i just want each of you who is scared and isolated right now to know that you are so loved. you are so extremely loved and supported even if you feel like you’re the only lgbt kid in your small town, or you don’t see a way ever out of the closet, especially now. you are precious and important and loved and if nothing else, you’ll always have someone to talk to. stay safe and stay strong, and know you are loved.
The reincarnation fic every Les Mis author writes eventually. This has been chilling in a random document for, like, literally months. Completely finished, mind. So. Here. *offers to Internet*
Reblogging for the “why were you posting fanfic at one in the morning Moran” crowd.
OH MY GOD YOU LIKE MIRACULOUS LADYBUG TOO I AM SO EXCITED THERE'S ANOTHER ONE EEEEE I COULDN'T EVEN RESIST NOT REBLOGGING A TON OF IT, THE FLOODGATES WERE OPENED AND I AM PAST THE POINT OF NO RETURN
Oh my God people have like come out of the woodwork to yell with me, I should have given in and started reblogging shit months ago. YES Miraculous Ladybug is FANTASTIC, to be honest I’m not up to date because I didn’t have time during the second semester of school so I’ve only seen like the first dozen or so episodes, but IT IS AMAZING. I have NO REGRETS about this show.
Actually, come to think of it, I have a ML prompt waiting in my document, I should write that.
Also, PSA, now that I’ve started reblogging Miraculous Ladybug stuff…buckle up because I know three blogs with meticulous tagging systems and a host of ML posts and two of them are open right now. Brace yourselves.
Also the shattering realization that a lot of the adults your respected as beacons of wisdom and authority back in your childhood was also basically winging it
here is an idea: normalise the idea that adopting kids is a valid option even for parents who could conceive a child themselves, and not just an inferior backup option for parents who can’t
Yesterday one of the girls in the unit who’s about my age was complaining about her period and expressing a wish for the doctors nearby to “Just take me down to the OR real quick and give me a hysterectomy.”
Immediately half the nurses (all mothers mind you) start telling her about how she’s gonna regret it and she doesn’t know yet if she really doesn’t want kids, blah blah blah.
Anyways, I was walking past so I said, “You know what, you do what you want. If you want end up wanting kids later go adopt some, we’ve got plenty that get left behind on the second floor [our labor and delivery unit].”
All the older nurses shut down so fast and the girl I was talking to suddenly threw up her hands and me and said, “See??? That’s what I mean! THANK YOU.”
NORMALIZE THIS SHIT!! WE REALLY DO HAVE WOMEN COME INTO L&D TO HAVE A BABY AND THEN JUST LEAVE IT HERE AND TAKE OFF.
ADOPT!!!
Also, don’t ask the parents of adopted children if they had fertility problems. That shit is personal. My sister adopted her son and when asked if she is infertile, she likes to ask them what position their children were conceived with, because that’s on the same level of appropriateness.
Like, some people really DO want to experience pregnancy on their own, but that’s not the only way to be a parent? On the other hand, some people want kids but DON’T want to be pregnant themselves. Adoption is awesome. Birthing a baby is awesome. Hiring a surrogate is awesome. Stop judging parental options, as long as the kids are safe and well taken care of!
She didn’t trust Frank one iota. as far as she knows, he just shot at her, just murdered the District Attorney, just let his stray bullets fly where they may. one of these bullets his Foggy–her friend, now laid up in the hospital.
So what does this mean about his words to her earlier: “you were safe, i needed you to know.” but Foggy wasn’t safe? Foggy got shot. Foggy never did anything wrong. So is Frank a lie? Is he full of shit? Is he here, in her apartment to finish the job he started all that time ago, with Grotto? Has her faith been misplaced AGAIN?
So she’s terrified and alone in an apartment with a #confirmed, admitted mass murderer who just knocked out the two cops assigned to protect her. the only thing between them is her guts and her .380. He could disarm her in a second, have her gun leveled at her and pull the trigger before she registered his movement.
And then all of a sudden guns are going off. Bullets are whizzing past her ear, exploding the drywall of her apartment. Her first absurd thought is “well there goes my security deposit” and then she thinks maybe this is it. Guns are going off and this brick wall of a man is lunging at her, the Punisher come back to bring her what she’s due for her brother, for Wesley, for Ben, for…
But instead she feels his arms around her, his shoulders curl around her body. He tucks her head neatly in just under his chin. There’s not a sliver of her exposed to the window–because all of him is. And in that moment, she KNOWS that it wasn’t him at the DA’s office. Knows he’s been framed. Because he just showed that he would literally take a bullet for her. He didn’t leave when she got too tough to handle, when she got inconvenient, when something more interesting came along.
The reincarnation fic every Les Mis author writes eventually. This has been chilling in a random document for, like, literally months. Completely finished, mind. So. Here. *offers to Internet*
Okay so, I know that in military culture, those in combat trade cigarettes and candy and bits from their MRE’s between each other.
So tell me, what do the clones trade do they pick up little things from the planets they visit? A pretty rock, a funny shaped nut pod? Do they trade ammo, or personalized boot knives or hand held blasters?
What do the clones use as a bartering system?
Yes hello, as someone who spent nearly all of my adult life in the military let me be the first to tell you that we didn’t borrow or trade stuff…we stole it. Mostly from other battalions, like you wouldn’t believe the rivalry. And this was done blatantly as a fuck you to the other units.
Seriously. My company had this huge rivalry with the transportation unit cause they were a bunch of lazy fuck offs and were never around when needed, so one night we snuck into their company area and stole all their toilet paper and printer paper, and drew a giant dick in the sand where they did pt
THEY. WERE. PISSED. You’ve never seen anger like that of a soldier who needs to shit because he ate the mystery meat at the dfac (dining facility) and can’t because there’s no toilet paper. It was a full fledged war from company commander to the newest private.
Listen I am all for political revolution and dismantling the two party system but I would rather attempt that on a year where using my vote for a third party might not result in the election of the antichrist.
Being a girl in this world is honestly so strange like do u know how much we miss out on because we are scared? How much of the night We don’t get to see because walking around alone is too dangerous? Do u notice the way girls walk at night, and does your heart hurt when U see them quicken their pace and lower their gaze when men walk past? Mine does
like at least when people in the 1800s went to settle things with firearms it was a mutually agreed-upon challenge with actual rules and a doctor on site to handle injuries.
………………..do you know how this would go. I THINK YOU KNOW HOW THIS WOULD GO. Our boy gets twitter because no one takes to the modern world of EVERYONE HAS AN OPINION AT ALL TIMES ON EVERYTHING like Alexander Hamilton, gobshite without compare. His handle, for those who want to fight him, is adotham because AlexanderHamilton was taken and JeffersonIsACocklesswonder is both too long and inappropriate (another aspect of modern life Alexander loves: the insults. He swears in the baroque, joyful, incomprehensible fashion of Malcolm Tucker because he is Alexander Hamilton. Bitch.)
(Bitch is not punctuation, Nick Fury will say to him later. Alexander Hamilton begs to differ. Bitch.)
Anyway. Anyway. You know how it happens: some troll tweets him. @adotham come fight me you immigrant cunt and Hamilton tweets back: name a time and place and no one ever replies.
“They wish to duel me, do they not?” he says, Macbook on his knees, head on one side: quizzical, black-eyed, gorgeous. Captain America blinks.
“Not…precisely,” he says. How does one explain the etiquette of twitter trolling? Steve doesn’t understand it himself. Hamilton, tiny and quivering with pent up energy, ready to fight the world: be it with quill, blog or gun. He’s got the most magnificent eyes and the most aristocratic nose and –
– Steve has always been confident in his sexuality. He is bi as fuck and happily involved with Bucky, Winter Soldier, World’s Most Deadly Assassin and current ambassador to Wahanda.
But my God, my God, Hamilton makes people forget that they are committed –
– almost. Almost. Anyway: he says, “I don’t think they actually want to fight you,” he says.
“But they challenged my honour,” says Hamilton, hotly.
He responds to every threat of violence thus: a demand for a time and a place. He gets increasingly frustrated. Not once does a troll respond. Eventually, they stop entirely – mainly because Hamilton learns a little of Tony’s computer prowess, tracks one down, and shows up outside his house with a pair of pistols. “Guns drawn at dawn,” he pronounces, and the chubby forty year old blinks and stutters and stammers and Hamilton grins, sharp and feral, and says, “Stop writing cheques you can’t fucking cash.”
i feel bad for teachers because i distinctly remember my mom bursting into tears once when she was grading papers and she was just mumbling “theyre so goddamn stupid” over and over
every time i read this i laugh a little harder
My teacher was grading our history tests in class once, and it was all quiet. Then suddenly she just threw down her pen and slammed her head into the desk. We all looked up, wide-eyed and confused. then she just sat up after a minute and whispers “Mexico is not in the Middle East.”
Our English teacher was so upset with our quality of work one morning that she picked up someones paper and threw it. She hadn’t crumpled it into a ball or anything, so it somehow caught the air, looped right around and hit her in the back of the head. Our eyes all bulged as we sat there trying our hardest not to burst out laughing.
Okay this probably won't shock you, but I have a request for the five headcanons thing (I thought of this on my walk back to my dorm from my internship and in my defense it's been a long day): Force-sensitive Padme AU.
Padmé gets found on Search by Tahl at like four, which is a little late but Tahl’s just like “lol whatever I was SIX” and THEN is like “would you like to be a Jedi, child? ❤” and Padmé is all “NO, I AM GOING TO BE A POLITICAL-TICIAN.” Tahl is like “omg ❤❤❤” and slightly heartbroken, but okay, fair enough.
As a result, Padmé becomes aware that she is Force-sensitive, and is vaguely aware that being Force-sensitive means people can do stuff WITH the Force. She does some light reading during playtime. Her parents are like “sweetie don’t you want to go, you know … actually PLAY?” and she is like “BUT THIS IS SO INTERESTING” and they are just all okay, alright, if you’re sure kiddo. Her sister thinks the Force is boring af but Padmé is faaaascinated. Tahl thinks she is adorable and gives her a few of her own books before she leaves. Padmé is also FIVE, and doesn’t realize that not getting proper training should preclude her from doing Force-ly things. She teaches herself to meditate because she’s vaguely aware that’s a thing that Force-sensitive people do, and then she teaches herself to lift feathers and bend spoons and throw full-sized punching bags across the gym, because she’s vaguely that THOSE things are things that Force-sensitive people do. She is not at ALL aware that Tahl never expected her to be quite so good at reading between the lines in those books she left and figuring out how to do all this shit.
Later on, Baby Padmé sends the Jedi Temple a very serious little hand-written letter addressed to “Miss Lady Jedi Tahl” about how she would like to borrow some other books, please, Miss Lady Jedi. The books she has now are VERY good books and she likes them very MUCH, but she has read them all now and she would like to learn more new things but because she has read them all she can’t learn new things. Also please accept this courtesy gift of a copy of her two favorite picture books, “The Junior Legislator’s Guide To Drafting A Peace Treaty” and “The Junior Legislator’s Guide To Firearm Use And Maintenance”, thank you very much. Tahl is SO ENAMORED and sends her PROBABLY WAY TOO MANY BOOKS, TO BE FRANK. Padmé reads them all. Repeatedly. And TAKES NOTES.
Everyone on Naboo who knows her well is politely baffled by but supportive of her interests, although they don’t let it get around that the new Queen is basically a mail-order Jedi because that would sort of defeat the purpose of having decoys. Anyway, Padmé never did get around to testing out that lightsaber design; blasters are just SO convenient. Ranged weapons are a gift and they are not a gift Padmé Amidala is going to waste, thank you very much.
Anakin was already going to be doomed, of course, but when he finds out the amazing angel he’s just met can DEFLECT BLASTER BOLTS BARE-HANDED … yeah, yeah, Anakin Skywalker is in love. He is in tiny nine year-old hero-worship love and he will NEVER EVER NOT BE, EVER, PADME PLEASE TEACH ME HOW YOU DID THAT I WILL SHOW YOU HOW TO HOTWIRE A SPEEDER?? Padmé’s all “oh no Annie it’s nothing ❤” and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are like “NO, NO, IT IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING o_O”.
“it’s the morning of the tournament and I need some help
with my boards” “sure, I have a huge emergency repair kit! what do you need?”
“well I have some boards here, and these are some pictures I printed off from
the hotel printer last night” “oh my god”
You’re about to get kicked out until you can adhere to
tournament attire. Good thing I have duct tape and the rules don’t actually
specify what your tie has to look like.
I’m going neg against the most annoyingly stupid case in the
world but no one’s been able to beat it yet and when you heard I was debating
them you ran up with three separate briefs specifically written against their
case even though you’re from a different club.
You keep trying to give a full round of applause every time
they call my name during awards and everyone kind of hates you right now.
It’s the 6th round and we just went up against novices.
You’re convinced it was power matched and I’m trying to persuade you it was
power protected before you start crying on me.
I asked for a copy of your IAC in cross examination and you
handed me a double sided piece of paper in size 3 font.
I don’t recognize the team I’m about to go up against from
the postings so I’m running through the hallways desperately asking people if
they know them, where they’re from, or what case they’re running. You are the
team. Oh, awkward.
“can we run our squirrel case?” “no” “can we run a counter
plan?” “… we’re affirmative” “can we-” “NO”
You found me crying in the hallway and asked if I was
alright but I was just practicing my interp and now you’re all flustered but it
was really sweet of you to ask.
I’m doing debate plus five speeches at this tournament and
don’t have time to eat. You’re a stranger who offered me an energy bar as
I was running to my next room but now it’s two days later and I still haven’t
been able to track you down to thank you.
I was 110% sure we didn’t break so I spent the last half
hour before announcements puddle jumping in my suit in the rain but now that
I’m soaked it turns out that we made it to Quarter Finals so… oops?
You wanted to support me so you came to watch my impromptu
but all of the options were awful and my speech was less than a minute and now
I can never look you in the eye again and why would you even come watch an
impromptu?
You always use this one analogy in your debate rounds and
I’m sick and tired of it so I decide to use it first and the expression of
shock and betrayal on your face is priceless.
I totally blank in the middle of my speech and stand there
trying to remember what comes next. After about twenty seconds you say “Houston, we have a
problem”
Our judge got a phone call in the middle of the round and
stepped out to take it. Neither of us know what to do, or if we’re allowed to
talk to each other, but I guess we have unlimited prep time now?
It kills me how entitled these nerd boys get when it comes to sex like bruh, Revenge of the Nerds lied to you, the jock she likes so much isn’t an asshole, you’re just a fuckboy with no social skills and no willingness to actually see her as anything other than a human toy for your penis
And even if he is an asshole, you’re not any better, so simmer the fuck down and shut up.
^^^
But let’s be real. 99.9% of the time, he isn’t an asshole. The nerd boy whining is just a fucking jealous asshole who is overexaggerating those ‘she complains about her boyfriend’ posts those assholes do.
And lets not forget that these are the same guys who think ‘negging’ is a good idea. No charisma, no actual personality whatsoever, they have to be trained to treat women like shit because some Hot Topic reject told them its our fault they aren’t getting laid.
it gets even worse because instead of seeking blame on the “asshole” they blame the woman for being with the supposed asshole, so instead of finding hate towards a supposed abusive piece of shit they find hate towards the woman. They literaly wire themsevles to hate women in any way they can and then wonder why nobody likes them.
It’s sad, really.
Like real talk? I’ve been in nerd culture for a long time, I worked in a comic shop when I was in high school, I’ve dated a lot of nerds, and I’ve dated a lot of jocks (before I realized I was a lesbian anyway). Like 9 times out of 10 the jocky guys I knew were way nicer than the so called nerds.
I NEVER had to prove myself to any of these “jocks” to be deemed “cool enough” to be worthy of their time. It’s like “Hey you like video games? that’s awesome!” “You read comics? so cool!” “Hey you don’t like sports/this sports team? That’s fine.” Whereas I was constantly tested, and judged, and criticized by these “nerdy” guys who never wanted me in “their” space.
I wonder why these types of guys are alone.
Yep. These are the same males prattling on about “beta males” and other PUA nonsense.
I’ve noticed that Minion bath products are a thing, and that many of them are banana-scented.
The fragrance used to impart a banana scent is called isoamyl acetate. Isoamyl acetate is also an alarm pheromone in bees. It’s released when a bee stings something/someone, prompting other bees to sting the same target.
The Minion shampoo has mysteriously infiltrated my house, and my youngest sibling (the only one who uses it) has not been stung since its appearance, but I wouldn’t count on anecdotal evidence…
If you have an allergy to bee stings, I strongly recommend choosing a different scent.
I’m a chemist and I found out I’m allergic to bees after working with isoamyl acetate and being stung twice on my way home from work. Do not use isoamyl acetate as a fragrance and especially not on children, which Minions are marketed to.
Please please please not on children. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Minions products are going to kill someone. only then will this chaos end.
hi, i love your hamdevil au series! no pressure or obligation, but if you want to take this prompt and run with it that'd be cool: alex is a literal genius and sometimes people forget that. matt and foggy pay the price.
takes place in between the first story and s2! this got away from me a bit.
title: i wrote my own deliverance
–
The thing about Alexander Hamilton, Karen finds out, is that he’s like a goddamn sponge–ask him about a topic he doesn’t know about, and the next day not only does he know it inside out, he has Opinions about it that he’s absolutely willing to defend with both words and fists.
More the former than the latter, these days, but sometimes–well, Karen really wishes she wasn’t the only member of the Nelson & Murdock PR department.
Anyway.
“What the fuck is this?” she asks him one day, very carefully putting her phone down on her table. It’s displaying the latest viral video featuring Alexander Hamilton, and he’s standing on a table talking right over someone from Fox News about the Constitution and freedom of speech and getting in personal digs at the man, finishing off with a solid right hook when the guy says something about Alexander’s mother.
Hey, may I ask you a question? Do you honestly believe that every child should be vaccinated despite the many contaminates including mercury and artificial chemical compounds with unknown side effects that they are being found to be contained in them. It's a valid concern that some parents have. Another question I have is how is it logical that a person who has been vaccinated can catch virus from an unvaccinated person? Isn't it more logical to assume that vaccinations aren't quite as effective
You can ask it but I’m from a generation that got our vaccinations and never caught any of the diseases above or got mercury poisoning. So isn’t it more logical to assume it’s safer to vaccinate children instead of putting people with lowered immune systems at risk because you saw something on Dateline?
ppl who dont even like shakespeare: WOW how DARE you alter the original text these are CLASSICS have you no RESPECT, going around DESECRATING these sacred texts in the name of POLITICAL CORRECTNESS!!!!!!!!!
people who love shakespeare: im going to stage a production of hamlet where all the actors are dogs
My wife, Zoe, is transgender. She came out to us — the kids and me — last summer and then slowly spread her beautiful feminine wings with extended family, friends, and neighbors.
A little coming out here, a little coming out there — you know how it is.
It’s been a slow, often challenging process of telling people something so personal and scary, but pretty much everyone has been amazing.
However, she dreaded coming out at the office.
She works at a large technology company, managing a team of software developers in a predominantly male office environment. She’s known many of her co-workers and employees for 15 or so years. They have called her “he” and “him” and “Mr.” for a very long time. How would they handle the change?
While we have laws in place in Ontario, Canada, to protect the rights of transgender employees, it does not shield them from awkwardness, quiet judgment, or loss of workplace friendships. Your workplace may not become outright hostile, but it can sometimes become a difficult place to go to every day because people only tolerate you rather than fully accept you.
But this transition needed to happen, and so Zoe carefully crafted a coming out email and sent it to everyone she works with.
The support was immediately apparent; she received about 75 incredibly kind responses from coworkers, both local and international.
She then took one week off, followed by a week where she worked solely from home. It was only last Monday when she finally went back to the office.
Despite knowing how nice her colleagues are and having read so many positive responses to her email, she was understandably still nervous.
Hell, I was nervous. I made her promise to text me 80 billion times with updates and was more than prepared to go down there with my advocacy pants on if I needed to (I might be a tad overprotective).
And that’s when her office pals decided to show the rest of us how to do it right.
She got in and found that a couple of them had decorated her cubicle to surprise her:
And made sure her new name was prominently displayed in a few locations:
They got her a beautiful lily with a “Welcome, Zoe!” card:
And this tearjerker quote was waiting for her on her desk:
To top it all off, a 10 a.m. “meeting” she was scheduled to attend was actually a coming out party to welcome her back to work as her true self — complete with coffee and cupcakes and handshakes and hugs.
NO, I’M NOT CRYING. YOU’RE CRYING.
I did go to my wife’s office that day. But instead of having my advocacy pants on, I had my hugging arms ready and some mascara in my purse in case I cried it off while thanking everyone.
I wish we lived in a world where it was no big deal to come out.
Sadly, that is not the case for many LGBTQ people. We live in a world of bathroom bills and “religious freedom” laws that directly target the members of our community. We live in a world where my family gets threats for daring to speak out for trans rights. We live in a world where we can’t travel to certain locations for fear of discrimination — or worse.
So when I see good stuff happening — especially when it takes place right on our doorstep — I’m going to share it far and wide. Let’s normalize this stuff. Let’s make celebrating diversity our everyday thing rather than hating or fearing it.
Chill out, haters. Take a load off with us.
It’s a lot of energy to judge people, you know. It’s way more fun to celebrate and support them for who they are.
whenever i’m talking to someone and they tell me about something that happened to them i always tell them about something that happened to me that’s similar to what happened to them. i do it as kind of a “oh hey yeah this happened to me so i can relate to what you’re going through” but i’m always afraid it comes out as “oh yeah well this happened to me so clearly i have it tougher than you” or “i’m done talking about you let’s talk about me”
i swear i don’t mean it like that……..
I run into this a lot with my job - so instead of telling the whole story I say something like, “Oh my gosh, I had something REALLY similar happen. What did you do after that??” And I’ve found that works. Usually they explain and then ask, “So what happened to you?” And then you’re invited to share, and the formula for conversing continues on. :)
of all the tumblr posts i’ve read, this one is going to change my life the fastest lol.
Thanks to both the OP for posting a thing that so many of us do, and the responder who gave us a better way to do it. You’re doing the lord’s work, my friend!
Fun fact: there isn’t anything wrong with you if you do what OP is describing.
Deborah Tannen’s work focuses on different conversational styles — the sets of behavioral norms and expectations that we bring with us to conversations. In one of her earlier articles, she describes two conflicting conversational styles that exist in the US.
One, which she (perhaps inaccurately) dubs “New York Jewish conversational style,” is based on the principle of building camaraderie with one’s interlocutor. The other, which she doesn’t really name but which we could call “mainstream American conversational style,” is based on the principle of not imposing on one’s interlocutor.
Each conversational style has its own behavioral norms. Mainstream American conversational style involves things like asking your interlocutor questions about him/herself and waiting until your interlocutor is clearly finished speaking until you say something. These demonstrate a focus on one’s interlocutor and a clear resistance to imposing. NYJ conversational style involves things like conversational overlaps — speaking at the same time as one’s interlocutor — and “swapping stories.” These demonstrate a high level of engagement with one’s interlocutor. Conversationalists using the mainstream American style make space for each other; conversationalists using the New York Jewish style carve out their own space.
Each of these conversational styles works well when the two people conversing have the same style. Imagine two friends meeting for drinks after work:
“Oh, hello! How was your trip here?” “Oh, it was awful. There was so much traffic on the turnpike.” “That’s terrible.” “I know. How was your trip?” “Well, there was an accident on the bridge.” “Oh no! Was there a big backup?” “Yeah, pretty big.”
“Oh, hi!” “Hey! Ugh, sorry I’m late, there was so much traffic on the turnpike—” “Oh my god, I know, there was an accident on the bridge and the cars were backed up a MILE—” “That is the worst, I remember one time I sat in traffic for an HOUR waiting to get through that toll, they really should—” “Add more EZ-pass lanes, right?” “Add more lanes, yeah, exactly.”
Both of these conversations worked: the participants feel that they’ve had their say and that they’ve been understood. They feel connected to their interlocutor.
But when people with conflicting conversational styles converse, that’s where things go wrong. Because we interpret other people’s contributions according to our own conversational style. So the person with mainstream American conversational style comes away thinking “Why did they keep interrupting me? Why didn’t they ask me any questions about me? Why were they so loud and emotional?” And the person with the New York Jewish conversational style comes away thinking “Why were they so disengaged? They didn’t seem involved in the conversation at all. They didn’t even offer any personal information.”
Rather, they would come away thinking that, except that we’re taught growing up that the first example conversation up there is what conversations should look like. So the person with the New York Jewish conversational style actually comes away from the conversation thinking “oh my god, what was I doing? I kept talking about myself. I think I kept interrupting them. I am so rude, god, I’m the worst.” When in fact: a) it’s about cultural difference, not individual moral qualities; and b) one conversational style isn’t inherently “better” than another.
Which isn’t to say that we shouldn’t attempt to bridge the gap between conversational styles, as suggested above. But we should be aware that:
TL;DR: Cultural difference is often mistaken for individual moral failings.
*memorizes “Oh my gosh, I had something REALLY similar happen. What did you do after that??” for next time this happens to me*
god i HATE the way crime shows aggressively push the idea that only guilty people (or occasionally innocent but morally repugnant people) want lawyers when talking to the police.
it’s one of the most harmful lies on tv honestly because it encourages real people to waive their right to counsel making it vastly easier for cops to take advantage of them, lie to them, railroad them etc. regardless of your guilt or innocence, if you’re suspected of a crime, you need a lawyer.
this is literally how thousands of innocent people end up in jail/prison because cops have a strong as hell confirmation bias and will use tricky language and leading questions to either get you to confess or admit enough fault to convict. people have been sent to death row over this shit. ALWAYS get a lawyer.
Omg if I had a real keyboard and not my phone right now, the tales I would tell. The fact that police have tried to argue silence shows guilt or the fifth amendment doesn’t cover body language, make me speechless with rage. Also if you invoke fifth amendment rights it doesn’t mean they have to stop talking/questioning you. You have to invoke fifth amendment and Miranda rights (right to council). Once you say you want a lawyer they can’t continue. But you must invoke with each officer. Officers don’t have to share that you invoke with the other officers. The national layers guild and there know your rights trainings are indispensable.
my dad works for the white house and he just told me that apparently the government banned kissanime on the white house wifi cause officials were watching it like, a noticeable amount
wait, I just mentioned this to him again and he said “no, they didn’t block kissanime from the White House, they banned it from the entire Department of Defense”
Shmi Skywalker and Padme Amidala, the Force ghosts that never were.
One day in
the future, a girl will ask of her maybe-father definitely-teacher
(one is likely; the other is a certainty; she calls him Master
because she wants no other family than that she has chosen): where
did Skywalker come from. And
the Master will say from my father he was a great man and
a terrible one and – and the
girl will shake her head, chew her lip, say, did he choose
it and the Master will frown (a
pucker between his brows; a corrugation of his lined, weatherbeaten
face) and say, no his mother chose it
and the girl will say who was she and
the man will say a slave on Tattooine; my uncle’s
brother’s second wife and no
more. He knows no more. Don’t blame him.
Do
not blame the teacher-before either. You knew him as an old man, old
and strong and lonely, but once he was a boy with a snake-tail of a
braid and an empty space under his heart where love once rested. He
watches his Master die and he tries to shoulder a burden that is
absurd in its immensity. Train
the boy who will save everything.
Imagine that. Imagine. And, yes, he says this
boy must come with us but
remember: the Force is endless hunger, an animal. It isn’t willfully
cruel – no more than the ocean. But if you do not learn to swim,
you die. If a boy strong with the Force is not trained, he will
surely perish.
(or worse. There are horror stories.)
Blame,
perhaps, the council, so anchored in their ways that they do not
permit the child to see his mother. Blame, perhaps, the Jedi so
ancient and so wise who take their Chosen One and tell him that he
can save the universe and all he loves, blame them who take a nine
year old from his mother and give him weapons to hold instead of
hands. Fight
fight fight but only when you are told to. Kill without mercy when
we say otherwise show limitless mercy. Do as you are bidden always
and forever. Save everything. Master your feelings. Have no
feelings.
From
my point of view the Jedi are evil! –
what are those but the words of a lost, stupid boy, trusting only
in the fierceness of his own heart and the iron surety of his
convictions.
Blame
the boy. Maybe. After all: this was his choice. He did not have to
listen to older and wiser heads that said go
to war and afterwards tend to your mother.
He did not have to cut down children. He did not have to.
Children. Definition: the youngsters of any race. Before the
younglings in the temple there were the Sand People, the tiny ones,
J'Wratha and Taraka and those are only two, sliced apart in front
of their mother. He was damned before the temple. Do you
understand?
If
you do not: we return to Shmi. And here she is:
force ghost!Anakin's adventures in being an asshole even while dead. go.
Here is how
it does not happen: Anakin Skywalker dies. Fluid mouldering in his
lungs, internal organs collapsing into puddles of useless rancid
slurry, blood thickening with toxins – but he dies at peace, he
dies with his eyes wide open, he dies with his son (his beloved and
only boy) crouched over him and he wakes on the other side with
softness and light gracing his unscarred brow, his wife at his side,
flowers twisted in the starlit curls of her hair.
This is how
it does not happen: the ghost of Anakin Skywalker is a thin, flimsy
thing, coming to life here and there, always bright blue, always
smiling, offering paternal advice to those who would listen.
This is
another thing that does not happen: Rey sees a strange man cresting
the red dunes and she never sees his face, only the brightness of
his eyes, and she is comforted – for she does not know his name,
only that he is a kindly force, only that even in the feral iron
heart of Jakku she is watched over.
Here is
something that does happen: “Listen to me, you bastard, you
bastard, you have to listen –” and Kylo Ren does not hear.
Rather: he chooses not to hear. He is meditating. Sunmatter dances
around him, catching on the flick-curl of his blackened cape. Well.
He thinks that it is sunmatter; this is what Snoke has told him it
is; and so this is what he believes; and of course it is not
sunmatter but the fire-bright venom of Anakin Skywalker’s ghost.
He’s not white-blue and delicate. He is burning.
Of
course he burns:
he’s full of fury and everything I died for you are
unmaking and if you
want I will tell you how it feels to die drowning in your blood I
will tell you and if
you lay a hand – a finger – on my
children, my darlings, then grandson or not I will show
you –
“You
tore down every I built!” Padme
screamed, when she saw him for the first time. His mouth
half-cooked. His body spectral and quivering. And his lovely wife –
no longer delicate and pale as a shivering lily but quicksilver and
burning, bright as Alderaan falling into dust. Livid spots of colour
on her cheeks. “You burned my diplomacy! I loved you but Maker
above – I loved the council just as much – my sweet children
were torn from my arms – I loved you so much and you destroyed
everything I loved –”
My
darling –
I love
you –
You were
everything good in my world; the only good thing in my world –
Skywalker,
Skywalker, she
had said, that is
the – that was the problem –
So here is the boy Anakin Skywalker, skin full of fire, and his
afterlife is anything but easy.
You
wouldn’t,
his son says to him, slack-jawed with horror, he’s
your grandson, he’s –
He’s
destroying everything I built. You know I once knew a good woman.
And she watched as someone she loved burn all she loved down. And
she let him live. And I won’t make her mistake. Do you understand?
You’re
not Vader anymore; you don’t have to be so ruthless,
Luke says, fretful and old and when did he become so old? Why does
he look so much like Kenobi, bent-backed against the assault of the
Force?
“This isn’t Vader,” says Anakin Skywalker, “this is all me.”
And it is true. He is a soldier. He is the saviour of the known and
unknown world. He was torn from his mother’s arms and given a sword
to hold instead of a hand. How else could he grow up? How else could
he die?
Listen
to me listen to me listen to me he
snarls in Kylo Ren’s ear and with each day the boy listens less and
Anakin tries less. He is dead and he is furious and perhaps this is
hell; this irony. He tore down Padme’s love and her lifework and now
he must watch a sickly imitation of Vader do the same to his love,
to his life.
Kylo
Ren will, one day, lift his lightsabre against his mother – or his
uncle. The blow will never fall. Anakin will pour his fury and fire
and limitless power into the boy’s skull and burn him from the
inside out. One day, the Knight of Ren will attempt to fufill what
he thinks is Vader’s legacy. One day, he will learn – too late –
that Vader is nothing, nothing, nothing compared to the anger of
Anakin Skywalker.
Imagine if Alya and Marinette got into an argument because Alya was tired of Marinette never facing her fears and talking to Adrien. So Marinette, enraged and determined to prove Alya wrong, storms over to Adrien and says “You wanna go?!?”
It’s only after Adrien nervously chuckles and hesitantly backs away that she realizes that she forgot the “to the movies with me” part of her sentence
Aliens invade Earth and everyone finds out that they’re actually huge nerds who fall in love too easily and really love cats.
See now this is great because it basically implies that the aliens invade Earth, guns a-blazing, and STOP DEAD the first time they see a cat and do the standard “OOOOH FUZZY THING” coo and drop their guns and the cat’s owner comes out and makes friends with the aliens and suddenly the invasion turns into…like a very large parade with a lot of cats and alien affection.
Okay, curse you all, now I have all sorts of headcanons for
That One Where Padmé and Anakin Are Pen Pals.
So Padmé gives Anakin her com frequency before he leaves
Naboo at the end of TPM, because she cares about this kid and she wants to make
sure he’s all right, and she doesn’t know that the Jedi non-attachment rule is
going to mean he’s not supposed to keep in touch with her at all.
When she doesn’t hear from him at first she figures he’s
probably really busy, settling in and starting his Jedi training and all that,
so she gives him time.
But when she still doesn’t hear from him eventually she gets
worried and shoots him a quick message, basically just “Hey how are you?”
It takes him a while to reply and when he does it’s not
anything Padmé was expecting. “The Council says I’m not supposed to talk to you
because you’re an attachment, like my mom, and I have to let you go if I’m
going to be a Jedi. But I want to
keep talking to you. You’re my friend.”
So now Padmé’s all righteously angry so she says, “Well to
hell with that. You’re my friend too. So how are you with encryptions?”
And Anakin sends back some super goofy winking space emoji
and he’s like, “I grew up in the Quarters we have a secret language and also me
and Kitster had a code I’ve got this.”
concept: Aliens who have absolutely no cultural or personal use for humor as a concept, but are very adept at figuring out socio-linguistic systems and how to manipulate them. Being funny makes humans more comfortable and easier to negotiate with, and it’s easy enough once you familiarize yourself with a particular culture and set your speech synthesizers to the correct setting.
and i mean sure eventually they’re great at it, but at some point in time a group of haggard aliens in a room somewhere compare notes on irony, hyperbole, and cultural references, with one exhausted individual clicking “No, Gxiiijhux VIII, puns are a no-go, puns are counterproductive, I don’t care if Susan emitted optimal pleasure decibels, everyone else in that room hated you.”
Gxiiijhux VIII finds xemself unexpectedly annoyed at the Merchant-Leader’s correction.
Although further experience indicates that the Merchant-Leader is right about the puns, Gxiiijhux VIII somehow cannot help xemself from clicking out several more of them during the next negotiation session. (All of the humans in the room groan except for Susan, who, again, emits optimal pleasure decibels)
“You need to stop,” the Merchant Leader clicks in frustration.
(But Gxiiijhux VIII can’t seem to stop.)
Gxiiijhux VIII realizes halfway through the trade negotiations that xie is more interested in causing Susan to emit the optimal pleasure decibels than in the successful negotiation of a lucrative trade regulation treaty. This causes xem much stress and confusion.
Eventually, the marriage of Gxiiijhux VIII and Susan is included as a feature of the treaty.
(Gxiiijhux VIII’s former associates breathe a sigh of relief as the merchant ship pulls away from the space station, leaving Gxiiijhux VIII, Susan, and the terrible puns behind.)
Gxiiijhux VIII never does quite get the human concept of humor, but xie is quite content to spend xyr life listening to Susan make the optimal pleasure decibel sounds anyway.
