolutely hysterical and screamed for someone to go get her baby and she didn’t stop crying until she had her baby in her arms. She made Cassian sleep on the couch for the rest of the week.

  -Nesta and Cassian have a lot of arguments about how to raise him. Cassian is adamant that he be raised in an Illyrian camp, but Nesta refused saying she thinks that it is barbaric.

-eventually she yields when she realises how important it for Cassian and his proud Illyrian heritage, and Cass didn’t turn out that bad so what could be the worst that happens?

-Her baby comes home everyday for the next decade with new bruises, but he always has a smile on his face and becomes one of the fiercest warriors in the camp, and has already been given 3 siphons to help harness his power.

  -then oh shit puberty hits.

-Nesta legit is like 'I cannot deal with this Cassian do something he’s gonna start humping the couch like a dog you fucking Illyrian brutes and your conquests’

-So Cass enlists the help of Az and Rhys and they all have a stern talk about safe sex and what all these things happening with his body mean and the poor lad is just sitting there and his face is bright red and he can’t look his dad or uncles in the eyes for weeks (which they find hilarious)

  -when he does his trials in the mountain Nesta frets nervously for the whole week while the rest of the family is chill as fuck. Cass isn’t worried at all. His son is, just as he thought he would be, one of the strongest Illyrians to ever have been born.

-All in all they are just a beautiful family.

-it takes Nesta a really long time to become pregnant again, it isn’t easy for her, and her son is nearly 21 by the time she runs into Cass crying of happiness because she’s pregnant again after years and years of trying.

-Cass also thinks this baby is going to be a girl. This time he is right.

Submission: welcome to rarepair hell

(so uh i was reading up on the faerie court for a project i was doing earlier today and then read your shisunaru fic just before bed and had a…….. strange dream.)

One of the guards nudges open the door to the Pair-y Court.

“Another has come, my queen.”

The woman on the throne pauses from scrawling in her notepad. “I see. Let them in.” The guard nods, ducks out, and returns with the latest one silly enough to find themselves in her realm.

“I need- That is, your Majesty- I’m not entirely sure how I got here, but I would like to go home. One moment I was at home, and the next–”

The queen narrows her eyes. “You wandered into a Collection and thought you would come out unaffected, did you?”

The person wilts. “I, I, I just want to leave, your Majesty, please…”

The Felid Queen shakes her head. “It seems the outsiders have learned nothing. There is no exit to this place, wanderer. This place has existed since the first story was told, and will continue to exist long after you and I are dead.”

“Y-you mean that.. You don’t control this place?”

Kat (though none would dare to call her so familiarly here) nearly laughs. “Oh, no, I do. But I damn well earned my rule. The thrall can be your greatest enemy….. Or it can be your dearest friend.”

She pauses. “Leaving is not a possibility, but I suppose things can be done to make your stay more, shall we say, comfortable.”

“Do you want my soul?”

“Oh, don’t be barbaric. That hasn’t happened since the Old Court went out of favor. No, what I want,” here she leans forward, a smile with entirely too many teeth consuming her face and a glint in her eye. “is reviews.

jimon + shower duets

jimon + ‘we’ve never met but we shower at the same time and our showers are on opposite sides of the same apartment wall so sometimes we start duets?’

Simon and Clary sing along loudly to the final song of High School Musical 1— Simon does Gabriella’s parts because Troy’s parts are just … lame. Grabiella is the climax, after all.

Clary happily does Troy’s parts, she knows both parts by heart anyway, and they’re honestly having the time of their lives.

Simon’s about to put the second movie of the legendary trilogy in the DVD player—his broke student ass can’t afford to pay for Netflix each month—when Clary gasps. “It’s three a.m, Si. Crap.” she hurriedly gathers her belongings and wipes the popcorn off her t–shirt.

“What’s wrong with it being three?” Simon watches her awkwardly balance her weight on one leg as she attempts to put on her shoe.

“Well, apart from that it’s way too late, I have class at eight tomorrow. Fuck.” She throws her jacket over her shoulders and blows her friend a kiss before leaving his small, crappy apartment.

Simon sighs and gets up from the couch. Though he must admit he, too, should probably get some sleep, he’s not gonna leave the cleaning for next morning.

He throws the blanket off the couch, vacuums the lone popcorn pieces on the floor and dumps the empty bowls in the sink.

It’s 3:30 when he finally finishes and he knows he should go to bed, he has morning classes, too, but he can’t go to sleep without having taken a shower. He hates how most college kids these days have horrible hygiene.

He undresses quickly, tossing his clothes on his bed and jumps into the relaxing heat of his shower.

Everyone knows that showers are meant for contemplation and Simon is not one to miss out on traditions: he’s glad Clary and him still get to spend time together like this. They’re both majoring in different things and certainly have different hobbies, and now that Clary has made some new friends, it’s been even more difficult to find time for each other.

He’s also glad that her dorky side still exists after knowing each other for so long.

Thinking back to the movie, he starts mumbling the words to Breaking Free but when he nears the chorus— he’s full on giving a concert.

When he’s finally reached the chorus and yells, “Strength to believe …”, he nearly slips and breaks his neck because on the opposite side of the wall, a voice starts yelling, “We’re breaking free!”

This goes on for weeks.

Simon thinks he’s in love.

It seems that every Thursday, his neighbour has a semi–night shift of some sorts and comes home at 3, and then showers at 3:30. Clary makes it their goal to have finished the movies at 3, so she can be home at ‘a decent time’.

So, every Thursday night, Simon and his neighbour share a duet. Or two. Or five. It depends.

Simon decides on the songs, of course, but he tries to keep them mostly mainstream— he doesn’t know exactly what music his duet partner listens to and doesn’t want to embarrass him. Or himself.

They’ve sung a few High School Musical ones, from all three of them, The Weeknd, Disney and even some Justin Bieber here and there.

Tonight, however, Simon decides to throw in a whole different genre, just to shake things up.

Simon starts off easy— and quietly, some other neighbours have complained— and stands against the tiled wall. He knows his neighbour will hear him better this way. “Is this the real life?”

He doesn’t hear anything for a few seconds and he nearly wants to break down the wall because who doesn’t know Bohemian Rhapsody!? But then he hears it.

“Is this just fantasy?”

“Yes, dude! Yes!” Simon yells triumphantly.

“That’s not part of the song,” he hears. Simon laughs.

“Sorry, sorry.” Simon smiles brightly to himself. He has no idea who his neighbour is, just knows that it’s a bloke, and he’s way too scared to knock his door and say, for example, ‘Hi, yes, it’s me, Simon Lewis, your duet partner and hopefully romantic partner for the rest of your life. Dinner?’

Simon skips the whole first part of the song and sings, “I see a little silhouetto of a man.”

He hears a groan coming from the other side, “You skipped my favorite part!”

“Well, this is mine,” Simon says smugly in response.

“Barbaric,” the guy says before continuing where Simon left off.

“Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening me!” Simon continues.





“Galileo figaro!”

They’re both a laughing mess after that and he hears the water stop in the other apartment. “Good night,” the guy says.

And Simon is too scared to ask for a name.

On Thursday next week, Clary tells Simon to get snacks and so he does. He drives to the nearest Wallgreens and snoops around in their snack isle. He knows Clary likes her salt popcorn, but he wants something different this time.

As he’s thinking of what to get, he’s softly singing the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody under his breath. A smile plays on his lips thinking of his neighbour and how stupid he is for not asking him for his name when there’s suddenly a blonde dude in front of him.

He’s wearing his golden hair in a manbun and his Wallgreens shirt is at least one size too small, but Simon really doesn’t mind. The man is gorgeous.

The guy looks Simon up and down and it’s very awkward. Simon doesn’t really know what to say and neither does the blonde dude who has JACE written on his badge.

Simon is ready to mutter a ‘no I don’t need any help’ when the guy, Jace, coughs into his hand and with a tiny voice says, “… Neighbor?”

Simon thinks he might explode. “Oh, my God. Um. Room 30B?”

“30A?” Simon nods slowly.

Both boys break out into a smile and Simon doesn’t know what to do. Again. Should they shake hands? Do I hug him? Do I kiss him?

Luckily, Jace makes the first move. “I’m Jace.”

“Lewis. Uh, Simon Lewis. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Well, Simon Lewis, you have an amazing voice. Instead of singing in the shower, why don’t you come over instead? Tomorrow? At seven?”

Simon smiles and leans forward, not into Jace’s personal space but enough so Jace is the only one to hear it. “Is this the real life?”

Something Rotten Starters pt. 1

Welcome to the Renaissance

  • “Can’t say that we’ve really missed them.”
  • “So dark and barbaric.”
  • “So dull and mundane.”
  • “That was so Middle Ages.”
  • “Welcome to the Renaissance.”
  • “Here we’ve made advances in the sciences.”
  • “We have the latest gadgets and appliances.”
  • “They’re all a bunch of heathens.”
  • “Hey look there’s ___ with a chicken.”
  • “He’s just so freakin’ awesome!”

God, I Hate Shakespeare

  • “Oh god I hate Shakespeare.”
  • “That’s right, I said it!”
  • “That bastard doesn’t care that my poor ass is getting numb.”
  • “How can you say that?”
  • “It’s easy I can say it ‘cause it’s absolutely true!”
  • “Aw, geez, you sound just like him!”
  • “You should hate Shakespeare!”
  • “I try to emulate Shakespeare.”
  • “Well, there’s your problem.”
  • “Why is it a problem to admit that I’m a fan?”
  • “The man really knows how to write a bitchin’ play.”
  • “Well la-di-da-di-da.”
  • “I think by now we sort of know you hate Shakespeare.”

Right Hand Man

  • “If you ever got trouble I would be there on the double just to bail you out.”
  • “If there’s anything you lack you know I’ve always got your back.”
  • “Think of me as your sidekick, helping you whenever I can.”
  • “I’m more than just a woman, baby.”
  • “Let me be your right hand man!”
  • “Ugh! You’re not hearing me!”
  • “If you’re ever in a pickle you can call for me and quick’ll be how fast I run.”
  • “You and me should be a team.”
  • “But to just be a pretty lady would be a pity, baby.”
  • “Eat your cabbage.”
  • “I’m stronger than you think.”
  • “Don’t be thinking I ain’t tough.”
  • “I am where you oughta go when the going’s getting rough.”
  • “Quit trying to protect me.”
  • “Can we change the subject please?”
  • “If you’re ever in a fix and it’s a fix you need to nix then I’m your go-to guy.”
  • “You’re not a guy.”
  • “Don’t be so literal!”
  • “And don’t forget I’m not a shrinking violet, a solid rock am I!”
  • “There’s no problem that’s too big.”
  • “So don’t be a sexist pig!”
  • “Is it asking too much of you? It’s only cause I love you”

God, I Hate Shakespeare (Reprise)

  • “I guess I hate the fact that he is everything I ever dreamed that I could be.”
  • “I mostly hate the way he makes me feel about… Me.”
  • “I’ve gotta make it happen.”
  • “Gotta find that pot of gold.”
  • “If there was just some way to know just what the future holds.”

A Musical

  • “What the hell are musicals?”
  • “Well that is the stupidest thing that I have ever heard!”
  • “Who on Earth is going to sit there while an actor breaks into song?”
  • “What possible thought could the audience think other than ‘this is horribly wrong’?”
  • “I don’t know, I find it hard to believe people would actually pay to see something like this.”
  • “You could go see a tragedy, but that wouldn’t be very fun.”
  • “Or go see something more relaxing and less taxing on the brain.”
  • “Sounds miserable.”
  • “And people actually like this?”
  • “What the hell are you doing now?”

The Black Death

  • “The Black Death, it’s gonna get you.”
  • “It’s gonna hit you.”
  • “That pesty little pestilence is killing half of Europe.”
  • “It’s getting closer.”
  • “It’s getting grosser.”

I Love The Way

  • “The candlelight ignites my desire to read.”
  • “To find a perfect rhyme is not an easy thing-ly”
  • “I love the places that words let me go.”
  • “I love the way that your words move me so.”
  • “No words have touched me the way that yours do.”
  • “Wait. That didn’t sound right.”
  • “I love that you feel the same way I do.”

Will Power

  • “Is it good to see me or what?”
  • “I adore the adoration.”
  • “I am the will of the people now.”
  • “In fact, I’d like to feel you a little later.”
  • “Glorious? Do you mean me? Well I can be.”
  • “There’s a fever going round.”
  • “Oh that is music to my ears.”
  • “Thank you, I like that one too.”
  • “I am the hard-working bard you regard.”
  • “I am the man you wanna see.”
  • “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”
  • “Parting is such a sweet sorrow!”

Bottom’s Gonna Be On Top

  • “No more Mr. Anonymous.”
  • “You’re such a wonderful writer, and your talent is beyond compare.”
  • “You are a star, you are, and you couldn’t be brighter.”
  • “Now you’re just embarrassing me!”
  • “Man I’m gonna sizzle, man I’m gonna pop.”
  • “If gratitude were food I’d have a big plate full.”
  • “Nice metaphor, bro.”
  • “You’re the greatest, you’re the man.”
  • “Now we’re handing the crown down to you.”
  • “Not. So. Fast.”
  • “If you want to make it to the top, then you’re gonna have to go through me.”
  • “I will not be giving up that easily.”
  • “I’m gonna enjoy it when I knock you off your perch.”
  • “My accomplishments are much more accomplished than yours.”
  • “You can’t be best because I am the best.”
  • “I never thought that I would meet my equal but I concede that I’ve been bested by the best”
  • “Oh my, how the tide has turned.”

Welcome To The Renaissance (Reprise)

  • “Now the stage is set for a huge response.”
  • “Got to give the audience what it wants.”
  • “What’s a famous bard to do?”
Captive Prince series: if you find it disturbing, you’re not wrong to

I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this because I don’t want to engange in any kind of discourse about it or have any fans harass me about it, but then I thought about how it would’ve been nice to have something like this before I read the books. Especially now that tumblr seem to be all about the books, I just want to inform fellow PoC about some of the things I, as a brownskinned arab, find problematic and racist about the books before they eventually buy them.

I bought and read all three books at the recommendation of a trusted friend that I admire. I cringed at the summary, but she assured me that it wasn’t what it sounded like, and that they would pleasently surprise me. I wish now I had asked her to please explain closer, but hindsight is… better in the aftermath, or something like that.

That is to say, I read all the books because at intervals I actually enjoyed them and because. well. i am easily convinced and trusting and if someone i trust tells me this is something i will enjoy, i try my hardest to. And that, that’s kind of unhealthy. Don’t do that, because you might end up internalizing some very hurtful things when you try to ignore things that bothers you for – what? not being a party pooper? Anyway, here are some things I had in the back of my head as I read:

  • First off: major triggers for rape, csa, pedophilia, flogging, violence etc. And some of it is graphic. What did I expect? It’s about slavery. People will say it’s not between the main characters, but understand that it happens to the brown main character, instructed by the white main character, mainly in the first bok. I personally couldn’t read it and basically skipped huge parts of the first book.
  • The white main character has pale skin and blond hair (repeatedly told in the text! all the fucking time!) and is coded as white. His name is Laurent. He’s, as far as I can read, meant to be read as white. He is royalty.
  • The other main character, called Damen and whose POV we see everything from, is brown. This is also repeated. In the text we get a line that describes him as having “skin so dark bruises don’t show.” (I paraphrase because I don’t care to touch the books right now.) He’s coded as a PoC, as far as anyone in an imagined world and country can be a PoC, and the country he comes from is inspired by regions around the mediterranean. I don’t know about you, but as an arab, the constant reminder that he is brown (and in any other book I would love that but) and from a country fashioned from regions around the mediterranean, just pushes the idea that he is MENA for me. He is also royalty, but he gets sent to the white main’s country as a slave in the start of the plot. He and the white main are supposed to fall in love.
  • In the first chapter the brown main is described with words like huge, raw strength, and there’s a great emphasis on his muscles as he is forced to his knees, naked and bound in shackles. Like, besides the point that you were assured that this was not slave erotica and how degrading this is, this scene is enforcing every racist description about how brown bodies are bigger, stronger and just, I don’t know, more likely to do violence. It doesn’t help that the white counterpart is described as basically the opposite.
  • The white character says things like “animal”, “barbaric” and other racially charged words at the brown main. This is not coerced of him to say, and another character (the Regent, the actual villain) remarks about the white main’s prejudice against Damen’s people. So it’s basically acknowledged in the text that this is racist. And that’s that. There’s literally no developement in that front, and at the end of the book there’s no acknowledgement of the white main’s prejudice (racism) being changed and he still shows to belittle Damen’s people. It’s ofc just the white main’s ~personality~ and just towards certain people. /sarcasm
  • The reader is also constantly reminded how the slave master, the white main, is totally the brown main’s type, with his pale, white skin and blond hair and blue eyes. I know someone’s probably going to say I’m against interracial relationships from what I’m about to say, which, I’m not. The problem is – beside the, you know, slave and master thing, which is a huge fucking deal, don’t get me wrong, I’m trying not to flippant about it — it sounds like internalized racism. This was especially upsetting to me since I’m still unlearning it, but the constant reminder that Damen’s attraction to the white main is because of his white skin and blond hair, and the reminder that his other mentioned love interest was Jokaste, another blonde and whiteskinned person from his country… Okay, so the counter argument here would be that since Jokaste is described as whiteskinned and from Damen’s country, the internalized racism wouldn’t actually be a thing and Damen doesn’t actually hate his people’s looks because they are diverse! Well, colorism is a thing and unfortunately it’s a very real thing in large parts of our world and I’m more worried about brown- and darkskinned PoC reading this and their feelings than how this fake world’s race dynamics work. This made me personally so upset and angry.
  • I have seen posts on tumblr that the books are actually about how slavery is wrong and how it’s about how the brown main learns that the slavery in his country is wrong. First of all, I know about the arab slave trade and it’s massive destructive reprecussions. I know there was slavery in other cultures, not just in America, Europa and Australia. It’s still really creepy how a white author felt the need to write about how a brown main learns that slavery is wrong and be all moralizing about it, wtf.
  • Also @ the fandom
    • It’s not cute how Laurent calls Damen “giant animal” and “barbaric”.
    • I have seen some of you lecturing PoC who are uncomfortable of fanart depicting Damen as a slave, saying they don’t under stand “the context”. Maybe, I don’t know, the context of their very real, very in life situation is more fucking important??? wtf.

OK, despite the last paragraph, I didn’t actually make this to lecture anyone. I wanted to get across to POC and non-white people that might have read this series, that if you found some of it disturbing, don’t squash it down thinking it’s you who are overreacting because all you see is positvity about the books. Your feelings are valid and here’s even list of things I personally found distrubing.

I also get that some POC enjoyed the books, because of different reasons. I’m not really interested in hearing those reasons, because I’m not attacking you personally, I’m just saying that other people might not have the same experience as you. 

Edited to add 31.12.16: As @icedyuris pointed out and said: “ Not all POC are desendents of slaves/ had thier ancestors way of life destroyed by slavers and they shouldnt have a say in this POC who like the book enable white people in the fandom to be trash tbh”

anonymous asked:

So what do you think about Zeke saying war is a bad thing? Why does he keep fighting and turn people into titans if he thinks that way?

I’ve been mulling over this ask since a couple days ago and my answer is a needlessly wordy one – because I have to spew out all my thoughts to actually make a conclusion of some kind. Which is probably why I didn’t even attempt to put my opinion on the matter in my chapter write-up. 

I think a lot of things about Zeke’s line. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I don't see a lot of Byakuya around but I love what you write about him? Coul you pretty please write a scenario about him getting a little jealous over his s/o?

Byakuya Kuchiki

“You seem mad at me.”

“What gives you that impression.”

Byakuya’s tone implies that it’s not a question, simply a counter. And not a sarcastic one either, despite what his words suggest. He’s solemnly, but genuinely curious.

They trail behind him as he walks the length of his manor, the lively atmosphere of his gardens almost canceling out his affronted demeanor. The birds chirp excitedly, and even the Koi seem to slide through the lake water with enthusiastic spirit.

“Well for one, you seem to be adamant on making me rush to keep up with you. You nearly lost me in the crowd back at the barracks. Was that on purpose? Are you in a hurry?”

Immediately he slows his pace almost to a complete stop, abrupt enough that they have to step out of the way to avoid crashing into him.

When they come to his side, he won’t even look at them, his eyes are closed. But he waits expectantly.

“That’s better,” they say, fighting to lace their tone with whimsicality, only in hopes that it will gain a better reaction from him.

When he receives that confirmation, he walks again, significantly slower, almost like it’s forced.

“I have work to do, yes,” he explains, eyes open again and beaming straight ahead. They try to recall if he’s glanced at them even once the entire day.

“Do you need help?”

“No.” He comes to stop at the nearest door, slides it open, and steps into a spacious room. Against the wall is stationed a low desk, a significant stack of paperwork awaiting him.

“Are you sure?” they ask as they follow him into the room. “I have nothing of importance to do today. I have to deliver reports to Squads Ten and Eleven tonight, but otherwise, I’m free.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to Squad Eleven. I heard you were there yesterday, too.”

Their brows arch in piqued curiosity. “I wasn’t aware I had to notify you of my every move.”

“You don’t.”

He kneels down in front of his desk and exhales in weary annoyance at the paperwork before him. It was so unlike him to delay his duties and accumulate this much work. He’ll blame it on his subordinates for now.

“Then what’s the problem?” they inquire.

“I would like to know if and when you have business in Squad Eleven.”

“Well, now you know.”

They see his eyes sharpen, but he doesn’t comment. He’s doing an excellent job of distracting his exasperation with signing off on documents, but they know him well enough to decipher when he’s struggling to tether what’s on his mind.

They continue to examine him, noticing the forced, arrogant poise of his posture, as if he were attempting to convey his indifference to every other matter that did not pertain to his current paperwork. But they knew better.

“Is this about what happened at the festival last month?”

His jaw tenses and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing—all too many reactions that paint animation into his features, and they know they’ve guessed correctly.


“Yes it is, Byakuya.”

Now it’s difficult to hide the mirth in their voice. “Yachiru is the one who organized it, and she invited me. So I went. If I recall, she also invited you. You could have come along, you know. She’s quite fond of you.”

“Why would I waste my time dawdling with Squad Eleven and attend their brutish, pointless congregation.”

“It wasn’t brutish.” Not the majority of the time, anyway. “I had fun.”

“I’m sure you did.”

They tilt their head curiously. Is that sharpness that they detect in his voice bordering spite? Maybe sarcasm?

Byakuya was nothing less than incensed when they returned to his home the night of the festival, too drunk to function and practically wrapped in Ikkaku’s arms as he escorted them to Kuchiki manor.

The Division Six captain might have offered a hint of gratitude that Ikkaku set aside the time to see his s/o back safely, if he wasn’t so convinced that the man was being far too friendly and far too familiar. Byakuya could blame it on the enthusiasm that accompanied alcohol and lost inhibitions, but he didn’t. He just didn’t like it. He was insulted.

He practically demanded that the man remove himself from Kuchiki property, before dragging his s/o into the house and attempting to reprimand them. Of course, his efforts were futile in their drunken stupor, but they still remember how flustered he’d been, how angry. So different from his stolid façade now.

“I know you’re not happy about what happened,” they begin almost hesitantly. “But we were just having fun. Ikkaku is—“

“Third Seat Madarame is as crude and abhorrent as his captain. I would prefer you not fraternize with him or any other member of Squad Eleven if you are at all concerned about your reputation.”

“My reputation?” they ask, almost incredulously. “Or yours?”

Byakuya looks annoyed now.

Already, this conversation is flustering him, but he won’t drop it until they’ve conceded. “I don’t want any one of those barbarians to believe they can consort with you as they please. They are not pleasant people, _____. They are bad influences. You see already how that pest of a lieutenant Kusajishi finds her way in here and invites guests over without my consent or knowledge.”

“I like Yachiru,” they insist. “I just think you’re too stubborn to widen your circle of friends, Byakuya.”

“I hope you do not consider them friends.”

“Of course I do! I know you don’t like Ikkaku… and I know I don’t have to tell you this again, but nothing happened the night of the festival–“

“Yes, I know that much. Though you could have fooled me with the way he was clinging to you on my doorstep. You may not see it, but I do. You need not give him a reason to think you are fond of him—”

“Byakuya,” they almost chuckle, and just faintly, they think he’s blushing. “Don’t be so stubborn and pessimistic. If not for Ikkaku, I very well might have passed out in the Squad Eleven barracks for the night. And you wouldn’t have liked that, would you?”

He doesn’t speak, but his answer is clear.

“Besides, if what you say is true about their brutish and barbaric nature, why concern themselves over anything but fighting? There’s no time for romance in Squad Eleven,” they tease. “You don’t have to worry about Ikkaku–“

“And what about that pompous Fifth Seat who trails you like a shadow whenever he sees you?”

Their mouth opens on instinct to mention how hypocritical it is of him to throw around the word pompous so freely, but they seal their lips. “Yumichika is harmless. We’ve known each other far before our days in the Gotei 13. Surely you’re not going to hold that against me.”

“He is not an exception. I don’t like him.”

“Why? Because his hair is prettier than yours?”

His eyes draw away from his paper only for a moment, and he stares at the wall in front of him in tense consideration, like he’s trying to quell whatever snide remark is on his tongue.

Unfortunately for them—because riling up Byakuya is always gratifying—he succeeds, and focuses his attention back on his paperwork with a huff.

His temper is always amusing in a dangerous way, but they know better than to ignite his anger past the breaking point. Still, their caution is overwhelmed by intrigue.

“So,” they begin with a sly smile. “What would you like me to do about this dilemma, Kuchiki-sama?”

“Do not patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’m only asking. I’d rather know now then have you hold it against me for the rest of our lives… which will be a long time, need I remind you.”

They come to kneel beside him, and he pretends the new proximity doesn’t fluster him, but it does. Even when he looks at them, he forces his steely eyes not to forsake the impassive demeanor he tries so hard to uphold.

They examine the captain skeptically, amusement pulling their lips into a smug, entertained smirk. Tempting as it may be to test his limits and confirm the rumors of his infamous, latent temper, they regain composure quickly.

“You might as well just admit it, Byakuya. The longer you prolong it, the worse it will be for you.”

“You make it sound like a threat,” he murmurs, voice thin. They would be daunted, had they not been desensitized to his cold demeanor after so long. “And what exactly would you like me to admit?”

“That you’re jealous.”

He shuts his eyes and exhales a frustrated sigh. “I am not jealous.”

“You are.”

“I only think it prudent that you stay away from Squad Eleven. That is all.”

“I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit,” they hum thoughtfully. “Some of them are quite pleasant. Excellent company, in fact.”

He’s already returned to reading over the paper in his hand, but they notice his eyes strain to remain on the text.

“It’s refreshing,” they continue, knowing they’re on thin ice, “considering that I come here and am forced to compete with paperwork for your attention, Byakuya.”

Ah, that does it. His eyes draw back to theirs, stern flickers of periwinkle boring into them. “You would have me abandon my day-to-day duties as a captain just to entertain you—“

“No no, calm down,” they snort, realizing it’s not fair to tease him. They intertwine their arm with his and shift even closer. “I can’t help but tease you. You make it too easy.”

His brows knit in irritation, yet the flare of frustration that was once there has dissolved, oddly enough. “I do not appreciate that.”

“And I don’t appreciate you trying to dictate what I do and don’t do, and who my friends are.”

They receive no response, only the stiffening of his hard expression. 

Then his face softens when they press a gentle, quick kiss to his cheek. Their lips are warm, but not as warm as the blush that creeps onto his skin, which he quickly dispels.

“You have nothing to worry about, Byakuya,” they assure him with a smooth grin. “I think the sober, gloomy demeanor of Division Six is more appealing than the barbarity of the Eleventh. So don’t get too hung up on this, alright?”

His lips part around a stern retort, but he understands it would be in vain. For a long pause, he eyes them curiously and with guarded expectancy.

They frown. “Alright?”

“Fine,” he finally works out with difficulty.

“Good.” They’re smiling again, a smile that cures his irritation in an way he’s always found to be annoying. Then they rise to their feet. “If you don’t need my help, I’ll be going. I can see you have your hands full.” 

Before they can exit the room, his voice stops them. 

“Do not let me find you intoxicated on my doorstep tonight, ______. If you get swept up in the antics of the Eleventh Division… then at least drink with caution.”

They smile. “Yes, Kuchiki-sama.”

When they leave and slide the door closed behind them, Byakuya releases a heavy sigh of annoyance. 

He may have to send some of his guards to survey the Squad Eleven barracks tonight.


Actual Request: “An imagine where the reader is friends with Marcel, and Marcel introduces her to the Mikaelsons. Kol, Klaus, and Elijah take a liking to the reader and all three of them can’t take their eyes off of her. The three of them fight over her while each one of them try to impress her and win her heart. You can decide how it ends and what time period it happens in!”

Requested by anonymous

gif credit: not mine.

“Okay, Y/N, are you ready to meet with the most ancient vamps in the world?” Marcel asks. You smile at him and look at the mirror. 

“Of course I am, Marcellus.” you say. “It’s 1914 for God’s sake, I’m not afraid of men anymore.”

“Well things have been changed since 1850s, I’ll give you that.” Marcel laughs and offers his hand. “They’ll be amazed by you, Y/N.”

“I hope so.” you say and you two go to the Christmas party in their home.

“Klaus, Elijah, Kol,” Marcel introduces you. “And this is Y/N, an old friend of mine.”

“Marcellus, I didn’t know you have such a glamorous young friend.” Klaus says flirtatiously. You smile at him kindly and the youngest one, Kol, kisses your hand.

“Forgive my brother’s barbaric attitude towards you, Y/N,” he says. “He does not what to do when it comes to beautiful women.”

They don’t let you say anything and you like their sweet little competition between them.

“May I offer you fresh air and high quality champagne?” Elijah Mikaelson asks and smiles. You accept the champagne but you’re fine being in there.

“Come on, Elijah, maybe our young friend wants to dance, what do you say, Y/N?” Kol asks. You laugh at him but don’t answer him at all.

“Kol, my dear, what makes you think that your old fashioned behaviors might interest this lovely young lady?” he asks but Klaus interrupts him.

“Elijah, please, don’t go hard on him. Eventually you two will need to consult one and another when Y/N and I spend the whole night without you two.”

“Don’t be so sure, brother.” Elijah says and smiles at you. “Maybe Y/N wants to talk about real things… Like, art or books. The things you only hear but don’t listen at all.”

“Your sweet little competition.” you tell them. They all look at you at the same time. “It’s really cute and I think you guys are true gentlemen. But the reason I’m here tonight is Marcellus and I’d like to spend my time with him.”

You bow as they look surprised and when Marcel offers you his arm, you blink them and leave.

The Funny Foreigners-Ragnar Lothbrok x Reader One Shot

(A/N: WOOHOO! ANOTHER REQUEST! I’m so glad you guys are asking for stuff, I love hearing other people’s ideas. Keep them coming! 🙆)

Summary: This was requested by anonymous: ‘Can you do a Ragnar request plz where ur a princess in England and he comes over with his army to England (rolla, flokia). He meets the king cause they’re making an alliance, then him and his army meet the princess. He takes a liking to her because she’s cheeky, likes riding her horse and sneaking off into the woods, and goes into the woods in secret to practice her shooting with her bow. Then the king and Ragnar make a deal that she has to marry him and she finds out when it’s announced at the feast.’ I hope you enjoy it!

Meanings: (Y/N)= Your name
(Y/LN)= Your last name
(Y/F/N)= Your father’s name

Characters: Ragnar Lothbrok x Reader

Warnings: Just fluff. Also this is a big long.

Another A/N: I’m going to use quotation marks instead of speech marks when the characters are supposed to be speaking Old Norse.


I sat at the window in one of the towers of my family castle, looking out across the land. A huge army was heading our way though not to battle. Vikings were here in England now, raiding and claiming land. When I first heard of this, I was petrified; they were known for their victories in battles. But my family were lucky, we had a history with the pagans, a good one too. Hopefully that would be useful.

My great-grandfather befriended one of the vikings rulers, making an alliance. Since then we had relied on that to keep us safe from them but there seemed to be a problem now. I prayed everyday that my father would fix this.

The vikings were going to take the whole day to get here. Why waste the day watching them? Jumping from the window ledge, I made my way out of the castle and sneaked towards the stables. Along the way I watched my people, all of them looking nervous at the thought of Vikings coming to negotiate; we had forewarned them so that no fighting would commence. As I entered the stables, my horse made a noise of greeting, nudging my body with his head.

“Shh, father doesn’t know I’m here, as usual.” I whispered, starting to saddle him up. Under his blanket was my bow and some arrows, hidden from the rest of the world.

I had gotten so used to this now. Father didn’t mind if I went out riding, as long as I had a chaperone. But that was so boring, how was I supposed to gallop through the forests and explore new parts with someone on my tail? Due to doing this most of the time, I knew how to get to the forest without anyone spotting me and once again I had achieved this. My horse was very strong, he was faster than all the others causing the wind to increase and make me feel like I was flying.

We stopped as I got deeper in, the training space our guards used coming into view. Smiling to myself, I hopped off, tied him up before cheerfully walking to the targets. From a young age I had always been interested in fighting though no one would show me. However whenever my uncle visited, he would sneak with me into the woods, going behind my father’s back to train me; we could only cover archery though. Over the years I had improved immensely but no one would see that.

Just as I shot the first arrow near the bullseye, I heard crowds of people and horses. That must be the vikings. They travelled fast. Running towards the noise, I wanted to see if I could see them. Looking out, I could just about spot them coming over the hills. My heart started to beat faster with excitement. Although my father would not let me learn how to fight or go anywhere by myself, he taught me about the pagans, they were just fascinating.

Throughout training, I kept on checking the progress of the vikings and how close they were. When I decided that they were almost here, I made my way back, smiling the whole time. It turned out I underestimated the pagans as they were already there when I got back. Quickly climbing off my horse, I gave him to one of the stable boys before rushing to the front castle steps. Father, his courtiers, guards and the vikings were all there, everyone watching as I ran to them.

“Sorry, sorry, I did not mean to be late.” I could feel the blush form on my face.

“As I was saying, my daughter would not dare to direspect our guests by turning up late.” my father stated, pulling a was out of my hair.

The group of vikings chuckled, diverting my attention to them, or rather, one of them. He stood in front of the group, clearly the leader. His blue eyes were what captured me, he had a strong physique about him too; I loved his hair as well, quite a few of these men were gorgeous.

'Forgive me, I did not mean to disrespect you.’ I spoke their native tongue.

The leader seemed surprised, speaking English.“You speak very good Norse.” His accent was thick.

I smiled.'And so is your English.’

This was only a very small portion of the vikings. Some were guarding the boats, Some were camping outside our walls and this small group was here to negotiate. I learnt that the leader was the great Ragnar Lothbrok I had heard so much about. The rumours were true; he was strong, smart, witty and handsome. My father had announced that there would be a feast tomorrow to honour our guests as well as whatever agreement we came to. Unfortunately I did not speak to any of the vikings again, but Ragnar was in my dreams that night.

The next morning we had guests at breakfast. Ragnar, his brother Rollo, friend Floki and some of his other advisors. I sat next to my father, across from Ragnar, a nice compliment to my breakfast.

Ragnar was the first to speak.“I thank you for your kindess and for letting us stay. We are glad that you want to create an alliance.”

“Of course Ragnar, it is an honour to have you here. We shall discuss this later though, when my daughter is no longer present.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to not scoff. Ragnar spotted this.

“Why can’t your daughter be here? Does she not get a say?”

“She is a woman, they don’t have a say in most things.”

“Well, from where we’re from, women are very, very important. They’re are many shieldmaidens, probably better than most of your men.”

I smiled, looking at him from under my lashes. He smirked back, winking as well.

After breakfast, I was told that I had to attend some lessons, which I would obviously not. As I walked through the corridors, I could hear someone following me. Before I could see who it was, Ragnar turned me around, still smirking like earlier.

“Princess.” He greeted.

'King.’ I said back.

“I do not have a lot of time left in your kingdom. Please, would you show me around your home?”

I really wanted to, ever so, but I knew what others would say.“I do not think that is wise.”

“Why not?” His smirk never faltered.

I did the same, beginning to walk away.“Because it is frowned upon for a man to be left alone with a woman, especially a funny foreigner.”

He caught up to me.“Funny foreigner? So you treat all your guests this way princess?”

“No, only the ones in interested in.”

Of course I showed him around. It would be out of my nature to obey my father’s orders. Ragnar did not seem phased by the looks we were given or the fact he was risking breaking an alliance. It felt risky, and I liked it, it gave me a sense of excitement I hadn’t felt before. All men I had come across before were so boring, always playing by the rules or scared stiff of my father. But not Ragnar.

“And this is where the men train.” we had somehow ended up walking all the way into the forest where I had been earlier. Being with him, it felt as if time didn’t exist.

“Have you ever been here? Trained I mean.” he asked as he inspected the equipment.

For some reason, it felt as if I could trust him.“Only in secret. My uncle trained me in archery for a while but he left. I’m still not very good.”

Ragnar looked at the target where my arrow still was then back to me. Pursing his lips, he gestured for me to go to him. My feet moved before my mind could decide. His hands went to my waist and I slightly gasped at this close contact.

He stood behind me, hands still.“Shh, I’m helping you.” he whispered, shivers going down my spine.

He began to position me the way you would stood whilst shooting. I could feel his body so close to mine, yet at the same time it wasn’t close enough. After he felt that I was in the correct stance, he snaked his arms around mine.

“W-what are you doing?” I stuttered almost silently.

“I’m helping you to shoot better.”

“But there’s no bow…or arrow.”

“We don’t need one.”

I loved the feeling of his hands grasping onto mine, mimicing the feeling of aiming. Our heads were touching as we looked at the target.

“Now, fire.” he instructed.

I listened, releasing my breath I had been holding as I did so. God, what was this man doing to me?!

After that flustering moment, we carried on walking together. He acted as if nothing had happened but I think I was the quietest I had ever been in my whole life. Ragnar knew he had got me, I bet he was like this with women all the time; I didn’t mind it though.

The feast was finally upon us. As my handmaidens helped me get ready, I decided to wear my most beautiful (somewhat revealing) dress, wanting Ragnar to be amazed when he gazed his eyes on me. This man was amazing. I had barely talked to him and he already had me wrapped around his finger. Now I wanted to do the same to him.

The sound of music but me as I entered the hall as well as the smell of mead and food, and the heat from the mass of people. Out of everyone in that room, my eyes still landed on Ragnar first. It seemed that he had done the same as he made his way over.

“Princess,” he licked his lips as his eyes looked me up and down,“you look ravishing.”

I grabbed some mead, looking elsewhere.'King, might I say you look…less barbaric tonight.’

He chuckled.“Thank you. But I think we both know that you like that about me.”

“Do I? I’m sure there’s a few more things I like.”

The flirting was interrupted by my father standing from his throne, holding his hand out for the music to be stopped. Everyone turned to face him, wondering what he would say.

“Friends, family, I thank you for attending this feast. Our friends from across the sea have come to our country, and although they may be enemies of some, they aren’t to us.” he raised his cup to Ragnar who did the same.“My family has been close friends with their people for many years but now I feel that the alliance has to be made stronger. We respect these people, we want to remain close allies. Which is why I have come up for a way that the bond can never be broken.”

“And what would that be my King?” Ragnar asked impatient as he drank more mead.

“For you and my daughter to marry.”

Surprisingly there was an eruption of cheers and applause from my people and the vikings. I was shocked by all this. Me, the princess was going to marry a viking, not some good moraled, boring Christian man! This was such good news, I could have a new, exciting life. Looking up at Ragnar, he was already smiling.

He leaned in close.“Looks like you’ll have to learn a little more than archery, my princess.”

'Then you’ll have to teach me, my King.’

Stop this madness

Today is a sad day. I want to say that my heart is in Barcelona and I condemn this barbarism. Since 2004 Spain, my country, had not suffered a terrorist attack. It was a massacre. You don’t know the impotence I feel when I know that there is scum distributed by the world capable of killing anyone with cold blood, even children, without remorse and in the name of God. God is love, not hatred and violence. I can’t avoid putting myself in the shoes of some of the people who have suffered the attack or their families. I can’t conceive of the amount of shit these assholes have in their heads to do something like that. I’m not able. Today was Barcelona, ​​but you never know if the next time it’s your turn. We must put an end to this, but we must do it all, together. #StopTerrorism

anonymous asked:

Hiiii I think you already know I've been lurking on your blog for a few hours lol I've been reading your posts about mitam and sott, sweet creature etc. Is it possible you could make one for more songs on the pink album? I would love to see woman or only angel!!! Specially woman tbh. I know it's a lot to just ask but it would be amazing! If you already have a post about this just ignore me lol (or direct me to it) thank you, sea xxx

WOMAN has always puzzled me, and I have read a lot of good interpretations, but I was still not really satisfied for my own musical curiosity. So here goes nothing. 

I am basing my interpretation on these lyrics, and will refer to times from this video:

Someone very fortuitously discovered an allusion to Charles Bukowski’s poem, Old Man, Dead in a Room

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

hi eva. i'm really stressed out because my sister had surgery today and lost an ovary. i've been anxious for the past day and i would really love if you could give me some good ol' classic kylux. soft and fluffy. thank you for continuing to write and produce amazing content in this fandom. we appreciate you 💕

Hi, little cupcake. First of all, I’m really sorry to hear that you’ve been anxious because of this and I’m sending all my best wishes to you, your sister and your family! I hope everyone feels better soon. You’re always welcome to message me if you’d like someone to chat with! It’s so kind of you to tell me how much you appreciate my writing – it’s really enjoyable for me to do and if other people enjoy it, too, even better.

Hot water heals, someone had told Ren when he was very young. He doesn’t remember who it was, whether it was his mother or father or uncle or maybe someone he’d just heard in passing, because his childhood was a long parade of meeting people briefly and then never again as he accompanied his mother to meetings, to planets for just a day cycle, never to come back.

But some places, they did go back to. Icy planets with steaming hot springs, or warm planets with warm flat seas. To luxuriate would not be proper for a knight, but the healing power of the heat for the muscles, and for the mind, is not just acceptable but encouraged. So Ren finds a place he knows he can go to soak away the sores of training, and of course Hux must come, it will supplement Hux’s health to engage in such an activity, he is an expert in such matters. The only person who would dare argue with Ren’s logic is Hux himself.

“But it’s freezing outside,” Hux says, peering out the window of the small First Order base that had been established where there had once been only wilds, stunted trees and shaggy beasts with beautiful white coats. Now there was a small station, manned only by a skeleton crew of troopers, who Ren didn’t doubt spend quite a lot of time bored and soaking in the springs, gossiping about one another and probably sneaking off to the jagged cliffs up above and fuck around. Not that Ren wasn’t basically here for the same purpose.

“The springs aren’t,” Ren argues.

“Yes, because they’re boiling,” Hux snaps back, not particularly vitriolic but also clearly unsure. “And you have to be naked?”

“Well, General, it’s not a law, it’s just not really necessary to wear anything.”

There’s a sound that vaguely resembles the word ‘barbaric’ as Hux sighs and accepts his fate. He hasn’t come all this way to turn back now, semi-requisite nudity or no.  

For all of Hux’s grousing and griping, the way he shivered like an abandoned pet left out in the cold as he undressed, the look on his face as he sinks into the water is nothing short of blissful. Hot water, it seems, can soak all the way into Hux’s icy core, and he turns his eyes up appreciatively as Ren climbs in next to him. 

“It heals, you said? Heals what?”

Ren shifts so he’s sitting as comfortably as he can, so he’s low enough to soak his shoulders. “Don’t hide all that,” Hux complains, before Ren can answer.

“I’m trying to actually soak, you know.”

“I thought you just wanted an excuse for us to be nude.”

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a secondary motive.”

Hux humphs contentedly, the look on his face so unbothered that he looks almost like another person, a lighter and younger one. 

“To answer your question,” Ren goes on, “It’s supposed to be good for your muscles. If they ache. And to relieve stress. And just…you know, feel better in general. I think your circulation as well.”

“Barbaric,” Hux says again, but he looks so pleased that it’s almost a coo. “Ancient.”

“It still works as well as it did back then. When’s the last time you felt so good?”

Hux flicks his eyes in Ren’s direction and the ends of his ears go pink but he’s smiling, it’s almost like he’s drunk on the feeling. “Last time you took me to bed.”

It surprises Ren to hear him say something like that, only because Hux is so private about his feelings when they’re good. Nor does Hux normally want to press up against someone sitting near him. The feeling of the water has given him a pass. As does their privacy. Maybe some troopers are watching from above, on the off-limit cliffside, but they’re not supposed to be there anyway, and they’re probably much more fascinated with one another than whatever is happening below. Which is not the rough frantic secretive love that they’re making but just soft kissing, Hux pliant and melty against Ren’s side, his cheeks cold but his lips, his tongue, all of it warm as the water.

“Maybe this feels even better,” Hux allows. “Or maybe not.”

It’s hard to say. It all feels so good. 

every time a liberal says “even x war-torn nonwestern country has mandated maternal care for mothers/female political representatives/etc” it really speaks to how liberal feminists, regardless of race, perpetuate western hegemony. they’re utterly shocked that these ostensibly primal and savage countries full of brown and black people actually have medical systems in place or excel in arenas of education or reproductive justice or innovation or something else that’s hailed by american exceptionalists as something only americans/westerners can be good at. like for example if a liberal feminist will be making the case for establishing broad access to abortion and contraceptives, or is discussing how paltry the US’s system of maternal care is, they’ll say “see? even those [barbaric] countries are better than us at this”, as if 1) the people in those countries aren’t autonomous, 2) as if feminism, maternal care, reproductive justice, and medical innovation were invented by, are only relevant to, or are exclusive to the west, 3) this kind of rhetoric indirectly upholds american exceptionalism by positing that if we’re “falling behind” these supposedly backward or savage countries that we’re humiliating ourselves, and 4) this reframes the vital necessity of maternal care and reproductive justice in capitalist competition terms, so that we lose sight of the point that all women deserve safe and just access to reproductive services and instead make it a contest about who can achieve this standard first. fuck liberal feminism.