Poe’s heard it for years. It’s a joke he hears in the barracks, in the war rooms; it’s the first joke they tell the new recruits: Don’t worry, buddy, stormtroopers can’t shoot. Stormtroopers couldn’t hit the Death Star if they were in its orbit. Stormtroopers couldn’t hit a rancour in a closet. We’ll come back safe and sound, his friends say as a farewell, we’ll be fine: You know that stormtroopers can’t shoot.
Stormtroopers can’t shoot, they say, but Poe knows it’s not true, because he’s standing here with Finn’s hand on his arm and Finn is looking at him with such goodness in his eyes and saying he’s here to rescue him, Poe Dameron, and Poe knows in that instant that everything everyone’s ever said about stormtroopers is wrong, all wrong, because here is Finn, wearing his goodness shining all over him like shining armour, and it hits Poe right in the heart.
They say stormtroopers can’t shoot, but here is Finn in the copilot’s seat of their TIE, his back pressed against Poe’s, and they are working in tandem like they’ve done this for years, like they’ve trained together and fought together and sweated together, felt each other’s fear and tasted glory together, like they have been fighting on the same side all along. Here is Finn, aiming to kill, taking a shot at the institution that told him he was nothing but a number and a pair of arms meant for holding guns. He’s a good shot, someone you’d want by your side in a furball. Someone you’d want by your side, through thick and thin.
They say stormtroopers can’t shoot, but here is Finn, fighting for what he believes in, rushing to save the ones he loves, and when he sees Finn, ready to race after his friend no matter where it will take him, it is then that Poe knows he wants it for himself: Finn’s devotion, his loyalty, his love. This is it. This is all he wants. He wants Finn fighting for him.
Here is Finn, doing what he believes to be right, and Poe’s always had a type, anyone could tell you; he has fallen in love with stories of knights and warriors, the ones who fight for justice and peace, and here is Poe, still reeling from Finn’s dark eyes and careful hands, and he never had a chance, he’s a standing target, and Finn’s aim is true.
Here is Finn, smiling right at him, and It hits Poe right in the heart.
It’s instant, it’s fatal, and they say stormtroopers can’t shoot.
Wherever a fatal car crash or pedestrian death occurs, a red square with the year of the accident should be permanently included in the pavement. Seeing a lot of red squares in a given location would make drivers and pedestrians more careful.
I am broke as shit, so I’m writing my best friend smut of my characters for her birthday present (which is WAY belated). A-yup. This is where I’m at with my life. She’s a good person to put up with me. I don’t even write particularly good smut.
Please do not use the term “spirit animal”. The flippant use with which it’s been thrown around is a mockery and degradation of the sacredness that connection is suppose to represent, and has a lot of cultural significance to those of us who have it within our cultures.
Please do not use spirit animal. Please do not use spirit animal. I feel like the importance and sacredness of that aspect of my life has been made into a giant f’ing joke by people and that feels really shitty. It was one of my ways in which I could connect with my heritage, and like everything else it seems like people are so willing to just mock it by taking it and using it however they want. You want to mean “no disrespect”? Then stop using it and call other people out on it, because the use of it by non-indigenous people who don’t belong to those cultures is disrespectful. Full stop.
All right, so I was tagged by @littlestartopaz, so let’s do the thing!
That one time, I wrote a 350 page novel by accident and, you know what, I have self-esteem issues, but fuck me, it’s a pretty decent novel.
I have a good sense of pitch and a fairly nice low alto voice, so I can sing pretty well even though I can’t read sheet music for crap.
I can do complicated organic chemistry in my head, and my teacher is keeping the dream of making me his protege alive.
I had someone get ahold of me today and thank me for my medical equality tirades and it was a nice reminder that, hey, fuck, my “fight me” mentality is gonna help me save lives someday, hell yeah.
LATINE SCIO, BITCHES. (Y’know what, it’s been my first really good day in a while, so I’m gonna do ten.)
I have broad shoulders, the kind of shoulders that are good for throwing a punch and lifting an injured person and making myself look menacing.
Related to #6, I do ‘menacing’ pretty well for a 5′ girl, if I do say so myself, and I can always carry through on my threat.
I am really good at making sure stories and universes are logical and internally consistent.
I don’t do ‘gentle’ very well, but I’m very good at ‘steady,’ which in my experience is almost as good.
I started college at 16, I’m gonna have a BA by 20, and honestly that’s impressive as shit.
Adding “as you do” after describing something that nobody does.
“So he went to hell to pick up his dead wife’s soul, as you do.”
“So she climbed up the tower with her robot hands, as you do.”
one time in an actual conversation I said something along the lines of “I made a flamethrower with a lighter and a can of compressed air, as you do” and the guy I was talking to was like “…no? I don’t???”
Oh God, I say this all the time, and when I started my junior year of college I was talking to someone in my Organic Chemistry class and I said “So I switched my major to pre-med at the end of my sophomore year and I’m gonna do it in two years rather than four, as you do,” and his jaw just dropped and he went “I absolutely do NOT.”
“The first time he calls you holy,
you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.
The second time,
you moan gospel around his fingers
between your teeth.
He has always surprised
you into surprising yourself.
Because he’s an angel hiding his halo
behind his back and
nothing has ever felt so filthy
as plucking the wings from his shoulders—
undressing his softness
one feather at a time.
God, if you’re out there,
if you’re listening,
he fucks like a seraphim,
and there’s no part of scripture
that ever prepared you for his hands.
Hands that map a communion
in the cradle of your hips.
Hands that kiss hymns up your sides.
He confesses how long he’s looked
for a place to worship and,oh,
you put him on his knees.
When he sinks to the floor and moans
like he can’t help himself,
you wonder if the other angels
fell so sweet.
He says his prayers between your thighs
and you dig your heels into the base of his spine
until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue.
You will ruin him and he will thank you;
he will say please.
No damnation ever looked as cozy as this,
but you fit over his hips like they
were made for you.You fit, you fit, you fit.
On top of him, you are an ancient god
that only he remembers and he
offers up his skin.
And you take it.
Who knew sacrifice was so profane?
And once you’ve taught him how to hold
your throat in one hand
and your heart in the other,
you will have forgotten every other word,
except his name.”—PROFANE, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
Shoutout to all those people that have jobs like cleaning the bathrooms in rest areas or gas stations, to the people that take out the trash and wash dishes in restaurants, school janitors, house maids. You’re doing jobs that don’t get much recognition but are some of the toughest. stay awesome
Has anyone written Mad Max: Fury Road in the form of an epic poem of some kind?
… give me a few weeks
Speak, Teller, of the mad wanderer, the wastes-man, the driver, Rockatansky; Thirst-mad, solitude-mad, angry at the sky and the dust and the world mad; Humungus defeated, Thunderdome fled and burnt, Sky-Tribe flown to Sydney Savior and unsaved, alone and now hunted, fleeing toward nothing!
In the hands of Joe Immortan his madness does not free him Hung for blood and bleeding, wanderer-trophy, fury futile-fading Who is madder than the wanderer? Whose fury surpasses the madman’s? Furiosa Iron-Handed! Furiosa Woman-Thieving!
With cunning the war-rig taken with stealth the five wives stolen; Waste-crossing bravely fleeing to the wet-place nigh-forgotten; War-boys all shouting, pursuing and flaming Doof loudly playing; Blood-bag Max still hanging, car by thieves still driven chains still unbroken.
… showoff
*grumbles*
(do some more :D)
Into the storm drove Furiosa flaying sand would not deter her; A single war-boy flush with Max-blood for his master chased the bride-thief; Nux his name and short his half-life, Immortan’s glance his heart’s desire; Max-car Nux-car chased the War-Rig half-life hands could not control it.
Free’d the wanderer barely man now bound in muzzle tongue unspeaking; Found the Iron-Hand working iron saw the water in the wasteland; Gazed on Cheedo Dag and Toast then, Angharad Capable also; Stole from Wife-Thief then the War Rig did the Wanderer in his madness!
Fury and cunning both together were the marks of Furiosa; Barely stone’s-throw did he drive it; hopeless when the War-rig stopped; In her mercy brave Furiosa made a compact with the Madman; All for freedom: them, the clean girls, leave the war-boy let him die.
Atilliator: skilled castle worker who made crossbows.
Baliff: in charge of allotting jobs to the peasants, building repair, and repair of tools used by the peasants.
Barber: someone who cut hair. Also served as dentists, surgeons and blood-letters.
Blacksmith: forged and sharpened tools and weapons, beat
out dents in armor, made hinges for doors, and window grills. Also
referred to as Smiths.
Bottler: in charge of the buttery or bottlery.
Butler: cared for the cellar and was in charge of large
butts and little butts (bottles) of wine and beer. Under him a staff of
people might consist of brewers, tapsters, cellarers, dispensers,
cupbearers and dapifer.
Carder: someone who brushed cloth during its manufacture.
Carpenter: built flooring, roofing, siege engines, furniture, panelling for rooms, and scaffoling for building.
Carters: workmen who brought wood and stone to the site of a castle under construction.
Castellan: resident owner or person in charge of a castle (custodian).
Chamberlain: responsible for the great chamber and for the personal finances of the castellan.
Chaplain: provided spirtual welfare for laborers and the
castle garrison. The duties might also include supervising building
operations, clerk, and keeping accounts. He also tended to the chapel.
Clerk: a person who checked material costs, wages, and kept accounts.
Constable: a person who took care (the governor or
warden) of a castle in the absence of the owner. This was sometimes
bestowed upon a great baron as an honor and some royal castles had
hereditary constables.
Cook: roasted, broiled, and baked food in the fireplaces and ovens.
Cottars: the lowest of the peasantry. Worked as swine-herds, prison guards, and did odd jobs.
Ditcher: worker who dug moats, vaults, foundations and mines.
Dyer: someone who dyed cloth in huge heated vats during its manufacture.
Ewerer: worker who brought and heated water for the nobles.
Falconer: highly skilled expert responsible for the care and training of hawks for the sport of falconry.
Fuller: worker who shrinks & thickens cloth fibers through wetting & beating the material.
Glaziers: a person who cut and shaped glass.
Gong Farmer: a latrine pit emptier.
Hayward: someone who tended the hedges.
Herald: knights assistant and an expert advisor on heraldry.
Keeper of the Wardrobe: in charge of the tailors and laundress.
Knight: a professional soldier. This was achieved only after long and arduous training which began in infancy.
Laird: minor baron or small landlord.
Marshal: officer in charge of a household’s horses,
carts, wagons, and containers. His staff included farriers, grooms,
carters, smiths and clerks. He also oversaw the transporting of goods.
Master Mason: responsible for the designing and overseeing the building of a structure.
Messengers: servants of the lord who carried receipts, letters, and commodities.
Miner: skilled professional who dug tunnels for the purpose of undermining a castle.
Minstrels: part of of the castle staff who provided entertainment in the form of singing and playing musical instruments.
Porter: took care of the doors (janitor), particularly
the main entrance. Responsible for the guardrooms. The person also
insured that no one entered or left the castle withour permission. Also
known as the door-ward.
Reeve: supervised the work on lord’s property. He
checked that everyone began and stopped work on time, and insured
nothing was stolen. Senior officer of a borough.
Sapper: an unskilled person who dug a mine or approach tunnel.
Scullions: responsible for washing and cleaning in the kitchen.
Shearmen: a person who trimmed the cloth during its manufacture.
Shoemaker: a craftsman who made shoes. Known also as Cordwainers.
Spinster: a name given to a woman who earned her living
spinning yarn. Later this was expanded and any unmarried woman was
called a spinster.
Steward: took care of the estate and domestic
administration. Supervised the household and events in the great hall.
Also referred to as a Seneschal.
Squire: attained at the age of 14 while training as a
knight. He would be assigned to a knight to carry and care for the
weapons and horse.
Watchmen: an official at the castle responsible for security. Assited by lookouts (the garrison).
Weaver: someone who cleaned and compacted cloth, in association with the Walker and Fuller.
Woodworkers: tradesmen called Board-hewers who worked in the forest, producing joists and beams.
Other medieval jobs included:
tanners, soap makers, cask makers, cloth makers, candle makers
(chandlers), gold and silver smiths, laundresses, bakers, grooms, pages,
huntsmen, doctors, painters, plasterers, and painters, potters, brick
and tile makers, glass makers, shipwrights, sailors, butchers,
fishmongers, farmers, herdsmen, millers, the clergy, parish priests,
members of the monastic orders, innkeepers, roadmenders, woodwards (for
the
forests). slingers.
Other Domestic jobs inside the castle or manor:
Personal atendants- ladies-in-waiting, chamber maids, doctor.
The myriad of people involved in the preparation and serving
of meals- brewers, poulterer, fruiterers, slaughterers, dispensers, cooks and the cupbearers.
Great-looking teeth come from two things: luck and money (which is also a function of luck).
Dental procedures tend to be very, very expensive, and are almost never covered by insurance.
Healthy teeth aren’t necessarily big, straight or bright white. Depending on what someone’s natural teeth are like, achieving that look may require a significant downgrade in their dental health; unnecessary crowns and veneers cause damage.
Do not underestimate genetics’ role in determining teeth’s appearance, or how prone teeth are to problems. Genes and early development, i.e. things people get zero control over, can outweigh all else.
A wide range of chronic conditions impact oral health and teeth’s appearance, too, and may contraindicate various types of work or raise procedures’ cost even more.
Finally, for many people and many reasons, celebrity-looking teeth just aren’t a priority (even when they’re attainable; some people might want, y’know, a new car instead).
Regardless, don’t be an asshole. Not even very attractive teeth look good on those.
There should be affordable universities for people who just want to continue learning throughout life. Not to get a degree, or a better job; just a place to learn, foster ideas and meet others who are doing the same.
If you ever date an asexual person be sure to get the specifics of their asexuality because the level of comfort with physical contact is different for all of us.
YES THIS IS SERIOUSLY IMPORTANT
Also—this needs to be an ongoing conversation. Sometimes things are ok for us and sometimes they’re not. Permission once is not permission forever.
If you claim to be a feminist and you shame girls for wanting to do traditional things like take their husband’s last name or be a house wife then you are doing it all completely wrong.
Feminism isn’t an elite group who defeats gender norms, it’s a group who accepts ALLwomen’s choices.
Do y’all have a particular movement that indicates that you’ve gone from ‘kind of involved’ to ‘ready to Fucking Go’?
Let me give you an example. I was talking to a buddy of mine about television and the decline thereof, and I was kind of casually involved in the conversation with my feet kicked up on another chair and my chair tilted back onto the rear legs, and then he mentioned Supernatural and there was this loud thud as my chair went back onto all fours and I pulled my legs in and sat up straight. My roommate’s immediate response was “moRAN NO YOU HAVE CLASS.” Naturally I ignored her completely and went “okay, you wanna talk about Supernatural, we’re going to need some time, do you have an hour to listen to me bitch.”
Another example would be the time I kind of greyed out and ripped someone to shreds verbally and later my roommate said that she knew it was going to happen because I straightened up and folded my hands on the deck of my computer.
if i ever misgender you or use slang (bro, man, gurl, dude) that makes you feel even slightly uncomfortable please tell me because your gender identity and comfort is more important than any word i may use to refer to you
i don’t know how anyone could possibly risk plagiarising on purpose like i am so god damn terrified of accidental plagiarism that every time i submit something on turnitin i can literally feel my individual arm hairs standing on end as i wait for the police to show up at my door and arrest me for writing a string of words too similar to some paper about the mating habits of hoot owls from 1965
listen. there’s nothing “boring” about ships that are stable and built on mutual trust and respect. there can be angst and drama and all those juicy bits without the characters being absolutely abysmal to each other all the damn time
