You Ever Just Sit And Realise U Can’t Remember 80% Of Your Childhood? Like … What Happened? Who Am

Have you guys noticed a lot of "Our future was stolen and ruined" content recently?

I saw it Transformers One (Sentinel taking everyone's T-Cogs)

In Marvel's Ultimate Universe (The Maker stopping heroes from developing. Taking away Spider-Man's powers)

In DC's Absolute Universe (Darkseid taking away the heroes' greatest and most important moments in their development. Taking away Batman's Wealth)

It's such an interesting thing I'm noticing now as a trend in recent fiction. Do you guys know any more examples?

Shadowhunters meet Demigods part 3

So this is part 3 of my fanfic/headcannon series about Demigods meeting Shadowhunters. Percy paced around nervously in his cabin at Camp Half-Blood, wondering how today’s meeting was going to go. A few months ago, the Grove of Dodona had given the Camp it’s third “Great Prophecy” in the last century and Percy was really feed up with prophecies in general. So when the magical grove of murmuring trees delivered this one, Percy was just about ready to flip everything off ago to California and collage with Annabeth and never go on another quest again. Still, a great prophecy was a great prophecy, and given that the last two resulted in war, the Camp was having a meeting with all the Cabin Heads, including Percy and Annabeth, to see if they can get a head start in what ever comes their way. “Let’s just get this over with,” Percy sighed as he exited Cabin 3 and headed to the Big House. Inside the meeting room, the campers were all fiddling around anxiously: Will Solace was wrapping and rewrapping his arm with an ace bandage, his boyfriend Nico Di Angelo was sitting next to him, absentmindedly twisting his skull ring. Clarisse was here, taking some time off from college to come to this potential war meeting, as was Travis Stoll and Annabeth, who looked mostly calm apart from her stormy gray eyes, which looked as nervous as Percy felt. Rachel Dare, Chiron and the other Cabin Heads were there as well, including Jason and Piper. “Well,” Chiron stated as Percy took his seat, “ let us begin.” And that’s part 3. I know it’s a bit short, but I wanted to put something down about how the Demigods are affected by this new development. Tell me what you think.

Being A Girl: A Brief Personal History of Violence

1.

I am six. My babysitter’s son, who is five but a whole head taller than me, likes to show me his penis. He does it when his mother isn’t looking. One time when I tell him not to, he holds me down and puts penis on my arm. I bite his shoulder, hard. He starts crying, pulls up his pants and runs upstairs to tell his mother that I bit him. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone about the penis part, so they all just think I bit him for no reason.

I get in trouble first at the babysitter’s house, then later at home.

The next time the babysitter’s son tries to show me his penis, I don’t fight back because I don’t want to get in trouble.

One day I tell the babysitter what her son does, she tells me that he’s just a little boy, he doesn’t know any better. I can tell that she’s angry at me, and I don’t know why. Later that day, when my mother comes to pick me up, the babysitter hugs me too hard and says how jealous she is because she only has sons and she wishes she had a daughter as sweet as me.

One day when we’re playing in the backyard he tells me very seriously that he might kill me one day and I believe him.

2.

I am in the second grade and our classroom has a weird open-concept thing going on, and the fourth wall is actually the hallway to the gym. All day long, we surreptitiously watch the other grades file past on the way to and from the gym. We are supposed to ignore most of them. The only class we are not supposed to ignore is Monsieur Pierre’s grade six class.

Every time Monsieur Pierre walks by, we are supposed to chorus “Bonjour, Monsieur Sexiste.” We are instructed to do this by our impossibly beautiful teacher, Madame Lemieux. She tells us that Monsieur Pierre, a dapper man with grey hair and a moustache, is sexist because he won’t let the girls in his class play hockey. She is the first person I have ever heard use the word sexist.

The word sounds very serious when she says it. She looks around the class to make sure everyone is paying attention and her voice gets intense and sort of tight.

“Girls can play hockey. Girls can do anything that boys do,” she tells us.

We don’t really believe her. For one thing, girls don’t play hockey. Everyone in the NHL – including our hero Mario Lemieux, who we sometimes whisper might be our teacher’s brother or cousin or even husband – is a boy. But we accept that maybe sixth grade girls can play hockey in gym class, so we do what she asks.

Mostly what I remember is the smile that spreads across Monsieur Pierre’s face whenever we call him a sexist. It is not the smile of someone who is ashamed; it is the smile of someone who finds us adorable in our outrage.

3.

Later that same year a man walks into Montreal’s École Polytechnique and kills fourteen women. He kills them because he hates feminists. He kills them because they are going to be engineers, because they go to school, because they take up space. He kills them because he thinks they have stolen something that is rightfully his. He kills them because they are women.

Everything about the day is grey: the sky, the rain, the street, the concrete side of the École Polytechnique, the pictures of the fourteen girls that they print in the newspaper. My mother’s face is grey. It’s winter, and the air tastes like water drunk from a tin cup.

Madame Lemieux doesn’t tell us to call Monsieur Pierre a sexist anymore. Maybe he lets the girls play hockey now. Or maybe she is afraid.

Girls can do anything that boys do but it turns out that sometimes they get killed for it.

4.

I am fourteen and my classmate’s mother is killed by her boyfriend. He stabs her to death. In the newspaper they call it a crime of passion. When she comes back to school, she doesn’t talk about it. When she does mention her mother it’s always in the present tense – “my mom says” or “my mom thinks” – as if she is still alive. She transfers schools the next year because her father lives across town in a different school district.

Passion. As if murder is the same thing as spreading rose petals on your bed or eating dinner by candlelight or kissing through the credits of a movie.

5.

Men start to say things to me on the street, sometimes loudly enough that everyone around us can hear, but not always. Sometimes they mutter quietly, so that I’m the only one who knows. So that if I react, I’ll seem like I’m blowing things out of proportion or flat-out making them up. These whispers make me feel complicit in something, although I don’t quite know what.

I feel like I deserve it. I feel like I am asking for it. I feel dirty and ashamed.

I want to stand up for myself and tell these men off, but I am afraid. I am angry that I’m such a baby about it. I feel like if I were braver, they wouldn’t be able to get away with it. Eventually I screw up enough courage and tell a man to leave me alone; I deliberately keep my voice steady and unemotional, trying to make it sound more like a command than a request. He grabs my wrist and calls me a fucking bitch.

After that I don’t talk back anymore. Instead I just smile weakly; sometimes I duck my head and whisper thank you. I quicken my steps and hurry away until one time a man yells don’t you fucking run away and starts to follow me.

After that I always try to keep my pace even, my breath slow. Like how they tell you that if you ever see a bear you shouldn’t run, you should just slowly back away until he can’t see you.

I think that these men, like dogs, can smell my fear.

6.

On my eighteenth birthday my cousin takes me out clubbing. While we’re dancing, a man comes up behind me and starts fiddling with the straps on my flouncy black dress. But he’s sort of dancing with me and this is my first time ever at a club and I want to play it cool, so I don’t say anything. Then he pulls the straps all the way down and everyone laughs as I scramble to cover my chest.

At a concert a man comes up behind me and slides his hand around me and starts playing with my nipple while he kisses my neck. By the time I’ve got enough wiggle room to turn around, he’s gone.

At my friend’s birthday party a gay man grabs my breasts and tells everyone that he’s allowed to do it because he’s not into girls. I laugh because everyone else laughs because what else are you supposed to do?

Men press up against me on the subway, on the bus, once even in a crowd at a protest. Their hands dangle casually, sometimes brushing up against my crotch or my ass. One time it’s so bad that I complain to the bus driver and he makes the man get off the bus but then he tells me that if I don’t like the attention maybe I shouldn’t wear such short skirts.

7.

I get a job as a patient-sitter, someone who sits with hospital patients who are in danger of pulling out their IVs or hurting themselves or even running away. The shifts are twelve hours and there is no real training, but the pay is good.

Lots of male patients masturbate in front of me. Some of them are obvious, which is actually kind of better because then I can call a nurse. Some of them are less obvious, and then the nurses don’t really care. When that happens, I just bury my head in a book and pretend I don’t know what they’re doing.

One time an elderly man asks me to fix his pillow and when I bend over him to do that he grabs my hand and puts it on his dick.

When I call my supervisor to complain she says that I shouldn’t be upset because he didn’t know what he was doing.

8.

A man walks into an Amish school, tells all the little girls to line up against the chalkboard, and starts shooting.

A man walks into a sorority house and starts shooting.

A man walks into a theatre because the movie was written by a feminist and starts shooting.

A man walks into Planned Parenthood and starts shooting.

A man walks into.

9.

I start writing about feminism on the internet, and within a few months I start getting angry comments from men. Not death threats, exactly, but still scary. Scary because of how huge and real their rage is. Scary because they swear they don’t hate women, they just think women like me need to be put in their place.

I get to a point where the comments – and even the occasional violent threat – become routine. I joke about them. I think of them as a strange badge of honour, like I’m in some kind of club. The club for women who get threats from men.

It’s not really funny.

10.

Someone makes a death threat against my son.

I don’t tell anyone right away because I feel like it is my fault – my fault for being too loud, too outspoken, too obviously a parent.

When I do finally start telling people, most of them are sympathetic. But a few women say stuff like “this is why I don’t share anything about my children online,” or “this is why I don’t post any pictures of my child.”

Even when a man makes a choice to threaten a small child it is still, somehow, a woman’s fault.

11.

I try not to be afraid.

I am still afraid.

- By Anne Thériault

Yes please!!!!!

reblog if you would watch a spin-off show about this absolute squad.

We are all Jedi

Consider this:

It is barely a few months into the war. The Jedi know they have been manuevered into leading a child slave army, of course they know. But knowing and being able to do anything substantial about it are two different things. Then an idea sparks. 

No one is quite sure how or who. Perhaps it started as a way to let the Younglings help with the war effort, they all want to help so badly.  Perhaps it started as a complaint from an exhausted Council member.  Perhaps from the Crechlings who found out that Anakin Skywlaker had never been in the creche and insisted that he sleep there one night when he was on leave from deployment (after all, all Jedi need to sleep in the creche at least once) and he came out of that night so much more settled. Perhaps it grew, organic, the way such madness does.  

The Idea: they would induct the clones as members of the Jedi Order. It could not become official until the war ends, they would have to be honorary members until they were allowed to update their roles, but they could have a ceremony.  It is decided that the Initiates and younglings would design the ceremony, which ended up including a night spent in the creche.  The younglings insisted that this ceremony had to be done in smaller groups, so it could be special, so it took nearly a year to induct all of the clones (the first group being the Coruscant guard). And it is entirely possible that Fox and the CG accidentally, and without realizing it, found a way to shield certain information from Palpatine. After all there is a Rodian younlinging in the Creche who’s first words was ‘Fox’.  Whom he may visit every other tenday, because she loved to cuddle him and all of the creche masters told him that he was her favorite. 

From the point of the first ceremony there were always a few platoons worth of clones in the creche with the younglings.  Clone Cadets were given access to, and encouraged to take, the remote classes setup for the initiates and padawans. Padawan commanders now had study groups of their own troops where they could discuss philosophy and ethics and that one essay (Everyone has that One Essay). 

It should have been such a small thing, such an insignificant thing, at first many of the the Master wept for the fact that they could not even make it official. Could not free the troops, could not push back against the senate. Could not even tell anyone that the Clones are part of the Order, rather than just belonging to it.  But…But, every trooper got experience sleeping under a pile of younglings. Had the pleasure of being fought over, not because they were made for war, but because this one colored the best or that one could do fancy braids. They could wander in and out of the Temple like any other Jedi. And there would always be Pong Krells in the world, but it was so much harder to see someone as disposable or less than when you run into them at 3am in the archives, trying to finish an essay you remember struggling with as a child.

Some things change and others do not. 

Then Order 66…The Jedi are traitors. 

Only…

The Clones are also Jedi, they slept in the creche and everything. And we could go the sad route: Madness and suicide and even more genocide. But we could also go the other way. 

If the Clones are Jedi and the Jedi are traitors then the Clones must be traitors as well. And Good Soldiers follow Orders but they are not Good Soldiers.  They are Traitors. There are a number of clones that have a minor freak out because they ‘don’t know how to be a traitor!!!!’ but then someone goes, ‘we can ask our Generals/ Commanders/ our Creche masters, they’ll tell us’. 

There is still a good couple of hours of utter confusion for everyone involved as the Jedi try to work out why the troopers thought they were all traitors.  In the creche it was universally decided to hand any trooper that comes through the door a youngling to hold as it seemed to calm everyone down. In the Archives, a dozen archivists conspire to give the troopers, many of whom are shaking and confused, something easy and fun to research (the resulting papers would later be cited as the foremost authority in a hundred different topics). Two battalions that had been fighting droids at the time of Order 66 accidentally enter into a cease fire when they inform the droids that they are traitors to the Republic and the droid can’t figure out if they are supposed to keep shooting or not (the clones don’t know either) (the Jedi generals are just glad for the respite). 

And the Coruscant guard has possibly been waiting for this moment their entire lives. Each member of the ‘Guard has a list of senators, aides, and assorted others that they would kill given even a sliver of a chance. Immediately upon the news that they are traitors, Fox has them armed and storming the Rotunda.  Most of them expect to die, and want to take a few of those bastards out before they go. 

Fox himself, feeling more cheerful than he had in some time, meets up with Padme Amidala in a Senate hallway. He nods his head to her respectfully ‘ma’am’, as if she hadn’t just seen him shoot a particularly odious senator's aide. 

Padme is cautious and very pregnant, but she is one of the few people who the troopers are trying not to hit. “Commander Fox? What’s going on?”

“Oh, the Chancellor declared us traitors.”

And Padme, heavily pregnant, looks around at the panicking being rushing through the halls, the troopers stalking through somehow radiating a menacing glee, “So your first action is…this”

Fox nods agreeably, still far too cheerful, “Have to be sentient to be traitors. If we’re sentient, then we’re being abused and assaulted, and all those other words where a sentient is being hurt by other. Can’t blame us for taking a piece out of our abusers.”

And Padme feels like she should be able to argue with this but really can’t find the words. Fox, on the basis that she is one of maybe one hundred non clones in the Senate building who is not on any of the ‘Guards kill list, decides that she should be escorted to the Jedi temple with it’s healers. She is very pregnant, all this stress could not be good for her,  and the Temple has better medical facilities. Fox manages to round up one of his medics and three troopers whose lists were small enough that they have exacted their revenge already. They are to escort Padme to the temple, along with any of the other ‘Not to Kill’ beings that they might come across.  

Anakin starts to storm past, but realizes that Padme is there. He is half fallen to the dark, dazed and looks a bit like corpse. Fox decides that he also needs to be escorted to healers, and makes a joke that Anakin should ‘help’ escort Padme, to make sure this stress isn’t going to hurt her. Anakin, being dazed and more suggestible than is truly healthy (also oblivious about many many things), takes him seriously.  They are sent on their way to the temple, where the healers look at Anakin and Padme, promptly getting both of them into a bed.

A few troopers, chasing a senators aide, find Master Windu in the lower levels and bring him to the temple (they may want revenge but they are Jedi first and Windu is one of theirs).

Sidious, who was on nearly every kill list, is powerful. There is no doubt about that.  He can easily stop up to twenty blaster shots, plus three slugs, at once. However there are 150 Couruscant Guard, including Fox and Stone, who are able to claim the privilege of shooting him. Twenty five of those with slug throwers. 

He died without ever finding out what went wrong with his plan.

agreed

One of these days I’ll be able to look at Allura without crying Today isn’t one of those days

gotta remember this for fics

the alphabet of flowers prompt list

Maybe one day I'll write down all the great ideas behind this list, but for now I'll leave it here, at the mercy of Tumblr users. Feel free to request any flower, combo or bouquet for all the characters, ships and fandoms you find in the tags and of course let me know if something sparks your imagination!

a.      Agapanthus – Love Letter

b.      Basil – Hate

c.      Cactus – Passionate Love

d.      Daphne - I Wouldn't Want You Any Other Way

e.      Echinacea – Strength and Health

f.       Fern – Sincerity

g.      Gardenia – Sophistication

h.      Hibiscus – Delicate Beauty

i.       Iberid – Indifference

j.      Jasmine – Amiability

k.     Kalanchoe – Persistence and Eternal Love

l.      Lantana – Strictness

m.    Magnolia – Dignity

n.     Narcissus – New Beginnings

o.     Orchid – Refined Beauty

p.     Peony – Anger

q.     Quince – Perseverance During Adversity

r.      Rose – Love

s.     Sage – Good Health and Long Life

t.     Trillium – Modest Beauty

u.     Ursinia – Trickery

v.      Vervain – Pray For Me

w.     Waterlily – Birth and Resurrection

x.      Xeranthemum – Eternity and Immortality

y.      Yellow Bell – Rebirth

z.      Zinnia – Lasting Affection

Hey all I made a poll expanding other to add rogue one and Andor characters go vote in that one. After both these polls finish I will make a final poll comparing the two winners to see who is truly the saddest death on Star Wars.