Anonymous asked: (unfollowed for reylo, which is triggering to me as an abuse survivor)
I…did not intend to reblog anything as Reylo as I firmly do not ship it myself, partly because it is dubious with some heavy abuse overtones (not my jam) and partly because there’s like a 90% chance they’re first degree relatives (REALLY not my jam). My interest in the two of them is more because he seems determined to batter himself to pieces on Rey, which is a dynamic I recognize as being very unhealthy and also find very interesting as a writer. I am sincerely sorry that you found it upsetting (fairly sure I know the post you mean), but not that I find the dynamic interesting.
I am glad you are taking care of yourself, though, and hope that your recovery is going well. You probably won’t see this, but in the event that you do, I want you to know that I am proud of you for surviving and withstanding. I know how hard it can be, some days, to hear the whispers of those who hurt you in the voices of those who haven’t, or see their shadows cast over the things and people you love. You have survived and that makes you strong even on the days when you don’t believe it.
every time i reread ootp i reach a new level of hatred for umbridge like i always think i’ve reached my maximum hatred for her but then i flip the page and its like NOPE THE LEVELS ARE FUCKING RISING AGAIN
(via lupinatic)
One of my neighbours slipped this under my door while I was practising, I thought they were going to make a noise complaint but they just had a request. I played it with my windows open and I heard really loud clapping come from a balcony a few stories up which was super lovely. I’m in such a lovely mood now it’s so nice to be appreciated.
(Source: hardertofind, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
Anonymous asked: So how do you think Rey accepting Kylo's offer to teach her would go down? It seems less like she would accept immediately and more like she would slowly, year by year, conflict by conflict, edge a little closer to saying yes. Well, provided the thought festered in her mind enough.
I could teach you the ways of the Force—
i. The fifth time, he is on his hands and knees in the mud of Daluuj, rain sluicing over the both of them, turning her into a shaking, drowned thing, hair plastered to the fine line of her skull. He can only imagine what he looks like—panting like a winded bantha and gritting his teeth around the pain, down on his belly in the filth.
There are two lightsabers in her hand (both of them his, one by blood, the other the work of his hands.) He hopes, with a bright bitterness, the cracked crystal chooses that moment to fly apart, and swallow her in light.
It does not. Instead, she steps forward, rests a hand on the wet tangle of his hair, very gently, like he is a wild animal to be quieted. (He wants to twist, bite out the soft skin of her wrist, bury his teeth in the tangled thread of veins and nerves and pull, tear. He wants to eat her whole.)
She says, stop asking me that.
ii. He is always asking from his knees, flat to the earth, down on the ground in the mud and snow and grass (once, still spitting out pond scum, green at the corners of his mouth.) She stands above him ever, a tower, a pillar, a thing unmoved. He could batter himself to death against her, and the rain would wash away the blood and she wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t care.
He thinks about tearing down those ramparts, finding the fear he knew still lingered in her, curled up like a sleeping animal. (It was all he had recognized in her mind; everything else was so bright.)
He never tries to coax her out, to persuade her to open the gates and allow him inside. He’s only ever been the tower, or the lightning that fell on it; anything else would be futility. No one welcomes the lightning in because it spoke a few honeyed words.
Also, it never occurs to him to try.
iii. The twelfth time, it’s Glottal and he is on his back, thinking that he should not have worn his cloak—the humidity is thick enough to choke on, and this fight was particularly vicious. She had wanted to end it quickly, and he had not wanted to let her. He tastes salt and blood, when he licks at his lips.
She crouches down beside him, cocks her head. what would you teach me? she asks.
It’s the first time he’s ever seen her eyes without the refracted red and blue of their lightsabers to fill them. They are dark, which he had not expected. The ways of the Force.
She glances down at his body, which struggles under the great invisible weight that will not let him rise, nor reach for his lightsaber. I already know the ways of the Force. What else?
He bares his teeth. Is this how you used to bargain for scraps on Jakku, scavenger?
Yes. What else?
The lightsaber forms. The ancient ones, developed by Jedi and Sith, not some half-trained moisture farmer.
Again, she glances away, this time at his abandoned lightsaber. I think I can manage. What else?
I’ll give you the coordinates for the Stormtrooper training and conditioning facilities, he says after a moment, because he remembers the way she wept over FN-2187 on Starkiller. The Resistance would never pass up a chance to save innocent children from the clutches of the First Order, he knows. He has to believe—
She is perfectly still, resting on her haunches, studying him with those dark eyes. Two locations now, she says finally, as proof of good faith. Next time we can discuss terms. I was a good scavenger, she says, and there’s something almost like a smile, tugging at the corner of her mouth. I was never swindled or cheated, and I don’t intend to start with you.
You never answered my question, you know, she says as they ready themselves to return to their separate ships, carefully standing two lightsabers’ lengths apart. What could I learn from you, Kylo Ren?
The back of his throat is thick with blood and bile, and he has no answer.
iv. Two major Stormtrooper training and conditioning centers burn. The next time they meet, she is a tower, a pillar—but tired-eyed too, and he imagines he can still smell the acrid smoke in her hair, see the bruises from where a hundred small hands reached up to hers, begging sanctuary, sanctuary.
you need a teacher, he says. The hilt of his lightsaber remains in his hand, unignited.
what for? she laughs hollowly. (She does not even reach for hers.)
For a long moment, they stare at one another, and there is only rushing wind. Finally, he says, you do not have to be this.
(he means: tired and bruised, he means, a tower, he means, a thing unmoved, standing over him always. he means: he does not know what he means. he has never tried to articulate it before, not-having-to-be.)
She recoils as though he has struck her—but he has struck her before, and this is worse, the way her eyes open into wounds he did not mean to inflict. And I suppose you are the one to teach me that lesson? she asks, her voice cold as the Outer Rim. Tell me, Ben—did you have to be this?.
(He eventually gives her coordinates for the other three conditioning facilities, the heat from her lightsaber pushing at the softness of his throat. She generously breaks his nose with her boot, before going.)
v. The twenty-third time, he is lying on the floor of Snoke’s chamber, and most of the blood is not his. (Snoke had bled and bled and bled, and he had kept hacking, screaming through mouthfuls of foul ichor, pushing all his pain and fury and didihavetobethisdidyouhavetomakemethis into every blow, even when Snoke’s lightsaber buried itself in his belly, when the Force reached into him and snapped and crushed, and kept breaking—)
hey, he says, though it comes out slurred, half-choking. He can’t seem to draw breath. scavenger, hey. scavenger—I know what I can teach you now.
He is dimly aware of her hands, thin pressure on his skin as though to hold in blood no longer there. Somewhere above him, Leia Organa is screaming for a medic, and he feels a dull pang of regret for that, if nothing else. (something of the boy who once was, cannot bear to see mother cry.) The rest is right though, is fitting (he is always on his knees, on his back, down in the filth and looking up at the ramparts) and
scavenger, he says. She is looking down at him with wide, dark eyes. There is blood on her cheek; he imagines it is his. scavenger, I can teach you this—I can show you how to die. watch carefully, I’ll only demonstrate it once.
don’t—she says in an uncertain voice.
no, you need a teacher, I’ve been saying so since the beginning. watch. watch. are you watching? say ‘yes m—’
In Captain America: Civil War I don’t want Bucky to be some lost little puppy. I want him to be all, “May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won’t.” I want him kicking ass and taking no prisoners. When Bucky has figured himself out, everyone who ever wronged him or Steve better watch their backs because there is going to be a motherfucking reckoning.
(via thepainofthesass)
uwro:
Your friendly neighbourhood mercenary is here to help you clean your dash
the movie was p awesome
Deadpool is cleaning up all the bad “mojo” from any of those “if you don’t reblog this X will happen”, thanks Deadpool.
(via academicfeminist)
[video]
Oh shit. No.
Shit.
Thank youJust gonna reblog this out of gratitude because I actually did forget…
(Source: sexioto, via ripleytwd)
leverage season 1: let’s help a hardworking, honest young patriotic veteran w/ a disability who just wants to get back to the workforce
leverage season 3: let’s steal a federal witness and set him up for murder, fuck the courts. let’s steal the department of defense it’s not treason as long as we give it back probably.
leverage finale: lets fucking find out every company who got a government bailout they didn’t earn after the crash and DESTROY THEM. destroy the us banking system destroy the companies let’s take on interpol to do it goddammit
leverage if they’d gotten another season, presumably: lets travel back in time and kidnap george washington and then steal the declaration of independence and erase all eagles from existence by stealing the first ever eagle
leverage the movie: Donald Trump is president. Let’s go steal America.
(via letsgostealafandom)
Reblogging because the rest of the world needs to learn to move their lighthouses.
Because they are blocking freedom.
canada is a trilingual country we speak english, french, and passive-aggressive
(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
