Ok so I know I’ve seen a few posts about the Organa-Solos passing baby Ben back and forth and spoiling him rotten while rebuilding the Republic but also consider:
Chewbacca
Big, loud, belligerent, protective, huggable Chewbacca toting his best friend’s kid around
You know what, I’m doubling down on this. Give me a Kylo Ren who not only understands spoken Wookie but can also speak it with a passable accent because Chewbacca babysat him so much when he was bitty. Give me a confrontation between them in Episode IIX where Chewy is screaming at him and Kylo Ren just starts irately yodeling back.
YES PLEASE MAKE IT SO
Chewie has a life debt toward Han that includes Han’s family, so YES LET’S DO THIS IT IS CANON
And honestly, I think that the whole “millennials are so entitled” thing is just to gaslight young people with shitty jobs into thinking they’re crazy for expecting basic decency and respect.
Every year, the International Conference on the Fantastic in the Arts (ICFA) delves into the themes and ideas of science fiction and fantasy. And this year, according to attendee Cecilia Tan, one big topic was the idea that Harry Potter's Wizarding World is "a metaphor for racism."
It is the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. School is starting again. And the thestrals are confused by all of the attention they are getting.
oh
oh no
you BITCH
WHY IS THIS NOT A THING I’VE CONSIDERED?
No. NO. Sit the fuck down, we’re going to talk about this.
The year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Students nervously climbing into the carriages (no first years, thank god, no one wants to think about that) and eyeing the creatures in front of them. Is this some sort of stunt? Like a memorial?
Hagrid showing the fifth years the thestrals. He wonders if he should, if this is asking too much, but he thinks it would be wrong to keep the truth from them. There are more in the class who can see them than those who can’t.
He wakes to a knock on his door after nightfall. For a second he thinks it’s those three again, but no, that’s not right. He shuffles to the door, holding Fang down behind him, and finds a wide-eyed second year on his doorstep. They came to ask about the horses.
Hagrid isn’t one to turn someone away, so he ushers the child inside and puts the kettle on. He explains they’re not quite horses. They’re gentle creatures, really. Yes, you have to…you have to have seen things to see them, too. But they wouldn’t do anyone harm.
Can he see them? Why, yes, he can, has for the longest time. Ever since his Dad…ever since…
Hagrid stops for a moment, unable to speak. But the child at his table waits patiently, understanding. This is not the first time they have heard someone’s voice catch on the words. It’s reassuring, somehow, hearing an adult share the same problem.
They drink a pot of tea before Hagrid sees the kid back to the school, Fang loping along beside them. It’s reassuring to have these two massive, almost comical forms tromping to the front door. Safe.
Hagrid warns not to go out after dark again. If you want to visit, come along any time in the day.
The next time he opens his door, there are three. Third years, this time. They know a little more, more than they ought to, he thinks. Makes him feel nostalgic.
He sits them down as before and has a long talk. They’re less open, keep glancing at each other as they speak, but he can see they have questions. It’s just a matter of waiting them out.
This goes on for weeks. Hagrid sees a steady stream of students at his door until he’s sure at least half the school has walked across his mat at some point. One day McGonagall approaches him and suggests a change in the curriculum. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to move a few things up on the syllabus? If he’s willing, of course.
Hagrid leads more students into the forest. He sees their faces, eyes wide with fear, as they see the creatures in the light of day. He patiently explains that they’re quiet animals, don’t much like a lot of noise. Easier to manage, certainly. That’s why they pull the school carriages.
He finds taking them once isn’t enough. Students keep asking to see the thestrals. Bewildered, he takes them back again and again, watching as the kids sidle up to stroke the long, black wings. They hold out bits of meat to the sharp beaks and whisper calming words under their breath.
Gradually, the looks of fear subside into something else. More than once he hears someone say these things are all right. Kids show up at his doorstep to ask about what he does and what kinds of animals he’s seen. Someone even says they might like to be a teacher like he is someday.
He doesn’t know what to say to that. His eyes glisten and he makes a sound like a trumpet as he blows his nose. He hears a giggle when he knocks over the umbrella stand with his elbow.
Things have changed, he thinks. He leads children into the forest because they ask, not because they’ve been punished. Students are clambering to get into his classes when it used to be seen as a last resort. People don’t stare up at him with suspicion or fear when he walks the halls these days.
They aren’t afraid of monsters anymore. They fear the people who become them.
Hi, my name is Cara and I’m a 21 year old woman. Every 28 days, give or take, I have a period. And it fucking sucks. Today, was one of those where I take from the 28 day cycle. I wasn’t due for another period for at least a week, but considering that my period is pretty much permanently irregular, I get to wake up a lot of mornings in a pool of my own blood. Hmm. Lovely.
I then proceed to dump my sheets, my underwear, and my pajamas in my laundry room in a tub filled with cold water, with the hopes that this time I haven’t ruined them permanently.
What next? Well, a shower of course! To wipe off the smell of rotting blood from my body! Squeaky clean and towel fresh I have about a two minute window before the volcano of blood begins to erupt again from my vagina.
What will it be today? A piece of chlorinated toilet paper cardboard with a string that I get to shove up my hole wherein the blood will sit and rot until the next time I can shove another piece of chlorinated cardboard up the same hole? Or, a plastic lined toilet paper diaper attached to my underwear that causes rug burn to my vaginal area when I walk? Well the later requires less coordination, and it is early, so I guess I’ll be sitting in a period diaper today. The best ever.
Of course, I could always just get birth control, and lessen this whole shit. But 1) I can’t afford it 2) I can’t ask my dad to pay for it because, guess what? Just like the men who run my government, my father correlates birth control with sexual promiscuity! Thus, sitting on my rotting blood, undergoing severe cramps that have on more than one occasion caused me to black out, it is! (Not that birth control is such a walk in the park either, our bodies have to learn to deal with the hormones and other chemicals and consequences that birth control entails.)
Then, I get to go to class, where I have to pretend that I am not a leaky faucet of blood and tissue. I get to sit in Calculus, and if heaven forbid, I need an additional pad, I have to be discrete about it, so as not to offend the men’s gentle sensibilities to the fact that I am the one dropping tissues and blood from my body through my vagina.
I once asked a male to take me to the pharmacy so that I could pick up (GASP) pads, or as we like to call it “feminine products” (again, so as not to offend the gentlemen’s overly sensitive natures) and had him equate me talking about my period to him talking about his erections.
ARE
YOU
FUCKING
KIDDING
ME
No.
This is nothing like your fucking erection’s. I don’t derive any enjoyment from this. I can’t mentally control any ounce of this entire process. I can’t masturbate my problem away. My period does not end in orgasm.
It stays. For at least five days in my case. Draining blood out of my body. Causing me severe cramps, making me irritable -not because I’m uncomfortable (which mind you, would be reason enough) - but because my hormones are all over the place, bloating me up to two sizes larger than I normally am, I have to actively fight not to smell like a fish market, and on top of that, you want me to be hush-hush about this? Because it’s icky for you?
And this is not an attack on that one man, this is an attack on ALL MEN who on top of sitting on their throne of gender privilege want me to stay quiet and be content about the fact that five days out of every month I get to undergo this happiest of joys.
And then, these very same men have the audacity to get annoyed because we don’t want to listen to their bullshit complaining about traffic? Or whatever other meaningless story they happen to tell us while our bodies are actively fighting against us? Then we get to be the butt of their tired-ass jokes? Sorry, I am most certainly not sorry.
I repeat NO. I say women come out of the period closet and say, “You know what, this happens to me. Every. Fucking. Month. And it’s terrible. LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY MORNING.” Because the truth is, if I live in a country where Viagra is covered by medical insurance, but birth control isn’t, I can no longer keep denying that I live in a country that is actively waging a war on women. And if I live in a country that is actively waging war on my sex, the least I am going to do is break patriarchal social propriety to inform anyone and everyone of the shit biological process I was BLESSED enough to be born into.
Hello, my name is Cara, I’m a 21 year old woman, and today I’m on my period. Let me fucking tell you about it.
Steve’s introduction to social media started off as Tony’s idea of a joke. After he’d been out of the ice for a few months, Steve was irritatingly well-adjusted, and Tony couldn’t resist pushing a few buttons. So, one day, Steve got a message on his S.H.I.E.L.D. email (“Email!? You understand email?” “Of course. It’s just like a telegram on a screen.”) with a link to a site called tumblr. The post he’d been directed to is part of a blog apparently run by a history major looking for a place to scream about WWII. Some of the post made reference to books and documentaries that he didn’t know about, though he supposes they must be rather popular since she never goes into great detail. However, from what he was able to parse, the author was insinuating that perhaps he and Bucky had been a bit more than childhood pals. (The exact wording being: “I’ve seen the old reels, and let me tell you; that is not a smile you give your buddy. Barnes and Rogers were the gal pals of the twentieth century, okay?”)
He blushes and makes a mental note to get Stark back later, but…his interest is piqued. This girl has really done her work. It’s actually a little alarming how accurately a total stranger has pegged him, but in the same breath, it’s sort of nice. Even after the serum, nobody seemed all that interested in Steve Rogers. Other than Bucky and Peggy, it was all about Captain America, and after his “death” he became a symbol, warped and tainted by the years until he didn’t resemble himself anymore. But as he scrolled down through more posts, it was clear that whoever was behind this blog knew who Steve Rogers was, or was at least making an effort to figure it out.
Two hours later, he had six tabs open and was buried deep in the Captain America tag, alternating between enraged and delighted as he read through the debates about everything from his political leanings to his mental health. He desperately wanted to respond. Both to set a few records straight and to thank the dedicated historians that looked at the man behind the shield.
“Natasha,” he called across the common room.
“Hmm?” she looked up from her book and raised an eyebrow.
“Can you help me with something?” The look on her face as she strode over was one he’d grown accustomed to since his de-icing. It was the one that said “Be nice to grandpa, he doesn’t know any better.” Clearly, she was expecting to explain how to run a Google search or something equally self-explanatory, but instead, he asked: “How do I reply to this?” and pointed at one of the posts.
“Oh. Um…for starters, open a new tab.” She walked him through the process and a few minutes later, steve-g-rogers was up and running. Natasha helped him post a picture of himself waving hello into the webcam with a little bio beneath it, and explained how to tag it so that people would see.
It exploded overnight, hundreds and then thousands of followers accumulating as bloggers found out that it was the real Captain America debunking their research. He stayed up into the early morning, correcting the most blatantly wrong posts and answering piles of questions, some about how he was getting by in the future and “dude, you know tumblr?” mixed in with some serious ones about what life was really like in the thirties and forties. Finally, he reached out and messaged the blogger that had sparked his interest, confiding she had hit pretty close to the truth, and “Please don’t publish this, I need to gather my wits a bit more before I’m ready to put it out there, but yes. There was more. For me, at least, it was more. And thank you. Not many people seem to remember that I’m a person before I’m a symbol.”
From there, Steve’s internet exploration took off. As he branched out more on tumblr, he found himself taking up art again, posting pictures of cartoons he drew in staff meetings or sketches of the other Avengers. Even a few of Bucky that he did from memory. Eventually, there were so many that he made an instagram account, where he also started posting photos of the New York skyline as seen from Stark Tower. The caption on the first one read: “Ugly building, beautiful view.” Once he feels caught up enough on political issues to weigh in, he sets up a twitter. He completely forgoes the usual “Hello, this is my first tweet” route and opens with: “@GOP: FDR’s New Deal “handouts” saved half my neighborhood. #Captain America is not your conservative puppet.” The media goes nuts.
Dionysus is pansexual, actually, and has a very loose grasp on gender. He’s arguably genderfluid and often presents as male, though he was born as a female and is often described as feminine in terms of figure.
I looked this up and there seems to be some debate about it- canonically it seems that Dionysus was disguised as a girl after his (second) birth (from Zeus’ thigh, what) to protect him from jealous victim-of-eternal-domestic-abuse Hera, who is actually very sympathetic when you consider that redirecting her rage and pain towards others is probably really her only outlet. In some accounts, Dionysus has a beard and a “masculine” figure, too (not that that really means anything, re: gender).
But there’s also a lot of commentary on Dionysus’ face and figure being considered “effiminate,” which is really interesting, because dressing as a girl as a child would have literally no effect on his development as an adult, meaning any perceived feminine physiological characteristics are innate. There’s an argument that could be made for Dionysus not only being (probably non-binary) transgender, but potentially even intersex.
yes and in Euripedes’s Bacchae, the Maenads they go crazy and form a cult and the leading woman’s son is all pissed off bc his mum isn’t at home cooking and being miserable. it’s my fave classical tragedy.
Exquisite.
So in any case, Dionysus is the god of wine, sex, ancient feminism and gender play.
Hell, the general assumption that the gods were either bisexual or pansexual, with those such as Artemis and Athena being exceptions to the rule.Generally, Zeus and his kids/siblings (such as Apollo) boned practically anyone, and often in other forms aside from humanoid ones (Zeus being particularly infamous for his shapeshifting)! Unless it said otherwise, it was safe to assume a god was Bi or Pan.
Not to mention Orpheus got his head torn off by the Maenads after pissing them off, if I remember correctly. Dude didn’t listen to Hades and didn’t believe him when he said “Yo bro, you wanna break the natural order of things, alright, you made Persephone, my boss ass queen of the seasons (love you so much bae), feel really touched because of your music. Just don’t look back till you’re on the surface and your wife’s soul will have followed you.” And what does he do, when the most honorable god of the bunch gives him a favor? Fucking doesn’t listen.
Moral of the story, don’t piss off the Maenids or not listen to Hades. He appreciates good music for his wife though.
When you consider that it’s repeatedly established in mythological canon that Hades is a huge stickler for the rules, this really drives home how much he loves Persephone- he let this guy go against the natural order because his music made her happy.
Also, Dionysus is, according to a lot of accounts, one of the only people to successfully retrieve at least one soul from Hades. (One was his mortal mother, Semele, and he possibly also retrieved the soul of his deceased wife, Ariadne. There are inconsistencies.)
As so:
Dionysus, son of Zeus and a mortal Theban princess, is the only god whose parents were not both divine. Zeus was madly in love with a mortal, Semele, and he promised her that he would do anything for her. She asked to see him in all his glory as the King of Heaven, and although Zeus knew that it would kill her to see him this way, he held to his word. As Semele died, Zeus took her almost-born child and brought him to be raised by nymphs in a particularly lush, verdant land.
Dionysus, the wine-god, thus grows up among rain and foliage, and by the time he is an adult he has rescued his mother from the Underworld and brought her to Olympus, where she has been allowed to reside because she gave birth to a god.
Also:
Dionysus, meanwhile, builds a following of mortals known for wearing ivy leaves, running through the forest, and drinking wine. These followers, mostly women, travel with Dionysus to Thebes, the city where Semele lived when she was alive. Penthus, who rules Thebes, becomes quite disturbed by the loud, wine-drinking women and by Dionysus himself. He insults Dionysus, jails him, and refuses to believe that he is dealing with a deity. Dionysus responds by sending Penthus to the hills to meet his clan of female followers. Then, Dionysus shows his cruel power: he makes his followers mad. All the women mistake Penthus for a mountain beast and rush to destroy him. They tear him apart, limb by limb, and Penthus finally understands that he has insulted a god and must pay for that mistake with his life. Once Penthus has been sufficiently torn apart, Dionysus returns his followers to their senses.
“[Penthus] becomes quite disturbed by the loud, wine-drinking women and by Dionysus himself.”
tl;dr version:
Penthus: HOW DARE THESE WOMEN AND PEOPLE OF SLIGHTLY LESS CLEAR GENDER PARTY AND HAVE FUN?? ENJOYMENT IS FOR MEN ONLY!! TEN THOUSAND YEARS DUNGEON FOR YOU, BEAUTIFUL PERSON WHO PROBABLY MAKES ME QUESTION MY SEXUALITY IN A WAY I AM UNCOMFORTABLE WITH
Dionysus: haha WOW go fuck yourself
A lot of Dionysus’ attitude towards the Maenads also seems to boil down to:
Maenads: [fucking some guy up]
Some Guy: [getting fucked up] OH GOD PLEASE STOP THEM
Dionysus: nah man I don’t tell them what to do
Dionysus: this is the church of doing whatever the fuck you like
Dionysus: this wouldn’t even be happening to you if you didn’t feel entitled to control women who just want to have a good time
Dionysus: cultivate some fucking chill if you survive
Also, Dionysus is responsible for the golden hand of King Midas, which essentially went like:
Dionysus: thanks for doing me a solid, what can I do for you (down w/ favours btw)
Midas: GIVE ME A HAND THAT TURNS EVERYTHING I TOUCH TO GOLD
Dionysus: uhhh are you sure
[THE NEXT DAY]
Midas: OH GOD THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA PLEASE HELP ME DIONYSUS
Dionysus: haha oh shit
Dionysus: no worries bro just wash your hands in the river Pactolus
Dionysus: BAM golden river and no golden hand #aesthetic
Dionysus: oh and sorry about your daughter I guess
Basically, Dionysus is officially my favourite Greek god.
He can essentially be interpreted as the god of treating yourself, not particularly giving a fuck about gender, and incorruptable feminist spaces.
It’s been made pretty obvious, I think, that I love Agent Carter like the sun. The show is well done with interesting characters and amazing actors and, you know, Marvel. And I love that it’s a show that doesn’t hold back on the female point of view; I’ve seen a few reviews scattered around about how it uses a sort of gimmicky fake sexism, blown completely out of proportion, because all the men are buffoons. But they’re not, not all of them, and the ones who are…oh my god, if you don’t think women actually deal with guys like the one at the automat who are as ready to insult your intelligence as slap your ass NOW, much less in 1946, you are severely mistaken. Nevermind the seedier sort that comes from the men Peggy works with, the intrinsic, fundamental belief that women are simply not as capable at field work and are better suited for filing and lunch orders.
HOWEVER.
The whole idea of this woman in a man’s world kick ass and taking names and taking a sledgehammer to the glass ceiling is all well and good, but seems to take a total 180 at the end. As much as I love the “I know my value” quote, the context irritates the hell out of me. In that moment, the lesson goes from “demand respect” to “respect yourself”, which is all well and good, but was never really the issue. Peggy Carter knew how good she was, she had respect for herself, that’s why she was so understandably frustrated when no one else seemed to recognize her value.
The fact is, the moment she goes all -brave face- and lets someone like Jack Thompson get credit for her work, she is practically holding up a neon sign that says “DISRESPECT ME AND SUFFER NO CONSEQUENCES”. In the real world, at least for women, respect isn’t earned just by consistently doing good work. It’s not even earned by continually going above and beyond, in most cases. It won’t make you look stronger to not need acknowledgement. All that’s accomplished by doing good work with or without the respect of your peers, ultimately, is that they realize they never have to respect you in order to get you to work.
In the real world, Peggy Carter would be tossed back to coffee and phones until the next time everything went pear shaped, and then they’d beg for her help, and then happily credit any success to their own due diligence, because they can.
And really, that’s not the Peggy Carter that I know. The character I know would have been the one going “Oh, right, Agent Thompson, what made you think to go to the airport? And how on earth did you talk Stark down? Oh, my and that Russian assassin, that was tough, wasn’t it?”
But that would be messy and pushy and bitchy and we can’t have that. So, ultimately, everything gets undercut in one scene–her entire arc of trying to earn the place she ALREADY EARNED tenfold, Jack’s maybe-not-such-a-terrible-person arc the moment he ONCE AGAIN scoops up credit for a thing he didn’t do–and we’re supposed to be alright with that because Peggy is.
Well, I’m not. It’s a very male idea of what female triumph is supposed to look like.
Because in the end, it’s only men who demand recognition and women, being the softer, gentler sex, learn the real worth is in respecting oneself regardless of what other people think. But as a female, it feels like defeat, and that it hints at some really grim possibilities when it comes to season 2.
Reblogging this - I didn’t want to be the one to say it, because there’s so so much I like, but I do hate her “big” line, the whole “I know my value”–UGH that is SO NOT THE POINT. The whole point is that other people should know, and it should result in cash and prizes and decision making capacity and the power to influence the world in a feminist way, which is why my Peggy Carter is always on the fast track to the directorship of SHIELD; that’s the only headcanon I can stand (or, secondarily and realistically but MUCH LESS FUN, she is not director and seething about it) but not this namby pambiness of “success in the world doesn’t matter” because, guys, it does; it DOES.
THANK YOU. I have been thinking about this since watching the season 1 finale. The fact that Peggy Carter’s season 1 ‘arc’ was more of a circle bugs the shit out of me. She ended up right back where she started, only less angry. Which isn’t actually an improvement.
gosh but like we spent hundreds of years looking up at the stars and wondering “is there anybody out there” and hoping and guessing and imagining
because we as a species were so lonely and we wanted friends so bad, we wanted to meet other species and we wanted to talk to them and we wanted to learn from them and to stop being the only people in the universe
and we started realizing that things were maybe not going so good for us— we got scared that we were going to blow each other up, we got scared that we were going to break our planet permanently, we got scared that in a hundred years we were all going to be dead and gone and even if there were other people out there, we’d never get to meet them
and then
we built robots?
and we gave them names and we gave them brains made out of silicon and we pretended they were people and we told them hey you wanna go exploring, and of course they did, because we had made them in our own image
and maybe in a hundred years we won’t be around any more, maybe yeah the planet will be a mess and we’ll all be dead, and if other people come from the stars we won’t be around to meet them and say hi! how are you! we’re people, too! you’re not alone any more!, maybe we’ll be gone
but we built robots, who have beat-up hulls and metal brains, and who have names; and if the other people come and say, who were these people? what were they like?
the robots can say, when they made us, they called us discovery; they called us curiosity; they called us explorer; they called us spirit. they must have thought that was important.
okay but let’s think about how natural it is for the trio to pass the jacket around
poe will get back from a mission and find finn asleep in a chair trying to wait up for him so he covers him with the jacket instead of a blanket
the next morning rey wakes finn up and takes the jacket, slipping it on as she walks out the door to go on a mission or pick up supplies
on her way back rey finds poe working on his x-wing and drapes it over his shoulders before heading back into the house
it goes full circle and no one ever complains when one of the others have it, they just take it when they need it and give it to whoever they think needs it next, it’s their way of staying connected even when they’re separated
i have a lot of feelings about this jacket
hey so it got cut in the lightsaber battle, right? I’ve been imagining that Rey took it with her on her way to find luke, and one night while chewie is manning the helm, she sits in her bunk stitching up the gash (she knows how to sew, to patch, to repair)
and sometimes on the island when the sea air is cold and eerily humid, she huddles underneath it, using its familiar scent to strengthen her reach through the force to find finn, to see if he’s okay, if he’s woken up yet, and sometimes she sees Poe instead, flying (he loves flying like she does but in a different way, but she still feels his joy like it’s her own) or sitting vigil beside finn’s bed.
and when she comes back Poe spots her in his jacket and goes “so this is the girl Finn’s told me so much about” and comments on the patch job she did (he’s mended tears on his flight suit, he knows good work when he sees it) and her pin-neat landing of the ungainly falcon
and then finn skids out having just heard of her arrival and he barrels for her, so glad to see her again, and somehow his enthusiastic hug catches them both up together and the three of them don’t ever quite separate after that.
I mean, I don’t have feelings about this jacket, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t look at me.
I’m slowly becoming more and more convinced by the “Rey is Obi-Wan’s granddaughter” theory and it’s actually very disappointing that there’s a 95% chance she’s Luke’s daughter because narratively and thematically Rey Kenobi would be infinitely more interesting
“We fight for those who are told their tears don’t matter. Where the police hurt more than serve, and eating establishments are built just to shorten the lives of the community. We fight for the strong who have been stripped of their powers. We fight for the invisible.”
