where one of those is an old woman

amysantiagone  asked:

In Rogue One, Cassian Andor states that he's been fighting for the rebels since he was 6 years old. Assuming he meant literal combating, would his personality be similar to that of a child raised for combat? Would there be any differences?

This is sort of a yes and no, as all children involved in violent conflicts from an early age are affected by it. However, the children who take part in rebellions aren’t in the same category of the child soldiers discussed on this blog before, though they absolutely share similarities.

Kids involved in rebellions are rarely used as frontline combatants. They’re far too valuable for that. Instead, they function as informants, carriers, and, occasionally, saboteurs. They’re not the one who picks up the gun to shoot down enemy soldiers in a safe zone. They’re the ones who move the gun past the security perimeter or receive it from the old man or woman who did and plant it. They’re the ones hanging around befriending enemy soldiers in bars or cantinas so they can tip their friends off about where the troops are moving to next. Children, women, the elderly, those generally viewed as non-combatants, the ones that society overlooks or views as “safe” are often the backbone of any resistance movement.

They get the goods, they move the packages, they carry the messages between resistance cells, they sometimes take care of the equipment, and they do most of the footwork that allows a resistance to engage the enemy. When they do fight, it’s generally in the form of sabotage like finding and slipping poison into the enemy troop’s stew, planting bombs, or because survival necessitates it when their cover is blown.

As a child, Cassian Andor would have a background common with other children in rebellions depicted in media like ‘Phan Duc To’ from Good Morning, Vietnam! (1987) and the children involved in The Battle of Algiers (1966).

If you’ve never seen Good Morning, Vietnam! I just spoiled the movie.

The Battle of Algiers is a great movie if you’re looking for an honest overview of how rebellions function on both sides of the conflict or just a treatment on the French colonization of Algeria. Fair warning, it is not an english language film. Kiera Nerys from Star Trek: Deep Space 9 is another decent character to look at when wanting to model a background for a resistance fighter who joined as a child. G’kar from Babylon 5 and the entire Narn/Centauri conflict is also an excellent example of the enduring hatreds and issues brought by colonization.

One of the qualities you see in these children and then again as adults is pure, unadulterated hatred for their oppressors. More so than the other kinds, they hate. Often to the point of becoming a new version of the enemy their resistance was attempting to drive off.

Cassian would’ve spent a lot of time hanging around rebel fighters, doing odd jobs for them until the day came when they were short a man or needed a message run by someone who wouldn’t attract attention.

If this has started to sound like spycraft, well, you’re not far off. Resistances don’t have the luxury of major battle offensives like an army, and even guerilla warfare is actually a step up from what happens on the ground, and there is a common word you’ll find familiar for what they do: terrorism.

The actions of a resistance fighter and the actions of a terrorist are one and the same, the only difference is in who is telling the story. If you want to investigate real resistances without the judgements, study up on World War II, the French Resistance, and the Maquis.

Yes, that Maquis not the one from Star Trek.

On the ground resistances are rough and ready, they’re often split apart into distinct cells comprised of only a few agents, and almost no one knows who is higher up the food chain. This is important because it protects the other operating cells and resistance leadership in case an operative is captured by the enemy.

For the most part, whether you’re writing historical fiction or a foray into science fiction, the philosophy, goals, and strategy of a resistance will remain the same. What changes is how they go about operating within their setting because, like spies, a resistance requires the author have a solid grasp on how the enemy functions, the details in how they hold power, the technology they have access to, and how their army works.

On a literal and literary level, the Resistance is about disruption. Whether they’re sabotaging train tracks, blowing up food transports, or bombing nightclubs, their goal is to disrupt everyday life and make it as unpleasant as possible. They’re ghosts in the system, you’ll never know where or when they’ll strike, and they’re out to destroy enemy moral every way they can. A resistance drives the enemy from their homeland by making the cost of holding it no longer worthwhile. Though, historically, this is often impossible unless the majority of the population joins the cause and/or the tide of public sentiment back home within the enemy’s homeworld or nation turns against the invaders. A resistance occurring against the powerful within their own homeland is much, much more destructive.

What marks a character like Cassian, who grew up in a resistance movement, more than other children engaged in violence is first and foremost betrayal. Betrayal from without, betrayal from within, the people he’s lied to and betrayed, seeing many friends vanish overnight or die, and never quite knowing who he can trust. He probably has very few friends left alive from his early days with the Rebellion, and more than likely experienced the Imperials wiping out his cell(s) on multiple occasions. He worked his way up the ranks until he became an operative working closely within the Rebellion’s inner circle.

Star Wars is functionally much more clear cut than the real resistances that occur throughout the world.

Happy writing!

-Michi

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The drip-drop sound of the summer rain splattering off the red umbrella shielding her was comforting, and loud enough to drown out the sound of her heels squelching in the mud. Beside her walked her source of bodily warmth in the form of Kakashi Hatake, the Sixth Hokage. 

It was probably a good thing that the streets were deserted at this time of the day because the infamously lazy Hokage would’ve made quite the sight accompanying the rosette, umbrella clutched in hand. Sakura had no doubt in her mind it would’ve caused at least some traffic. 

“Maybe I should’ve assigned someone else for this mission.” He said quietly, she almost didn’t hear him. “Kakashi it’s just a diplomatic mission. Easy stuff." 

Sakura chided, her elbow easily finding purchase in his side. "Quit worrying, I’ll be back in a week tops.”

“I’m not worrying.” He immediately disagreed, which was in itself hilarious but she decided to let it go this one time, especially since he carried it on with a quiet: “I guess… well, I’ll miss you." 

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The Hated Women of Fandom

Mary Watson wakes in a white room, sitting in a plastic chair. She’s surrounded by girls and women, some of whom are drinking heavily. There’s a banner hanging overhead, which reads Female Characters Anonymous. A redheaded teenage girl pats her on the knee.

“Don’t be frightened. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Where am I?” Mary asks.

The girl raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know?” She spreads her arms out. “This is the place where good female characters come to die.”

Mary frowns. “Oh, because I died in my show?”

Everyone laughs.

“Honey, I wish!” A woman with dark eyeliner calls out. 

“Ignore Lexa. She’s still angry about the bullet thing.” The teenage girl looks Mary up and down. “Then again, you would know something about that, wouldn’t you?”

“About what?”

“Oh, you know. Being killed off for drama. Or in your case, man pain.”

“Don’t get me started on that,” a woman to Mary’s right grumbles. She’s got bright red hair and a shirt that says Supernatural: Was it ever a good show?

“That’s Charlie. She had a good run until the writers didn’t know what to do with her.”

Mary, who’s starting to get an idea about where she is, shakes her head with a little laugh. “No, you must be mistaken. I was a good, strong character. I don’t belong here”

A few chuckles at that. Someone mutters, “I’ve heard that one before.”

The teenage girl gives her a sympathetic smile. “Have you taken a look at the fandom lately? They hate you. Always have.”

Mary frowns. “But–”

“I know it must be hard to understand at first, but let’s face it. You were an imperfect female character. You had flaws and a dark side, which would have been fine, if you hadn’t posed a threat to the Main Ship.”

A cold wind passes through the room. Everyone shudders. 

“The what?”

“Johnlock. The ship of an era.”

“Oh, that,” Mary says with a smile. “That’s perfectly fine! There’s no reason to hate me just because you ship Johnlock.”

“No, it’s not that. Some of the fandom, certainly not all of them, hate you because in their eyes, you’re the thing that’s blocking them from easy access to their ship. Trust me, I have experience with this.”

Mary squints at the girl. “Who are you?”

The girl smiles. “I’m Ginny Weasley.”

“Oh. Oh, dear.”

“Yup. I’m a bit of an old-timer around here. Boy, I cannot even begin to tell you the number of Drarry fanfics wherein I either cheat on Harry with Dean, turn into a monstrous bitch, or simply disappear altogether.”

“Don’t forget the ones where you start dating Neville for no reason!” A woman shouts out.

Ginny laughs a bit. “Those are usually alright. I have to go somewhere, right?”

Mary is starting to panic a bit. “I…I don’t think I understand.”

Ginny nods. “Don’t worry. There’s someone whom I think you should meet.” She pulls Mary to her feet and leads her towards a dark corner in the room. “This girl hasn’t been here for as long as me, but she’s certainly suffered worse. She not only got in the way of a Main Ship, but a canon Main Ship. And a straight one, at that. She’s been shat on, villainized, ignored, pretty much everything in the book. A true warrior of her time.”

Mary starts to get nervous as they approach this girl. She’s seated at a bar, head down on the counter, twirling a paint covered finger around a whiskey glass. 

When they’ve reached her, Mary clears her throat. “My name is–”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh. Well, who are you?”

After a moment’s pause, the girl downs the whiskey in one gulp, and slams the glass on the counter. She slowly turns to fix Mary with a battle-hardened stare. “My name, is Rachel. Elizabeth. Dare.”

some of my favorite things I have heard said at work over the years:

“Hey, wanna see something pretty…besides me?”

“What is the boneyard?” … “That’s where we keep all the dead people we kill. Y’all thought they quit.”

“Here’s the thing about hip. If you say you’re ‘hip’, you’re not hip.”

“I’d like to get one of those old globes. I’d like to find one that’s so old, it’s flat.”

“You just broke up big-time bad.”

“I don’t need you. I just want to tell you I sent you an email.”

“What a sick fax.”

“Where’s your chandelier now?”

“Welcome to the Mellow Mushroom.” … “I don’t want to know what kind of mushroom you’re talking about.”

“Nothing says ‘relevant’ like THIS font. It’s like AOL.”

“That woman has the personality of a fish.”

Christmas/Winter Starters:
  • “Guess who signed us up to go Christmas caroling?”
  • “Sorry, it’s not me, it’s the eggnog.”
  • “Don’t get mad, but I think I set the Christmas tree on fire.”
  • “What must Santa have been smoking to think his reindeer can talk?”
  • “If me and Santa got into a fight, who do you think would win?”
  • “I guess someone’s not getting any use out of that slutty Santa outfit they bought.”
  • “All in saying is no one would catch us if we chopped down a tree.”
  • “I tried to buy one of those singing Santas but I spilled water on it and now it sounds demonic.”
  • “You know, you remind me a lot of the Grinch. The only difference is in the end, his heart grows three sizes, but you stay an asshole.”
  • “Pleaseeee? Nobody else wants to play Santa!!”
  • “I forgot how much work gingerbread houses were..”
  • “Don’t tell me this is your first hot chocolate?!”
  • “I swear if Frosty the Snowman doesn’t melt in the next five minutes, I’m shutting it off.”
  • “Umm just so you know, I’m kind of stuck in the Christmas lights.”
  • “Looks like you’re getting coal this year.”
  • “I just took an online quiz and it said I was on the Naughty List!! If it was you I could see it, but not me!”
  • “Are you seriously crying over Rudolph..?”  
  • “We’re not watching Hallmark Christmas movies.”
  • “Cancel all your plans! We’re watching Hallmark Christmas movies!”    
  • “What the hell kind of Charlie Brown Christmas tree did you buy?”
  • “I lit the fire because I want to make sure Santa knows who’s boss when he comes down that chimney.”  
  • “What did you ask for this Christmas?”
  • “Will you help me go Christmas shopping?”
  • “Have you seriously never eaten a candy cane?”
  • “Is there some kind of old woman shop where they sell those weird Christmas trees made of strawberry candy?”  
  • “Hey, I bought a paint your own ornament kit. Let’s make some!”
  • “Is this your first time getting/giving a present?”
  • “I just called to tell you Merry Christmas!”
  • “Will you drive around with me to look at the Christmas lights?”
  • “Please stop singing Christmas songs.”
  • “Why aren’t you singing along to the Christmas carols?”
  • “If you ring those dumb jingle bells one more time, I will wring your neck.”
  • “Oh my god is that a mistletoe..?”
  • “What kind of Christmas would it be if we didn’t play in the snow?”  
Glitch in Time

An Antisepticeye story based on the characters of @justwritingscibbles in this fic. (Including a very brief mention of Taylor.)

Originally posted by lum1natrix

Y/N shrieked as she jumped backwards, dodging the slashing knife at eye height, her cup of tea splashing down her shirt.
“Anti! What the hell!” she grumbled, looking at her saturated top. “That’s not funny!”
“Sure it is!” Anti cackled, flipping the knife in his hand, “you’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, the tea’s cold,” Y/N admitted, “but that doesn’t make it funny. I swear, you’ll be the death of me one day.”
“C'mon Sugar. Lighten up. We’re only playing.”
“No! I’m not playing. Just leave me alone for a bit, it’s been a really bad day.” Anti’s knife vanished. His eyes glinted with green light.
“I know I can make it better,” he offered, eyebrows waggling, “and I bet I can get you to… Play.” He darted forward, slipping past Y/N with a cheeky slap on her behind. She swung at him with the heavy textbook on her other hand.
“Hey!” Y/N yelled as Anti slipped away, darting into a lamp by the kitchen. Y/N chased after him, dropping the empty cup and snatching at the blur leaping between appliances.
“Can’t catch me!” Anti mocked, just out of reach.
“I’m going to strangle you!” Y/N growled.
“That’s my girl,” he chuckled, leaving the kitchen appliances and slipping into a hallway lamp, then into the bedroom. There weren’t as many electronics to hide in here, so he hid in the alarm clock by the bed, the digital screen flashing ‘HE:HE’ instead of numbers.
“Told you I could make you play,” Anti laughed, his voice echoing through the room.
“Oh, go to hell!” Y/N screeched, slamming her textbook down hard upon the clock.

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I submit...

… Superman. He’s still Superman. Still Clark Kent. Still boy next door, still the every-man fighting the good fight trying to repair the world… he just has a Jack Harkness kind of attitude about who he’s attracted to and it doesn’t other him even a little bit.

Like, he never MENTIONS it, but he’s been all over the galaxy and has just accepted that the light beings from Aquarius-3 are super sexy, so are the lizard people from that one quasar system, and so is Lois Lane. It’s fine. People do not ask Superman who he is banging because that’s rude. If he actually told them who he bangs they might be SHOOK.

Devotion: 1950s!Bucky AU

                                                 Summary:
A summer stuck in the south was not what you expected, nonetheless you spend your time along the porch of your Aunt’s home - placed in a summertime sadness. You were devoted to your image of good girl ways, your family expects nothing less than the perfect little girl to be married off by the age of 19 - that is until you met the boy next door.

Notes: 50s!Bucky AU, teasing, Naked Bucky, smoking

If you’d like to be tagged, send me an ask :) Let me know what you think too! 


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Sounds So Sweet

Originally posted by dean-winchester-crush

The Jensen ficlet I mentioned last night! Here’s the song, in case you don’t know it. 

Saturday Night Special was always a fun time, for fans and the on-stage guests as well. Of course, when Jensen Ackles took the stage, the screams in the crowd got even louder.

Honey, why are you calling me so late?
It’s kinda hard to talk right now
Honey, why are you crying, is everything okay?
I gotta whisper ‘cause I can’t be too loud

The opening chords of the old Hinder song had hinted to only some of the crowd what was coming next. When Jensen opened his mouth and started singing those words, however, the crowd went crazier than ever. He stayed at the microphone for that first verse and chorus, then moved to the front of the stage where girls and women were lined up and reaching out for him as they sang along.

One particular woman drew his attention, and caused Jensen to smile. Crouching down in front of her, he sang the words as though he was singing to her for the next full verse and chorus. With a wink and a caress of her cheek, pink from the heat in the place as well as the excitement of that moment, Jensen stood up and moved back to the microphone. Every so often, his eyes wandered back to that woman, and the grin would once again tug at his lips.

Jensen stuck around for the remainder of the Saturday Night Special, watching from the backstage and making a couple more appearances with the other guests. He was sweaty and tired, but there were other reasons to look forward to returning to his hotel room.

He slid the keycard into the slot, and the light turned green. He walked into the room, noting the beside lamp was already on, to where you were sitting against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of you. You were wearing one of his t-shirts and a tight, short pair of sleep shorts.

“Didn’t know you were going to sneak down for the concert,” Jensen said, kneeling on the mattress before crawling over to where you were.

You shrugged. “When you told me you were going to sing that song, I had to be there. Maybe the fandom is the other woman in this case, and I know we’ll go public eventually. But for now, it’s kind of fun, keeping our relationship a secret. Do think they have any idea?”

“Not a clue,” Jensen said, shaking his head before dipping his head lower so that his lips could meet yours.

Invisible, Chapter Three

Summary: Cursed as a child, you have lived your entire life invisible and alone. When deaths start happening in your town, the Winchesters come rolling in to investigate. What will happen when Dean is the first one who has been able to see you since you were a kid? Will Sam believe that you’re real? Will Dean believe you when you tell him you haven’t killed anyone? And why, after all of this time, is Dean Winchester the only one who can see you?

Invisible Masterlist - Previous Chapter

A/N: And so the drama begins…

word count: ~1550

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Young Justice Batmom: Part 4

Prompt: Batmom in the young Justice universe

words: 918

AN: I love diving into this universe. This first part is a little short, but the next parts will be longer. Thanks to my wonderful Beta’s who are plowing through my stories!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3


You stare at Bruce, arms crossed over your chest and ask, “Are you sure this is a good idea? Starting a new team based on lies?”

          Bruce just smirks, the cowl hiding his eyes, “Are you sure wearing that bathing suit around me is a good idea? You do remember what happened last time you wore it, don’t you?”

          You do your best to beat down the blush fighting to make its way to your cheeks, “I went to the beach with the kids today,” You shrug, “I just haven’t changed yet,” You clear your throat, “Don’t you have a city to patrol?”

          He just grins, gives you a quick kiss, and makes his way to the Zeta tubes. The mountain is quiet. You busy yourself with making a batch of cookies for when the kids get back before settling on the couch with paperwork.

          While it’s certainly not your favorite thing to do, it does need to be done. You’re immersed in reports and numbers, when chattering reaches your ears. There’s an exclamation of, “I smell cookies,” And then everyone is in the kitchen. Well almost everyone. The team is too caught up in their recent success to notice you slip out and back onto the beach.

          She’s standing there, her boots in the sand, her fingers playing with the string of her bow. She’s the outsider in a group that’s been together for a while now. She’s seen as a replacement, by the team and by herself. You can see through the bravado there.

          You have shorts on over you bathing suit, still not having bothered to change. You kick your flip flops off and stick your feet in the water, finally gaining her attention. You give her a small smile, “There are cookies in there if you want one.”

          “Not a big sweets person,” She mumbles.

          You nod, “Batman wasn’t either. Then he tried my chocolate chip cookies and the rest is history. Not that I’m bragging or anything.”

          Her lips quirk into a smile, “I can’t see batman eating cookies.”

          You smile, “Don’t tell anyone but he’s more cookie monster than bat.”

          Her grin fades a bit, “Don’t worry I can keep a secret.”

          You nod, “I know you can Artemis. But sometimes it helps to talk about those secrets. Especially with someone who already knows,” Her eyes go wide, and you step in front of her, “I get it, I do. My husband is Batman, my son is Robin, and I’ve been trusted with the secret identities of almost every other superhero there is. And now I have to keep my identity a secret. Not going to lie, I threw a fit about that one. Anyways, having someone you can talk to helps. So, if you need a confidant, I’m here,” You place a hand on her shoulder and smile as you look her in the eyes, “It’s part of my description as batmom.”

          She laughs a bit at that, before nodding, “Not right now … but maybe later … if I need it.”

          You give her your card and say, “Anytime Artemis, day or night.”

          She goes in ahead of you and you wait a moment before following her. Something isn’t sitting right with you and you don’t like it. The Zeta tube delivers you in time to watch Roy confront your newest cub and you don’t like it.

          You wait for her to walk away before exiting. He doesn’t run, he just stares you down. Or tries to anyway. You win that battle hands down. After years of marriage to Bruce, it would have been disgraceful if you hadn’t.

          You’re shorter than him, and you can’t help but miss the good old days when this kid was smaller than you, “I see you’ve entered your teenage angst phase,” He just looks away and that makes you the tiniest bit angry, “Don’t you look away from me Roy Harper, I’ve known you since your voice began to change.”

          “So you’re taking her side too, huh?”

          You cross your arms over your chest, “She needs someone, just like you needed someone all those years ago Roy. When you and Ollie were still adjusting to each other. I still have all those old emails you know. The ones where you’d rant about him being a womanizing jackass.”

          “He doesn’t take me seriously!”

          You smile at that and say, “I don’t take you seriously Roy. That’s what happens when you’re an adult. You watch kids grow up, but every time you see them you see this little kid who used to hang on you every word, and who would beg for cookies. A little kid, whose arrow wouldn’t even make it a foot without dropping.”

          His frown intensifies, “That’s how you see me?”

          You smile and nod, “Yeah, I see you as that adorable little boy who’d keep me company while the leaguers were in meetings, who helped me bake, the little boy who was around even before Robin was.” You ruffle his hair and surprisingly enough he doesn’t protest it. You let out a sigh, “You haven’t let me ruffle your hair since you turned thirteen. Thanks.” You turn to walk away but stop. Turning to him one last time you say, “My email is still the same by the way.”

          He vanishes a moment later, as Dick steps out of the phone booth with a smile. You wrap an arm around your son’s shoulders and listen to him tell you about saving Wayne Tech.

anonymous asked:

I'm not trying to pick a fight, just confused. Like, if a trans girl has fully transitioned and only interested in women, can't they call themselves a lesbian? If not, what should they calm themselves? I get lesbians not being into people with dicks of course but like, no dicks involved. It's all confusing

First of all, thanks for being respectful. People have been to quick to insult.

So I think one of the issues here is the common portrayal of femaleness and womanhood as the absence of male characteristics. Surgical removal of male genitals is not the same as having a vulva. Same way that surgically bifurcating your tongue doesn’t make you able to perceive the presence of molecules in the air through your Jacobson’s Organ like a snake.

Mor than that, being a lesbian is not simply about the absence of penis. Males love to try to define and categorize women according to whether they will fuck them or not, but being a lesbian is about being female AND being exclusively attracted to other female people, and genitals are not all that matter. Lesbians connect to other women in great part because we have the shared experience of living through the world as female. We were socialized in a similar manner. We have this non-verbal understanding that comes from years of living in a world that has certain expectations from you since you were born. And as much as it might be painful to admit that, there are some things that trans women will never understand. Trans women, being born and raised male through their formative years, have a second-hand understanding of what it is to be a woman, which leads to some really unnatractive behaviors, like forced over-the-top hyperfemininity and infantile mannerisms, as well as male-socialized behaviors they don’t even like to admit they have, like sexual entitlement, dominating posturing, talking over people, threatening violence and the complete inability of taking criticism.

Female-born people learn womanhood by being beaten over the head with it from the time we were born. From the disappointment of your father because you’re not a boy, to having your ears pierced before you’re even old enough to sit up by yourself, to having lower expectations about your potential. We were forged into womanhood, and it hurts. It break us. But it gives us a sort of resilience too, a kind of unwyelding bravery that only women have. The kind of exhausted defiance that you only get by going out every single day into a world that thinks you should be confined indoors, by coming home late at night every day knowing that if something happens to you everyone is gonna say it’s your fault. It takes a lifetime to acquire this resilient quality. Talk to a really old woman sometime, listen to her. They get to a certain age where they reach a breaking point and stop giving a shit about what anyone else thinks, and it’s amazing. This is why male supremacy has historically been afraid of old women.

Trans women, on the other hand, learn womanhood by emulating what they think women are, and this perception is invariably male-biased. Trans women want to emulate porn stars and pop divas. Never seen one of them say they learned to be a woman by watching their mother. None of them want to be one of those tired working women on the train at 9PM, sleep deprived and with sore feet, who are just leaving work and thinking that they’re gonna have to get home and make dinner and clean the kitchen and bathe the kids and then try to get some sleep to start it all over again tomorrow. No, they wanna be Beyoncé. They wanna be glamorous superstars, without realizing that there’s nothing glamorous about being a woman. And boy, they get SO pissed when you point this out. They just don’t get it, and they don’t even want to.

And this is why trans women cannot be lesbians. Not only they are not female homosexual individuals - the actual definition of what is a lesbian - but they also lack the life experience and outlook that would make them interesting to a lesbian.

I’ll leave you with a question here. Why don’t these trans women who are attracted to women date each other instead of bothering women who are clearly not interested? Why do they consider that they’re good enough for us, but they don’t consider other trans women good enough for them? Why should we settle for “uh at least there’s no dick” when they require a legit vulva in their relationship?

And why are we lesbians always the ones who have to be flexibilizing our boundaries and scuffling around to make everyone happy in detriment of our own needs and wants?

Think about that.

anonymous asked:

sal can i ask how come you dont like miss kobayashi's dragon maid

This is entirely subjective; I will admit that the first 5 episodes were good and today’s episode had some good moments.

But, I hate pedophilic implications in animes– the scene where the two 5-year-olds got sexualized and some adult woman trying to “get closer” to a very young boy by sexually harrassing them, that’s an immediate turn off for me.. My morality comes first, not some cartoon and its popularity. The anime could’ve gone well with just Kobayashi and Tohru, and Fafnir and Takiya.

I’m a teacher, for Allah’s sake, this is not something I want to expose myself to, especially when one of my prime duties as a teacher is to have the responsibility to protect minors from adults, this also concerns those who find that sort of trash appealing. This is not up for debate, it’s irredeemable and repulsive how this is so normalized nowadays.

Ya Ali Madad.

The First Face

The Doctor hurtled awake. One moment, dead. The next, alive. Like life being abruptly switched back on inside his body. Somewhere, Jack Harkness was smirking. 

As he stumbled around his TARDIS repeating the old words of his old selves, his mind was whirring. He’d heard his past companions calling his name, urging him to wake up. Seen their faces. 

And amongst those faces was one he hadn’t remembered in what felt like a very long time. A surprisingly round face. 

The face of a woman who had once stood right where he was now and said to him, “Please don’t change.”

A woman who was the first face this face saw. 

Clara. 

He remembered her. Clara. Big eyes. A smile that was happy and sad all at once. Clara.

He remembered her. He couldn’t change now. Couldn’t let some new person go sauntering away with these memories when he’d only just gotten them back. Not yet. 

He had to find Clara first. 

Found What I Need

Originally posted by malfoypotterpoems

Characters: Y/n, Draco, Neville

Pairing: Draco x Y/n (GENDER NEUTRAL)

Word count: 1672

Warnings: Angst, death of family member, sadness, little bit of fighting, comforting, fluff.

Summary: Draco notices the sadness in Y/n’s eyes, even when no one else does. 

A/N: This was a request from anon​ - Sooo I might totes wanna request a Draco x Hufflepuff!male reader ;v; The reader being a very outgoing, short, slightly chubby and uplifting person. The reader is also close friends with Neville, I’m a sucker for angst and fluff so combining those things would be perf too. Made it gender neutral and didn’t do the whole chubby short appearance, cos I never really use descriptions when it comes to the reader. Hope u don’t mind!! And hope u like it!

Tagged Peeps: @lucifer-in-leather@cubs2019-blog 

Masterlist


“Neville! Wait up!”

You ran to him, holding your books tight to your chest as he smiled back at you.

“Hey, y/n”, Neville greeted, sounding…strange.

You, of course, noticed it.

Neville was your best friend.

Sure, he might have been clumsy, forgetful and just downright ditzy. But he was your best friend.

He had been since you started at Hogwarts.

So you knew when he wasn’t feeling well, or when something was on his mind.

And right now, he definitely had something that was bothering him.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your tone practically demanding an answer from him, yet still comforting.

That’s what you were like. Everyone knew you as the cheery one. The optimist. The uplifting one.

Hell, you even tried to help out Slytherin’s when they needed it.

You were outgoing and tried to be there for everyone whenever they needed someone to talk to, even if they weren’t the type most people thought deserved any sympathy.

But Neville was still your best friend and you’d get to the bottom of this.

He sighed, feeling your stare, his shoulders dropping as he played with his robe.

“I…uh…I lost my wand”, he mumbled, cheeks turning a soft shade of pink as he avoided your eyes.

You smiled at his cuteness, nudging him with your shoulder as you pushed him forward.

“Come on, moron. Time to hunt for a wand”, you said dramatically, making a small laugh escape Neville.

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anonymous asked:

I had just read the drabble scenario (about the Chocobros' reactions to finding out about his s/o is made into l'Cie against their will; and s/o completes her Focus, turned into crystal stasis). And I was wondering if you could write a sequel to it, about the Chocobros and their S/O being happily reunited? Please?

Oh of course sweetie! l’Cie just seem to have a sad story around it all together! We’re getting happy endings!! Sequel to l’Cie 

~~~~~

Noctis

Heads hung low, the battle was over, yet still the three man stood in spot, looking to the large light blue crystal, surrounding their brother and King, along with the woman who loved him so dearly. Forever frozen within the final moment of their love.

“Should we…should we leave them here?” Prompto asked, uncertain if they could even chip down the crystal that surrounded you both.

Ignis sighed, he could not see his life long brother, yet he could still feel him there, “I believe this is what Noct would have wanted.”

Gladiolus gave a slight chuckle, “Come on, we should tear down the curtains so they can see the sunrise too.”

As the three men moved about the old throne room, their minds drifting to days of their youth. Almost hearing the jokes and laughter when the room was filled with people, huge balls held within the walls. The curtains never drawn in those old days, as sunlight always shown within the ballroom.

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anonymous asked:

What if MC were a grandma

  • She’d be the type of old woman to have those hard candies in her purse at all times. Y’know the ones where the wrappers look like strawberries? And it seems like they’re reserved for only old people because they’re nowhere to be found in stores? Those.
  • Keeps sewing supplies in a cookie tin even if she doesn’t sew.
  • She makes herself out to be waaaaaaaaay older then she is. She’s always shouting things like “Oh, my hip!” even if her hip is fine.
  • She took one of the kid’s skateboards one day and just skated off with it.
  • “Back in my day,”
  • Takes her husband/ Jaehee to bingo every week. If she misses bingo, her s/o doesn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the week.
  • SHE WATCHES JEOPARDY AND WHEEL OF FORTUNE EVERY. NIGHT.
    • It’s a competition in the house to see who knows the most answers. She and her s/o (and the grand kids on occasion) spend too much time on google, learning useless shit.
  • For her 60th birthday, everyone goes bowling and she joins an old people bowling league.
  • She learns to knit just for the irony. Everyone gets scarves, sweaters, and blankets every birthday and Christmas.
  • Always loses her umbrella and buys new ones, so she owns like 20+ umbrellas.
  • She always says shit like “these damn kids with their new age hippity hop music,” but she’s actually super up with the times and is considered “cool” by many of the local high schoolers.
  • Whenever a new family moves in near them, she’ll either bring them cookies and welcome them to the neighborhood or wait until they come to her, dress in all black, and imply that she murdered her first three husbands and participates in witchcraft. The neighborhood has very mixed feelings about her. 

anonymous asked:

If you're taking prompts, how about "someone died and left me to repay some really weird IOUs" for either Darcy/Remy or Darcy/Clint?

Darcy stared out the window of the old yellow taxi as her fingers moved along the outside pocket of her purse, unconsciously tracing the shape of the letter still inside. The one Mama Bee had given to her with those three terrible words, “when I’m gone.” Neither woman wanted to hear or say more than that, so she’d merely taken the letter with a quiet nod. While Darcy would always wish they’d had more time, she couldn’t say what they’d had hadn’t been good.

“Here we are, miss. You sure this is where you wanna go?”

Darcy stared at the large mansion in front of her. It definitely wasn’t the best part of town and knowing the estate had been put to use by one of the major clans of thieves didn’t do much to alleviate her hesitance, but she owed it to Mama. With a nod, she payed her fare and climbed out, pausing in the cool, humid air.

Mama had never been one to keep secrets, so the letter had been a surprise. But not nearly as much as the contents when she finally brought herself to read it nearly six weeks later. Mama Bee had never asked for anything. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t bossy as hell, especially when it was for ’your own good’, but she never asked a favor for herself. Which was why two months after she’d laid her Mama to rest with the sounds of the brass band filling the air, Darcy found herself back in New Orleans. Finding a man who didn’t seem to want to be found.

“Come on, Darcy Girl,” she chided herself using Mama’s pet name. “You made a promise.”

She made her way up the steps of the veranda, the damp air already clinging to her hair and the  loud screech of the cicadas doing nothing to make her feel like this was a good decision. A necessary one, but not good.

A tall gentleman at the door gave her a calm smile. His face kind, but the scars on his hands and the build of his shoulders explaining more about what he could do than his gentle tone.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a Remy LeBebeau.”

It had taken her two weeks to track him down. No easy feat considering she now had Stark resources at her hands. All the information she’d had to go on was blurry pictures and two-day late whispers about where he’d been. And a whole lot of rumors about just how much trouble he’d gotten into.

“Many people are looking for him. Doesn’t mean they’ll find him.”

Darcy smiled, not surprised she was being treated as an outsider, the man offering easy protection for the mutant who seemed to tread the line between good and bad. She pulled her purse closer, the IOU weighing infinitely more on her than the paper it was written on. “I’m here to fulfill a debt.”

He looked at her for a full 30 seconds and then nodded in understanding, stepping aside to the hold the door open for her. “Talk to Mr. Travis at the top of the stairs. He’ll point you in the right direction.”

After stepping inside, she froze. Despite regularly being around assassins, anti-heroes, and misunderstood baddies (not to mention the regular baddies), Darcy didn’t think she’d been around so many clearly “be careful what you ask” and “it’s better if you don’t know the details” individuals before. Shaking her head, she made her way to the stairs as she muttered to herself. “Mama, what did you get me into?”

A few minutes later, she found herself ushered into a tucked-away parlor on the second floor. The windows were open, but the night air did nothing to clear the haziness of the room. Three men sat at a poker table, one with his back to her, and the other two eyeing her with as much annoyance as curiosity. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her intrusion or their general personalities.

The one on the left finally grunted and narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

As her eyes adjusted to the light of the room, she could see his face more clearly, lips curled down in a frown, deep furrows between his eyes that were clearly etched in from repetition. Surly personality it was. But he was too short and too wide to be man she’d read about.

“I’m here to see Mr. LeBeau.”

“What do you need ‘im for?” It was the man on the right who’d spoken up, middle-aged and sharp, no doubt able to cut her with more than his words. But from the stories she’d heard, he wasn’t the one she was looking for either.

Darcy turned to the third man. The one who had yet to face her, his shoulders moving as he shuffled the cards in front of him. His calm air didn’t convince her for a second he wasn’t listening to every word she said.

She’d found him.

“Mama Bee sends her regards and says that I’m here to help you find someone you’re looking for. She also apologized for taking so long but she always was a selfish so-and-so. Her words not mine.”

He stilled and finally turned to face her, lithe and graceful energy clear in his every move. The blurry pictures had definitely not done him justice, but she was distracted by the blatantly pleased expression he gave her. His head tilted and he smiled broadly, focusing on her face. The man was both walking seduction and dangerous, no doubt about it. But somehow the air suddenly felt less oppressive, the cicadas outside seemed to scream less than sing, and she was thinking that Mama might not have gotten her into too much trouble after all.

“I’m not one to be contrary, cher, but I do believe those are MY words.” He ticked up one brow as he pulled down the collar of his shirt. She didn’t need to make out the mark in the dark room. Not since he’d just said hers.

Hands Of Gold Part 2

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Reader

Request:  wow, I love Hands Of Gold, can you make a second part please ?

A/N: So this takes place during both 6x07. I’m splitting the scenes up so I can give each of them the development they deserve, I know that there’s not much reader Jaime interaction in this, because it’s mainly just setting up the next part, but part three is going to have a lot more in it.

Wordcount: 1556

Part One

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The adults/teachers who were victims of the Sandy Hook Massacre

(1) Nancy Laza

Adam Lanza’s mother, who he had shot dead while she slept before he committed the massacre at the elementary school.

(2) Anne Marie Murphy

Anne Marie Murphy, a 52-year-old mother of four, died while trying to protect one of her students, Dylan Hockley. She was a teaching assistant at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

(3) Rachel D'Avino

Rachel D'Avino, 29, was a teacher’s aide at Sandy Hook Elementary School, where she died trying to shield one of her students. Those who knew the Bethlehem, Conn., woman said she loved her job and adored working with children. She was working toward becoming a board-certified behavior analyst and wanted to work with children who had autism.

(4) Victoria Soto

First grade teacher Victoria “Vicki” Soto, pictured here, died while saving her students from shooter Adam Lanza’s deadly rampage, which left 28 dead in one of the worst mass shootings in American history.Victoria Soto used her body to shield her students from the maniacal gunman who staged a massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn. on Dec. 14, 2012. “The family received information she was found shielding her students in a closet,” Soto’s cousin, Jim Wiltsie, told the Daily News. “She put herself between the gunman and her students.”

(5) Lauren Rousseau

Lauren Rousseau, 30, was one of the six teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary School shot by Lanza in one of the deadliest shootings in U.S. history. As investigators try to piece together the massacre, Newtown is hailing these teachers as heroes.

(6) School principal Dawn Hochsprung

School principal Dawn Hochsprung was among those slain at Sandy Hook Elementary on Dec. 14, 2012. Hochsprung, the school’s psychologist and vice principal were meeting with a parent when they stepped out into a hallway upon hearing a noise, a parent told CNN. The principal and psychologist were killed,
and the vice principal was wounded. Hochsprung, 47, was a mother of two daughters and three stepdaughters and a longtime teacher in the Danbury school district.

(7) School psychologist Mary Sherlach

Mary Sherlach, 56, school psychologist at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn., was shot dead trying to save her students from gunman Adam Lanza. “She was always helpful, always upbeat,” said Sherlach’s son-in-law Eric Schwartz. “She was truly a nice woman, as kind as can be.” Sherlach worked at the school for two decades.