i dreamed a TCW AU where Boba Fett was Force-sensitive and, instead of prison, his punishment for trying to kill Mace was having Mace as his Master.

no details, because it was pretty incoherent, but i do recall Boba was still trying to kill Mace in increasingly creative ways and Mace just let it go on because he thought it was good training.

This seems incredibly in-character, and probably would have worked out better for all involved.

I”m now picturing Mace just like “are you insane? no, we are not putting the child in jail” and then just picking Boba up and walking off with him.

Nobody really tells Mace Windu ‘no’.

how to know you are a norse mythology geek:

alarajrogers:

dendritic-trees:

hamelin-born:

catwinchester:

kyraneko:

poztatt:

dendritic-trees:

sweetdreamr:

auntieval:

sweetdreamr:

upon seeing THIS in the thor: ragnarok trailer

you scream, “FENRIR! HI PUPPER!!!!”

IT GOT BETTER OMFG IM CRYING

Yeah… me too. I wanna pat the very big pupper.

And this is how The End is stopped. Not by the gods or goddesses, the other races than man, no. It is Tumblr. As a mass running after a now confused and tail tucking Fenrir, whining softly as the crowd chants “PUPPER! PUPPER! PUPPER!”

Better yet: Fenrir escapes his chains and lopes forward to destroy the earth, and is met by a crowd of people. An army, Fenrir thinks, and bares his teeth in a ferocious snarl and charges toward them.

They cheer.

Wait … cheer?

Fenrir slows, confused. He smells no fear, senses no rage. This is … a very strange army.

The first hand—weaponless!—reaches for him; he tenses, ready to tear the offending limb to shreds, and lets out a high little yippy whine when it pats him about the ears.

Immediately the noise is reproduced by some four or five of the nearest humans; he smells excitement; more hands are patting him.

It’s nice.

The humans crowd around him, patting him and scritching him and shuffling around to give others a chance. Voices coo, and make puppy noises, and someone catches just the right spot and he cocks his leg and scratches himself, drawing a multitude of oohs and ahhs and cheers and squees.

At some point, his hunger awakens at the scent of burnt flesh; a human has brought him what he later learns is a hot dog; he swallows it in one bite, to more cheering, and looks around hopefully for more.

It is not long before more is bought: steaks and Big Macs and bacon; it seems like much of the group has brought him a snack of some kind and was hoping for a chance to give it to him.

The End of the World is supposed to be at hand, but Fenrir does not care. His hunger sated, his battle-lust swept away by a tide of gently petting hands, he rolls over, careful not to crush his many companions, and takes a nap.

“Who’s a good boy?” they ask him, over and over.

Is this some psychological warfare, he wonders, designed to undermine his confidence and remind him that he is nothing more than a monster who needs to be chained?

“Who’s a good boy, huh, huh?” “Who’s my good boy?” “

And then one of them answers the question for him.

“You are!”

‘Me?’ he thinks. But if there was any doubt, she confirms it.

“You are, yes you are.”

Fenrir’s tongue hangs out of his mouth as he grins. ‘I’m a good boy!’

@lectorel

This is the best thing ever.

This would work. Fenrir was betrayed by gods that he trusted; they feared his strength and tricked him into accepting being bound because he trusted Tyr, his friend. (Loki was not directly involved in selling out his own son; usually Loki is involved any time someone gets tricked by the Aesir, but it’s notable that he was not, here.) The deal was that Tyr would put his arm in Fenrir’s mouth to prove that the gods were acting in good faith when they tied Fenrir up to “let him prove he could break the chain”; when he couldn’t break the chain, the gods refused to free him, and Fenrir bit Tyr’s arm off, because that was the deal.

So Fenrir has a serious rageboner going on against the Aesir and all of creation; that’s why he wants to eat the sun and end existence. A huge number of humans validating him, praising him, petting him and giving him yummy treats might actually convince him that, while the Aesir are still assholes and would deserve it if he ate them, he should not eat the sun because Midgardians are totally cool and give him petties.

brethewriter:

lordblackfang:

judedeluca:

baronessbamf:

danielkanhai:

how many muggle born kids showed up at hogwarts like, “i get you’re into magic and don’t get me wrong, magic is awesome, but please don’t try and tell me quills and inkwells make more sense than pencils. i realize you have an aesthetic going, but admit it’s that. admit it’s just for looks.”

Imagine how many muggles parents looked at the supply list and went “Parchment? Quills? INKWELLS? Fuck this we’re going to staples.”

And then imagine if the muggle parents start getting into arguments with the teachers when they start getting messages telling them their kids aren’t using the proper materials.

“Okay look we can accept working with frog livers, turning mice into fine china, and whatever the fuck ‘arithmancy’ is but we’re not going to let you shame our kids just because they choose to use a bic pen instead of this ‘ye old inkwell’ bullshit. Also. it’s called a spiral notebook and I’m not gonna make my Abby drag around five hundred feet of loose parchment just because you people have a theme going.”

Aesthetic or death

I’ve got to wonder, though, how much of the school supply list at Hogwarts is based on aesthetic and how much is based on what the Muggle world was like when wizards retreated into secrecy. Like, how many wizards who haven’t taken Muggle Studies are aware that nobody uses inkwells and quill pens anymore? And I bet the Muggle parents over the years have always just assumed “well there must be some reason for all this, it must work better with these supplies, there must be something inherently magical in parchment” and just went with it.

Give me the story of the Muggle-born witch whose parents can’t afford all the fancy school supplies, who literally cringe when they’re told about the fund for “underprivileged students” because they’re not POOR but they’ve got four other children and two of them need special care, who scrimp and save and scrape together until they can afford the school supply list even if most of it’s secondhand, but they start at the top of the list with the things that HAVE to be bought in Diagon Alley and go from there, and when they get towards the end of the list they start making do.

On September 1, in this big crowd of ickle firsties, there’s one who stands out because her robes don’t look quite right but no one can quite pinpoint why, until an older student asks her the next day and she shyly admits that her mother made them for her out of some fabric she’s had lying around for a while. She gets to her first class and sits in the back because she’s a little embarrassed and pulls out the battered secondhand textbook and her wand and everything else she needs, prepared to take notes, and everything’s going along just fine until Professor Flitwick suddenly stops in the middle of his lecture and asks what she’s doing, and she just freezes but manages to stammer out that she’s just taking notes, Professor.

Flitwick is suddenly at her side, how did he get there so quickly, and examining her cheap retractable pen and the packet of looseleaf paper in a flimsy three-ring binder where the center ring is already out of alignment, and the other Muggle-borns and half-bloods in the class are snickering because look at this loser who didn’t know you need parchment and quills for this, who ever heard of doing magic with a biro, but Flitwick is fascinated and asks if he can try one, and maybe she tells him to keep that one because she has more (even though she only has a couple more, but she can make do with pencils, and surely somebody around here will loan her a little bit of ink to refill one of her pens if she needs to, I mean, it can’t be that hard to fill up the little ink sticks inside of them, can it?) and he beams at her like she’s just given him the House Cup and goes back to teaching like nothing has happened.

And then all of her teachers are asking her about these things, and maybe a few of the other Muggle-born students tentatively help her answer them, and when McGonagall presses her she admits that her parents couldn’t afford to get her everything she needed and it was a lot cheaper to go to the shop on the corner and pick up a half-dozen packs of looseleaf and a packet of pens than it was to buy the quill and parchment and honestly, Professor, I didn’t think it would matter, and McGonagall smiles because she remembers her own father and says it doesn’t.

The next year the school supply list says only ink-based writing utensils and parchment or lined paper and a few of the more traditionalist pureblood families insist on only sending their children with quills and inkwells, but there are other students–a lot of other students–with retractables and stick pens and a couple of the older Muggle-born students come in with really nice quality fountain pens and there’s a whole black market (or at least grey market) going on with regards to the buying and selling and trading of glitter gel pens and a lot of debates over whether fine-tipped pens or the broader ones are better and there’s at least one kid who’s got one of those gigantic foot-long novelty click pens because what, you said it had to be ink-based, so what if it’s an inch thick and hot pink with Disney princesses all over it, it’s still a pen, and within a few years nobody can remember why there was such an issue with them in the first place.

Nobody has the slightest idea what to do the first time a student shows up with his grandfather’s typewriter, though.

dreamerinsilico:

derinthemadscientist:

hipsterkittypostingteenybopper:

Re: Purge.

If everything was legal for like twenty-four hours I’d start a communal garden.

This is barely even hyperbole.

I would legit start a communal garden with whoever wanted to join me.

I think that would be fucking dope.

Rewrite of The Purge where, for 24 hours, people hurriedly complete all those renovations and projects that the council forbids. Helen, leader of the PTA, laughs maniacally as she tears grass from her lawn with a pitchfork, her thirteen-year-old daughter Emily’s arms red with mud as she wades through the carnage, planting thyme. Jack and Mitch have left their friendly smiles behind at the RSL; today their faces show only grim determination as they methodically shovel gravel into potholes and pour bitumen. The local biker gang, gathered on the corner, are the most rambunctious of the mischief-makers, whooping and hollering as nail guns are driven into plywood, assembling miniature by-the-road shelters for the homeless to rest on cold nights. Their noise covers the sounds of Katy and Sam moving from street to street with their trolleys, picking up unsold or unwanted food from houses and restaurants to give to the hungry without fear of taxation or food safety reprisals. They’re young, and still scared of being caught.

But there’s no one to catch them. Not tonight.

…You know you live in a dystopian capitalist hellscape when….

Captain America: Civil War – the We Are All Rational Adults Version

codenamefinlandia:

headcanonsattheendoftheline:

houseofhaleth:

(The more I think about Civil War the more annoyed I get)

Tony: okay so
these Accords

Tony: obviously
the fact we’ve only just heard of them and they’re being signed in 3 days and
they’re fatter than all of us is some shit

Steve: language

Tony: but the
fact is, we can’t just run around wherever we want punching people that we
personally decide are bad guys

Tony: countries
have the right to make their own laws and we can’t just ignore them because
we’re really cool

Tony: (though we
are)

Tony: anyway the
fact is nobody actually voted for you to be President of Avengerdonia, steve,
so we should like, obey the people we elected, like everyone else in the world
does, this is how democracy works

Sam: i would vote
for steve

Steve: i will be
honest here

Steve: i have
very much enjoyed being in charge with no restrictions

Steve: it has
been very efficient and we’ve saved loads of lives (like loads)

Steve: however as
i am not in fact a massive jerkhole dictator and i do believe in democracy

Steve: you are of
course right we should get the nod from the government before we crash in
anywhere to save the day, as long as that can be done quickly and effectively,
and won’t mean that i’m completely banned from saving people

Steve: (because i
have zero impulse control when it comes to saving people i just do it)

Tony: oh we know

Sam: everyone
else would vote for steve too right natasha you’d vote for steve

Natasha: no comment

Steve: i mean
there are a couple of other things i want to talk about in these papers

Wanda: like the
fact we’re not actually accountable for the actions of all supervillains
everywhere?

Steve: yeah and
the fact that it doesn’t specify that we can’t be thrown in a monstrous sea-jail
without a trial or lawyers if we damage property while defending ourselves

Tony: wow steve
we’re (mostly) US citizens do you really think we need to specify that?

Steve: i’ve read
about ross

Steve: yes we do

Tony: okay then,
how about we sit here and hash out our list of amendments and caveats, which
they really should have consulted us about more than three days before they
meet to sign this document that controls our lives, and we take our improved
accords to vienna and talk about it there?

Steve: that
sounds really sensible

Sam: wanda you
vote for steve too right

Bucky: i do not
vote for steve. i vote for anyone except steve. i vote for tony stank’s left
shoe, because it is far less reckless than steve

Sam: dude you’re
not even in this part of the movie yet

Bucky: i showed
up early just to say don’t vote for steve

Tony: holy shit it’s
the winter soldier

Bucky: ooooh steve
doesn’t like that kind of language you know

Steve: go away
and wait for your appropriate plot hook barnes what is this

fin

Every part of this but especially the last bit.

*SNORT*

harryjamesheadcanons:

Luna’s life after Hogwarts is a search for answers, a nonchalant and never-ending travel to find the legends her family had depended upon for years. Forests, jungles, deserts, islands; legends, creatures, plants, facts and fictions; books, oral traditions, sciences, deeply held beliefs.

She finds some of them, doesn’t find others. She travels, she writes, she has adventures, she barters for a night’s stay, she meets people (human and not) all over the world. She falls into brief and beautiful passions. It’s exactly what she wants. Her friends and lovers are always delighted to see her, but never expect her to stay too long. She’s happy: her world is as fluid as her mind.

Rolf, the father of her twins, is one in a long line of lovers of all genders and from all over the world. She loves him, quite a lot, but not in a way that means she’ll stay in one place, or share her boys with him. She’s a wonderful mother, teaching her boys how to fined beauty and answers, how to view the world so pain is learning experience rather than an obstacle. Even when their grandfather Xenophilius dies, Luna is a beacon of calm and wisdom in the middle of what feels to them like a storm.

Lorcan and Lysander travel with her – learn everything they can from her and the people the three of them meet. They live a happy and nomadic life, full of love, respect, and autonomy.

Lorcan chooses not to go to Hogwarts. He stays with Luna, helping her continue her life’s work. He finds purpose in it like she does, but his joy comes in the people they meet, the stories he hears. He loves the ones his mother tells, especially the ones from her mother, but learning new ones is more important to him than school could be.

Lysander, though, does go to Hogwarts. He goes to school while his mother and brother travel the world. It’s the first permanent home he’s ever known, and he revels in the stability. He’s a Hufflepuff, drawn to the home and hearth in the canary yellow house that adopts him as family the night of his first September 1st. His Aunt Ginny is his favorite person in the entire world for most of his life – she is just brave and adventurous and free as his mum, but still sleeps in the same bed each night and never makes her children learn at their own expense.

He never resents Luna, though, never could. Her love and care is more than enough for him, combined with the brick and mortar of Hogwarts…it’s all Lysander Lovegood needs.

#jk: luna gets married and raises kids in a heterosexual monogamous bungalow #me: i recognize that the writer has made a decision. but given that it’s a stupid-ass decison…i’ve elected to ignore it.#pan aro luna