#anti dark side of the force

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

On one side, Star Wars has an Order of space Magic monks whose main mission is fighting for peace and justice in the galaxy. On the other, it has what is basically space nazis.

The anti-Jedi pro-Sith crowd baffles and scares me in equal messure.

[foundfamilynonsense]

Y’know. Anakin was a real asshole in Ahsoka’s hallucination.

Like. She mentions something about what she’ll be able to teach her padawan one day, since all she’s being taught is how to be a soldier, and Anakin’s like “teaching’s not all it’s cracked up to be”

And like. Asshole move. And Ahsoka rightfully calls him out on it. And he goes on the whole “uuuh I was joking. Lighten up.” Literally a complete jackass.

But beyond how he answered the question, it’s a valid complaint Ahsoka is bringing up! Anakin’s teaching her how to live or die. But Ahsoka wants to be taught how to be a jedi.

What happens after the war is over (order 66 never happens) and she now has to navigate a galaxy without a war? The Jedi take teaching very seriously there’s no greater honor than teaching a padawan. And she’s not being accurately taught, so she will not be able to pass anything on to the next generation.

But Anakin brushes it aside because he simply does not respect her or her wishes. Like. He never wanted a padawan, despite teaching being foundational to the Jedi. And he only took ahsoka in because he started to like her and became attached to her. He doesn’t care about jedi legacy, not really. So he brushes her comment off with a joke.

But in the rest of the vision… idk it didn’t feel like we were supposed view Anakin as entirely wrong here. He wasn’t in the right, he was definitely channeling Vader and being an ass, but he was basically the reason Ahsoka survived the fall, right? Bc he was making her choose life? When Ahsoka wins against him it’s sort of like she’s both learned his lesson and moved beyond him. And then for the rest of the season he’s only talked about in positive ways.

And like. That one line ahsoka said was really powerful in relation to the entire point of the show. What does she have to pass onto her own padawan (Sabine) if she wasn’t properly trained herself? That is, perhaps, the only valid plot question asked in the entire show. And it doesn’t get an answer. It’s never even brought up again.

[incorrectpizza]

Forget "gray Jedi" I want to explore Nightsister morality. A culture steeped in dark side magick but which seemingly has many members that shy away from pure evil.

Ventress, who's a Sith apprentice tossed aside, clinging to the dark yet occasionally drifting closer to the Light, using a yellow lightsaber, devoting herself to the Force while still using her hatred and pain? Merrin, who retains her Nightsister culture, resurrects the dead, and yet pries her Jedi lover from the very brink of the Dark she draws from?

I'd take exploration of this type over "gray Jedi" any day of the week.

[theladyship]

How the turn tables, right?

[mercurialsmile]

cant believe todd howard made a better game with more spells back in 2011 than whatever the fuck hogwarts legacy has

[knife-em0ji]

Just finished the darth plagueis book from Star Wars legends and hhhhhogh like. It was certainly a book. I liked the insight into palpatine’s backstory otherwise HATED hate how the whole premise of it was “hey what if every anti-Semitic conspiracy theory was real. That’s what the sith is” like it could’ve had more plausible deniability on that front if plagueis was literally anything other than a muun and luceno hadn’t made muuns Like That but I digress. Anyway the star wars EU is a place where pizzagate could reasonably happen so like. Maybe it’s good Disney retconned darth fuckhands mcmike.

[starbeltconstellation]

Excellent tags. 👏👏👏

Another thing I’m loving is the re-emphasis on the fact that the Dark Side, for most people, is misery and pain.

Wallowing in your own and then turning it outwards and inflicting it on others.  Because if I’m not happy you sure as hell aren’t allowed to be happy!  The need to drag down someone else in the Light, twist them, corrupt them, make them as miserable and angry as you are because at least then you’re not alone, except you ARE alone because the Dark Side poisons every positive relationship you could ever have and makes you incapable of relating to people in a normal fashion, makes you obsessed, makes you cling to, makes you attached to the idea of this person and how they can make you feel.  Makes you selfish to the point where you don’t even care and you’ve lost your empathy.

It’s a downward spiral of abuse and a cycle of revenge and loathing yourself and desperately searching for any kind of self-worth to define yourself by and scrabbling after more and more power because if you just have a little bit more, it might make things all better.

The Dark Side is empty misery and it will not satisfy.

[pawberri]

The key problem with "proship vs anti" discourse is that the most extreme versions of each side, the ones who actually bother to identify with these labels, accepted each others worst takes as arguments they had to debate. "Fiction =/= reality" is, in practice, an absurdly reductionist, anti-intellectual, thought-terminating-cliche that dictates we can learn nothing about a person via art and that their fiction reflects no political or moral messaging worthy of critique. In response to this, the "puriteens" who are too young to possibly hope to articulate their discomfort, to untangle their position from what is often real trauma experienced online, simply argue "yes, fiction influences and reflects reality in a 1 to 1 capacity." They, and people who want to use the groundwork they laid to make bad-faith callouts, make bad arguments about how the action of engaging in problematic fiction is on equal ground to real life abuse, or is a clear indicator of interest in real life abuse. Both of these arguments are terrible, but each side seems to radicalize the other further and further into their own brands of anti-intellectual reactionary belief. "Proshippers" become libertarian absolutists about free speech and view all transgression as righteous and alternative and therefore leftist. They gain a reactionary nostalgia for the past, desiring a time when people didn't seem to care about the implications of art. "Antis" become authoritarian and hypervigilant for signs of moral decay, at their worst, willing to align themselves with government bodies that offer carceral solutions to the debate. They are willing to use harassment as a tool of punishment, which then leads to false accusations and a fear of openness that puts people at risk of being triggered via obfuscation. (That said, proshippers also take part in plenty of harassment.)

I will say that I believe both of these movements are equally sensitive to co-opting by right-wing forces. We see the authoritarian tendencies of anti culture in harassment campaigns and even the way Republican law makers co-opt "grooming." The proship/fic crowd has such extreme nostalgia for the past that I often see people align themselves with the cultures of 4chan or other happily right-wing websites. They so heavily reject the idea that a drawn sexual depiction of a child could reflect any desire that they are disinterested in analyzing what the motivation behind the depiction is. i.e If we track the history of lolicon in Japan we do find that is, yes, countercultural, but that counter culture is right wing, very misogynistic, and defensive of patriarchial Japanese culture as it is and was including its culture around rape and abuse. Plenty of fictional content works as radicalization material, and radicalization material needs to be ambiguous. There is a valid reason to be hesitant to trust people who consume this content, even if I do not believe most of them will ever be dangerous towards children. The mere presence of sexuality is not enough to make a movement left wing. This kind of thing can again be seen in right-wing libertarian movements in the US. (And even leftist movements can be bigoted and even "pro-pedophilia" or otherwise disinterested in social reform around abuse.)

Is all content with elements of age-play this way? No. But to me, that is why kink media deserves to be treated as art and analyzed, critiqued, treated seriously. It doesn't have to do anything to anyone to be worthy of a moral critique. Said moral critique just doesn't warrant harassment and cruelty and reactionary exaggerations of the person consuming said content.

Anyway, what's my point in saying all this? I don't know. I'm just begging you to tag your God damn content with specific tags instead of random and nebulous shit like "dead dove" or "dark content", and also begging you to stop harassing people who do tag their content so I don't have to guess what "dead dove" and "dark content" mean. No one will erase incest kink fics or people who feel sickened by the idea of them off this earth because we aren't god, but we could at least all be responsible about tagging, flagging, and age-gating our stuff.

[absolxguardian]

Reminder that the Acolyte takes inspiration from the film Rashomon, so the show is going to be full of unreliable narrators. That's exactly what we saw in this episode, with the coven repeating anti-Jedi positions that are familiar to the fandom, while the Jedi themselves show the thematic connection between queerness/neurodivergence that has been established more recently. Additionally, the new eu has clarified very recently that, unlike in Legends, the Jedi can't take children without parental permission (although I'm guessing in cases like Osha and Mae they can ask defer to the children's wishes). This has been stated very explicitly in media made while the Acolyte was in production, and if the intention was that the Jedi can take force-sensitive children, those details wouldn't have gone to print.

I think preserving this ambiguity is exactly why Indara was cut off when she was explaining what Republic law states about training children into Force religions. Because if there is any kind of law about that, it would have been enacted after phases 1/3 of the High Republic in response to the Elders of the Path, an anti-Force religion who are very heavily coded after anti-queer religious cults. What the Jedi were doing is the equivalent of the government checking in on religious groups that practice homeschooling to make sure there's no abuse by denying information going on.

Another context the High Republic gives us, this time back in phase 2, is that the Republic- and by extension the Jedi- are very tolerant of other Force religions. There are dark side faiths on Jedha- such as the Brotherhood of the Ninth Door and the Central Isopter. So Aniseya's coven can't be as innocent as she presents them. They must have committed actual crimes to be persecuted in the way they claim. The Path of the Open Hand (the predecessor to the Elders of the Path that were also anti-Force) was tolerated as they preached against all other Force religions until evidence that they were stealing artifacts was found.

I think the fact that all this information comes from the High Republic, the very project that Leslye Headland is a big fan of and pre-release material has been telling everyone to read is significant. This isn't some random panel from a comic published in 2015, this is from media that was considered when writing the Acoytle. Maybe lets not trust the woman running the enmeshed codependent sibling relationship factory.

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

The Dark is generous, and it is patient.

Its first talent is hiding. Our true face lies in the darkness beneath our skin. Our true heart drowns in even deeper shadows. But what it hides from us the most is not our secret truths, what it is hiding is the truth of others.

The Dark protects us from what we are afraid to know.

It protects us from the horrors we are capabe of.

Its second talent is the ilusion of comfort, the peace of sweet dreams in the night's embrace, the beauty imagination gifts to that which would disgusts us in the light of day.

Its third talent is Light itself. Just as the days are counted by the night that divides them, and the stars by the endless blackness they move around in, the Dark embraces the Light and makes it stand out from its very core.

With every victory of the Light, the winner is the Dark.

All lights vanish, leaving nothing but darkness behind. All things die, all things end. With time, even stars burn out. Everything you have, everything you will achieve, every thriumph, every love. All that's yours, everyone you love, will die one die. You can't stop their deaths any more than you can stop the sun from setting. You will lose them, or perhaps you will be fortunate where they won't be, and they will lose you instead.

The people you love don't, and will not ever, belong to you. They belong to the universe, and the universe will take them.

It's that simple. It's that complex. And it's written in the very nature of the universe. In a universe where even stars burn out, no matter how good you are, all stories end the same way.

The Dark is generous, and it is patient.

The darkness is what sows the seeds of cruelty in justice, what leaks disdain into compassion, what poisons love with grains of doubt.

It takes your attachments and poisons them with the fear of the unstoppable, with the fear of losing everything you hold dear. It sows the seeds of anger, the shadows of greed.

The Dark can be patient because the smallest raindrop will make those seeds sprout.

And the rain will come, and the seeds will sprout, because the Dark is the ground they grow in and the clouds in the skies, and it awaits behind the stars that give them light.

With time, even stars burn out.

The Dark is the predator in the middle of a hunt, stalking you with eerie patience. You may run, you may hide, but it won't run after you or search for you; it doesn't have to, it doesn't need to.

It will catch you eventually. It knows this, and it knows you know this. If you flee, you will only delay the inevitable. If you embrace it, you will be consumed by the worst in yourself.

The Dark is generous and it is patient, and it always wins.

It always wins because it's in everything. It's in the wood that burns in the hearth of your home, it's under your chair and under your table and under the sheets of your bed, it's beneath your feet when you walk during midday.

The brightest of lights projects the darkest of shadows.

You can't flee from them, for they will catch you. You can't outrun them, you can't outsmart them. They will always find you, they will always catch you, they will always destroy you.

You can't join them. If you do, you will lose everything you are, and everything you hold dear will be crushed by your own hand. You will become nothing but a shadow of yourself, the incarnation of your worst tendencies, of your anger and hate and greed. You, like the darkness, will take and steal and plunder every little thing in the universe, but you will never be satiated.

You will try to hunt down every light, every little source of heat and comfort, to recover the warmth you lost. But it's not enough, it will never be. You will always be cold. Like the snows of Hoth, like the caves of Ilum.

You will remember power, but your power will never be more than a memory. You will lose it, surrender it to the darkness, and you will have nothing but a shadowy mockery of what you once possessed. Like an artist gone blind, like a composer gone deaf.

And in the void where your soul used to be, you will freeze in the everlasting cold.

This is how it feels to fall into the Dark Side, to give yourself to the Sith. Now. Right now. Forever.

The Dark is generous and it is patient. You cannot defeat it, you cannot escape from it, you cannot destroy it.

But in its strength lies weakness. For all its power for destruction, for all the things it has killed, kills and will kill, there is one thing the Dark will never take from you, no matter how much it tries.

The Dark will never kill your hope.

The Dark will never kill your faith.

The Dark will never kill your love.

Only you can take it from yourself.

Every time a door closes, a window opens, full of thrilling possibilities. Just as the storm brings safety for those who are prepared and the mist protects which doesn't want to be found, in the darkest of moments someone will dream of the break of dawn.

Just as the Dark has won its decisive victory over the Light, a new star will be born from the cold dusty remains of another, and bring new hope for another day.

Just as you lose yourself in the worst of yourself, you will always find the best in you, if you know where to look.

The people you love aren't yours. They belong only to the universe and to themselves. You will lose them, because they go away or because the universe has taken them. But when you love them truly, you will find the purest form of joy, whether they are with you, by your side, or not.

The Dark will always be present, stalking you, hunting you. But as long as you carry your love within your heart, it will never hurt you.

The people you love may be gone, but they were here. They existed, they were by your side and have you their love. Nothing can take that love away from you, not all the power in the universe, and certainly not the Dark. What is grief, if not love persevering?

Hold on, come what may, and you will find a light in the darkness.

Never let your fear overpower your love, your anger nor your hate overpower your compassion, and even when it catches you, the Dark will be unable to destroy you. Always keep kindness at the core of your anger, for it is the hilt that protects you from the cold blade you wield.

The Dark is generous and it is patient, but in its strength lies weakness: one lone candle can hold it back.

Love is more than just a candle. Love can ignite the stars.

Don't lose sight of your love in your fear. Don't let your inner turmoil steal your kindness. Never forget who you are. Find the Light within your heart, and never lose sight of it.

Stop holding on, let go of what you're afraid to lose. Don't hold it tightly, do it kindly and gently and let it move away if it desires. Know yourself, know your pain, know your rage, and let it go. Free yourself from hate, from anger, from fear, and love people regardless of the pain it might bring you when those people are lost.

Love with everything you have, and you will make new stars shine brightly.

Only then will you be able to defeat…

the phantom menace.

[ghostbsuter]

Before I start, fair warning for on-screen choking! Attempted murder too whoopz and big inspo from THIS prompt, too!!

—

Visitation from various speedsters became the usual in the bakery.

Most people already prepare their phones whenever they went inside, there was always a high chance they'd see one of the heroes after all! Be it one running in and taking off in a second, they always left a note despite the hurry.

Danny became a good ally and even better friend in a short time, visiting outside of their costumes too, with Danny none the wiser.

It was like a game with mischief smiles and gleaming eyes. Joking with the owner of the shop always got them coming back in the end, Danny had that charm.

While his recipe wasn't a secret with the family of heroes, trying to replicate it only helped them so far. The original did taste better, and who are they to ditch danny anyway?

Barry especially had taken a liking to the teen, having some nice dates with Iris in the bakery.

He was their cool civilian friend.

However, peace didn't last.

"Danny!" Barry had come inside the store without much of a thought. It was well past the closing time, yet he'd still seen the lights on in the kitchen, which while not unusual, were very much chided from.

(Barry had taken quite the habit of scolding Danny for going past him limits once he found out. It was very amusing for Iris.)

Flash didn't hear any noise, closing the backdoor silently.

There was no answer and it rang many alarm bells.

Sneaking along the wall, too slow for him— why was he going slow?

Anticipation building the closer he nears the kitchen, the light beams through the doorframe, and just as his hand reaches for the frame, a choked sound breaks the silence.

"Don't be fussy now. Just leave silently." Someone very familiar had whispered, and Flash didn't wait a second to zoom inside and throw Reverse Flash into a wall.

The teen coughed harshly, dry heaving for air and pushing himself away.

One look at the purple rings around his throat had him fuming, grabbing the yellow off-brand version of him and vanished in a blur.

Danny doesn't know how long they're gone, just that the flash came back alone and very worried.

"Danny– Danny? Deep breaths." One zip, and he is handed a glass of cold water. "Drink some—"

The silence was suffocating, in a way.

But he wasn't alone at least.

"Flash–"

"Why was he here? What's going on?"

"I—"

A yellow sticky note not far from them was finally noticed, sending chills down dannys back when Barry reads it aloud.

"You will... join me?"

Danny looks away when the blue eyes of the hero, familar yet so strange, filled disbelief, look at him.

A grimace and Flash grabs his phone, dials a number and waits.

"Iris, I'm bringing Danny home— yes, thank you."

He knows that name.

"I know this is probably the worst time, but would you mind sleeping over tonight? I don't feel good leaving you alone after this, and without any protection."

He knows that voice!

Patiently waiting, Danny croaks. "Barry?"

"Hi Danny."

(He did go along and sleep on their couch that day, later on asked about why he was targeted and much more.

The entire conversation took hours, it left them all tired and danny was quick to help iris with dinner.

For now? The Allen's would house him, much to his chagrin, but he lamented. Barry would call the speedsters aware of Danny and the Reverse Flash, warning them.

They will learn and become family due time. After all, fate can not be changed, but branch out.)

Short DPXDC Prompts #998

Danny sets up a bakery in Central City. In a way to say thank you to the local heroes for continuously saving the city, his bakery makes special carb loaded protein packed pastries for the various speedsters that happen to come their way.

[thelibrarian1895]

Mandalorians hate Jedi because...

"the Jedi are child stealers" NO

And again I say NO. I saw someone claim this and it absolutely infuriated me.

First point, THE JEDI ARE NOT CHILD STEALERS. That accusation is sithspit anti jedi propaganda. If a parent or guardian told the Jedi no, they didn't want their kid to be a Jedi, the Jedi respected that. They would, however, remove children from danger. But would you call a social worker who took children from environments where they were being molested, starved, beaten, or worse, a child stealer? No? Then don't call the Jedi child stealers for the same actions.

Second point, the average Mandalorian didn't really know or care too much about Jedi. In all honestly, most Mandalorians, like the rest of the galaxy, had no real idea about the difference between Jedi or other force sects like the nightsisters or general darksiders or even the sith except perhaps the color of their lightsabers. Some Mandalorians, like our beloved Din Djarin, knew nothing at all about Jedi and only cared when in became relevant and then did as much research as possible regarding the Jedi. Others, like Jango Fett, had very personal interactions with Jedi and formed their opinions of the Jedi as a whole based on those interactions with no further reason or desire to look further into the Jedi.

Third point, for Mandalorians who studied history or listened to old stories, they knew why the Mandalorians disliked the Jedi and it was for a very simple reason that they liked to avoid actively admitting. That reason? The Jedi kicked the shebs of the Mandalorian armies.

Twice.

Quite possibly there was another point when the Jedi suppressed the Mandalorian empire but there were two times for certain. Granted, the republic played a large part and the Jedi definitely didn't all interfere in one of those two conflicts, and actually actively avoided one of those two conflicts except in a few cases, and there were definitely some terrible things done, but the fact remains that when the Mandalorian empire attempted to expand and basically take over the galaxy, the Jedi were key to stopping this. And no, the Mandalorian empire was not a good thing. But more importantly, if you thought your ancestors or your cultures' armies were in the right and they were beaten, would you like the descendants of those who beat your side?

Fourth point, would you like the side that beat your side if they refused to give you a proper rematch? The Mandalorians who know anything about Jedi know that Jedi have access to all this power, plus generally have a super cool plasma sword, but the Jedi won't fight or they'll de-escalate or generally indulge in pacifistic behavior and we all know how Mandalorians feel about presumed pacifists, right? A Mandalorian denied a fight is often a frustrated Mandalorian. A Mandalorian who sees someone who has all this strength and power often doesn't understand why that person doesn't use that power, doesn't take revenge or slaughter their enemies or a million other things that they would do with such power. So those that don't understand choose to dislike. Why won't the Jedi fight them?! (please imagine the sentence immediately previous spoken in an extremely whiney tone of voice)

Fifth point, the Mandalorians frequently throughout history worked with the Sith or were on the Sith side of conflicts because of a lack of knowledge about force sects meant the Mandalorians didn't generally realize how absolutely stupid it is to side with the Sith but beyond that the Mandalorians often learned about the Jedi from the Sith. So the Mandalorians got stories from the Sith about the Jedi being weak and cold and blah, blah, blah stupid sith propaganda that I don't want to perpetuate. And those Mandalorians would then think themselves Jedi experts, because hadn't they learned about the Jedi from another Jedi? Granted, a dark Jedi but still a Jedi, right? So they'd tell other Mandalorians the propaganda and so the Mandalorians had that Sith skewed idea of the Jedi perpetuated throughout their history.

So the Mandalorians have their own reasons for not like the Jedi, which have NOTHING to do with child stealing, just as the Jedi have plenty of reasons to want to avoid the Mandalorians. Personally though I'm going to blame a lot of those reasons on both sides on the Sith and be grumpy about the Sith and the effectiveness of their propaganda.

And finally, I'm pretty sure at least a tiny bit of the animosity between Mandalorians and Jedi arose from the Mandalorians being jealous that the Jedi had lightsabers and they didn't. To be fair, I'm a little jealous too. Lightsabers are cool.

[fairy-writes]

Could you do something with gen narumi from Kaiju 8? Something with angst and eventual fluff? Maybe s/o going missing during a mission or something

A SPECTACULAR DAY OFF

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Narumi Gen x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Defense Officer!Reader

Notes: I love Narumi, but nothing compares to my love for Hoshina (except for maybe my love of November 11, but that’s a whole other story (seriously, I wrote 6k about that man))

__________________________________________________________________________

Today was supposed to be your day off.

You woke up, the sunlight streaming through your window, letting you know it was likely well past noon. The window was cracked as it always was, and Narumi Gen was fast asleep beside you.

As lazy as he was, Gen actually slept very little. What with his career and gaming habits, it wasn’t unusual for you to find him up into the wee hours of the morning doing something or other. So you were delighted to see him relax and sleep in.

You trailed a finger between his eyebrows, down his nose, and over his slightly parted lips, resting your hand on the side of his neck, leaning in to kiss him.

Just as you pulled away, a hand cradled the back of your head and kept you close.

“Who said you could stop?” Gen’s voice is gravely and sleep-addled, thick with the remnants of dreams. His lips brush yours, and you can’t help but giggle a bit.

“Someone has to get up and make breakfast,” You tease, and he huffs, sharp red eyes opening to glare menacingly at you. However, you aren’t phased; instead, you wriggle out of his other arm, which is firmly wrapped around your waist. 

For being “Japan’s Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant,” he really was weak in the arms when he was sleepy.

It takes another thirty minutes of snoozing before Gen actually gets out of bed and ambles his way into the kitchen, where you’re flipping pancakes. A decent-size stack is already buttered and plated at the table, with a bottle of syrup sitting next to it and a bowl of chopped fruit to top it all off. The coffee pot is burbling on the corner of the counter, and two mugs are set aside for the roasted beverage later.

Gen’s handheld game console beeps and chirps as you finish up the pancakes, and he shovels them into his mouth almost as fast as you can make them. You watch him over your cup of coffee, his voracious appetite is as present as ever it seems. 

It’s blissfully quiet until your phone alarm blares and shatters the silence. You check the notification and scowl.

A kaiju.

It's just on the edge of your division lines, too. It was maybe fifteen minutes away? You sigh, set down your coffee, and look at Gen, who is shoveling the rest of his pancakes in his mouth, before you head out.

Today was supposed to be your day off!

When you come to, it’s dark, and you panic.

Are you blind?!

No… There’s a pinprick of light, and you are relieved to be able to see. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done had you been blinded. You wouldn’t have been able to do your job anymore had that happened. You would’ve been forcefully retired from duty, likely with honors, but that wasn’t the point. 

Where were you? 

You take in your surroundings, realizing very quickly that you are in a lot of danger. 

Three things. 

One. A building must’ve collapsed on you, and you were in an air pocket of sorts.

Two. Your earpiece was just emitting static. Broken maybe? 

And three. Your leg was pinned under some rubble. Pins and needles tingled up the pinned appendage, and you tugged half-heartedly. It’s no use. You were stuck. 

You press the button on your earpiece,

“Hello? Does anyone read me? I’m stuck and need immediate evac and medical assistance.” You say, but all you hear is static. With your leg pinned and your earpiece broken, you are forced to sit and wait.

Maybe search and rescue will find you? You can only hope and pray.

What feels like hours pass. 

You yawn for what feels like the umpteenth time, head lolling to the side as sleepiness overtakes you.

This really wasn’t good.

Wasn’t there something on the internet about yawning being a sign of lack of oxygen? Was your air running out? You could barely see as it was; there likely weren't any substantial cracks letting in fresh air.

Were you… going to die here?

No! You couldn’t! You had promised Gen that you’d stand by his side as an equal one day!

Even if you were never able to, you still didn’t want to die here. 

You begin to struggle, using what’s left of your suit’s power to try and shift the rubble. It does shift, only to fall even lower. You were never that powerful, but now you might never be. 

As darkness overtakes your vision, you call out one last time. 

“Gen… Please…”

When you come to again, it's to bright, fluorescent lights shining overhead and the beeping of a handheld gaming device. 

“You’re awake.” Gen’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. You turn your head and see him. The nubbins of plastic feeding oxygen in your nose are uncomfortable, but you push through. 

“What happened?” You mumble, and he snorts, putting down his game and turning in his chair to look at you. 

“A building collapsed on top of you. You ran out of oxygen. My dumb disciple found you.” He said quickly and succinctly. 

Shinomiya Kikoru. 

“But how—”

“It doesn’t matter how. All that matters is you’re safe.” He cuts you off harshly, but his words and actions say the opposite. He’s treating you like you’re a doll. Typically, it would make you annoyed. But now? 

Now, you just want to sleep. You almost died, for heaven’s sake!

So you do, the entire time, Gen doesn’t let go of your hand. 

[kookygobbledygook]

Some people have been saying this, but I don't think it's been said enough and I'm just going to add my voice to the mix.

Nimona's nomination is being framed as an example of "Look at what Disney missed out on!" and I get it. It's a nice, tasty schadenfreude situation and we all like to see The Mouse get taken down a peg.

But I think we need to be very clear; Disney did not miss out on anything because they were never going to take that sort of risk.

Disney was never going to release anything close to the Nimona we got. It would have been sanded down until anything obviously queer or controversial was as faint and unnoticeable as possible by the casual viewer. And then they would still be too scared of any potential backlash. So they would have given the film a limited release at theatres, with no advertising, or social media or support.

Like what happened with Strange World.

You remember Strange World, right?

No?

That's because no one does.

And I believe that was deliberate, because that way Disney can go "Weeellll... obviously we would LOVEto take more risks and have more inclusive stories but that's clearly not what the public wants!"

Look at the original concepts for Wish. The evil royal couple? The peter-panesque star boy that would have made the gen zers go feral the same way millenials went feral for Jack Frost? These could have been the best things about the movie, and even they were scrapped, and replaced with something more homogenised. And those ideas are nowhere near the level of the concepts and discussions Nimona brought to the table.

Disney can barely have explicit gay people. Nimona has a gay south Asian man in a relationship with an east Asian man. As a protagonist! But more than that, you think Disney could ever come up with a relationship as complicated and difficult as Boldheart and Goldenloin's? They would never have the guts to show one love interest cutting off the other's arm in a straight relationship. Let alone a gay one! And then for them to be on opposite sides of the conflict, shifting between feelings of betrayal, and questioning each other motives? That's some adult dark shit for a kids film.

Asha as a character was forced into the quirky girl role that Disney has already flogged to death with Anna and Rapunzel. You ever think they would allow a Disney princess to be as dark and violent and nuanced as Nimona? You ever picture the titial character of a Disney film AS the third act conflict, rampaging through a city in a self destructive rage? Nimona is anti authoritarian, vengeful, bloodthirsty, a pretty explicit trans allegory, and even, by the climax, openly suicidal. You KNOW that terrified Disney.

I had a thing about the Director here too but I was shocked by how long that got so I'll have to save her for a different post.

My point is the things that make Nimona art, that make Nimona a great story, that make the film important and Oscar worthy, are all things that Disney has become too chicken shit to produce. If Disney had released a film called Nimona it wouldn't have been Nimona. I fully believe that if the film hadn't had been 90% finished it wouldn't have been shelved. It would have been lobotomised and vivisected. Everything special and vital about the movie and its message would have been removed, and no one would have known what could have been. Once again we would have gotten scraps and been thankful for them.

It makes me think about films like Wish (and others we don't know the name of, and never will) and think of what they could have been if studio's like Disney were braver and let their artists make art, instead of content.

tl;dr Disney didn't miss out on Nimona because they are incapable of making Nimona. If they had produced it the real Nimona wouldn't exist. We didn't miss out on Nimona. And that's purely by luck.

[caripr94]

Yeah, my personal headcanon is that the Coruscanti Jedi under Yoda were actually Light Gray Jedi, but dangerously close to the darker part of the Gray by the prequels and getting closer by the minute. Anakin would have been much closer to the real Light if it wasn't for their and Palpatine's indoctrination, grooming, and/or abuse, but if some real Light Jedi got ahold of him, they might be able to shift him even closer to the Light than he was before.

@wingletblackbird

@tragicfantasy-girl

@nerdychristianfanboy

@riana-one

Okay but an AU where the Jedi Order has fallen to the Dark Side, and Anakin is the only one still clinging desperately to the Light.  

[sadesluvr]

Ōrālis 

Dr Jonathan Crane was a man of great restraint, but he wouldn’t hold himself back from indulging in your self-gratification. 

A/N: I’ve been secretly obsessed with Crane for a while, and just had to make something based off this post! Vaguely dark content (it’s Crane) so please read the tags before proceeding. Minors + ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 3.1K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Manipulation / Power play / Misogyny / Abuse of power / Dom + Sub elements / Masturbation (fem + afab anatomy) / Scientific terminology / Dialogue heavy / Crane being weird and unsettling (canon) / Reader is wearing a skirt for logistic purposes

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

You never knew why you even bothered to show up to your sessions early anymore.  

Before your previous therapist, Dr Spencer, had retired, you’d used the time to gather your thoughts, perhaps flick through the contents of the random assortment of magazines on the waiting room table, but never to actively contemplate dropping the process entirely whilst staring at a clock, wishing you were anywhere else. Wringing your hands, you shifted uncomfortably on the bench as you tried to suppress the painfully familiar feeling of bile rising to your throat. It was all Dr Crane’s - the Dr Jonathan Crane famed for his work at Arkham – fault, being an uptight, anti-social excuse of a psychiatrist, who, technically, shouldn’t have been treating you regardless. His mutual discontent for the matter was all too obvious, his blunt and borderline disinterested demeanour making you feel that your every thought, choice and emotion was a mistake. 

You’d had a painfully exhausting week, from closing deadlines at your job to your cousins’ wedding plans leaving you feeling like you were on the brink of a breakdown. To make things worse, your bus had broken down on the way in, forcing you to walk four blocks of grimy Gotham streets in the rain. 

Once the door opened – right on the hour at 5PM as usual – you felt like you wanted to die. 

“Might I remind you that this is your time,” his smooth, yet commanding voice said. “If you’d like to waste it, then be my guest.” 

You huffed and shifted in your seat, making small circles with your foot as you held back a frown. If it wasn’t his personality that made things uncomfortable, then it certainly was the fact that he was handsome; rather painfully so for someone in his position. He had dark hair, plump pink lips and a chiselled jaw, all of which were spectacular together but couldn’t compare to his eyes; striking, intense and a sharp blue. His eyes, whilst his best feature, was certainly one of the pitfalls of being in an enclosed room with him. They were always watching; staring into your soul and taking you apart, piece by piece, limb by limb. 

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose before pointing your hand at him in a vaguely accusatory manner. 

“Look, Doctor, I’ve had a long week. Can you spare being snarky for at least a minute?” 

“Interesting that you characterise my frankness as ‘snarky’, Miss L/N,” he said, unmoved by your tone. “It seems like you’re not used to people being direct with you.” 

“I have been, remember? You’ve been treating me for two months now.” You replied sarcastically. 

“Yes, and I haven’t seen much progress,” he said flippantly, pausing to flick through a notebook before looking back up at you. “I suppose I’m now inclined to ask how you are.” 

“I’m amazing,” you said pointedly. “Luck is on my side. I walked here because the bus broke down. Not to mention the fact that I’m four days out from my deadline at work, and I’m probably going to be sick for all of them because of the weather. And my cousin’s wedding is in a month and we still haven’t gotten invitations out, so God knows —“ 

Crane made a small humming sound that stopped your rambling, a small smirk on his face as he did. 

“Did I say something?” You frowned. This man was so self-assured that he found menial, everyday things like this amusing. He probably pitied you.  

“It’s clear to me that you’re doing a lot for other people,” he said. “Work is completely understandable, but preparing a wedding is not. You’re not under any obligation to do this.” 

You blinked, brows furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of what he’d said. His lips were folded into a straight line as he watched you unscramble your thoughts, his oh-so powerful gaze making you feel as if you were a blathering idiot. 

“She’s part of my family,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Family help each-other…” 

He angled his head in a small nod. “From my understanding, yes; with aspects such as parenting and homemaking.” 

“Marriage is a kind of homemaking. It’s very common for families across cultures to be involved in matrimony.” You shrugged. 

“Then, what do you suggest you do?” Dr Crane said matter of factly. “Slave over fickle things like necklines and bouquets? What do you gain from torturing yourself in this process?” 

“It’s not about me, it’s about my cousin. She deserves to be happy.” You said through gritted teeth, now inexplicably becoming heated. It was clear that he wasn’t one who had many friends – if any – and a relationship with relatives seemed out of the question.  

“That statement is almost entirely untrue,” Crane said bluntly, brow raised as he cocked his head in a knowing manner. “We as humans are made to be self-serving. I’m not denying that one such as your relative does not deserve to be happy, more that you want something from making her that way.” 

You scoffed. “Are you asking me or telling me?” 

He didn’t answer, but merely swallowed, breaking his gaze with you to look around the room cooly before focusing back on you.  

“I say this because it’s not uncommon for women to experience envy in these positions. Some have the fickle idea that their assistance in the process will bring themselves further along to matrimony,” he stated. “Thus, your apparent stress on the matter paired with your reaction to my previous statement about familial obligation gives me reason to think that you’re particularly jealous of this cousin.” 

You scoffed. 

“That is not true.” 

Crane hummed and adjusted his posture. 

“Is there a significant other in your life?” 

“No…” you replied, your voice practically a mumble at the statement. You were almost a hundred percent sure that he’d known that, given he had Dr Spencer’s files in-front of him. Like most things with him, it was just another way to make you feel small. 

Again, he didn’t follow up the statement but instead moved on. 

“I could go on about how jealousy is a one of the many products of fear, but I’m rather interested about this love life of yours,” he said, placing the notebook on the table below him. “A relationship is one thing, but nowadays there are other options to companionship.” 

You swallowed. 

“I don’t do hookups, nor friends with benefits. They’re too complicated.” 

“I see,” he said. “I wouldn’t write them off too quickly. They can be a fix to what you’re currently experiencing.” 

You raised your brows and shook your head at the implication. Not only was Crane making you feel borderline histrionic for simply having a stressful week but suggesting that you were just succumbing to your base desires was even more insulting. Insulting because on some deep level, you knew it was true. 

Perhaps you just needed a good, old-fashioned fuck for that sweet boost of dopamine and mental clarity.  Truthfully, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you’d had sex, let alone been in a relationship, to the point that if undoing your virginity was possible you would’ve been Mother Mary herself. 

“Do you partake in masturbation?” 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.” 

“Once again, Miss L/N, that’s untrue,” he said, exhaling as he took off his glasses and folded them into his pocket. “I’m a doctor, and my duty is to help you. Certain ways of masturbation can affect the mind, and I presume that’s one of the sole reasons you came to a therapist. The act releases dopamine, which is certainly good for the brain, not to mention it encourages blood flow to your pelvis,” he said precisely. “Therefore, I ask again. Do you partake in masturbation?” 

He cocked his brow this time; piercing blue eyes fixated on your own. You couldn’t tell if he was getting off on your discomfort, the vision of you touching yourself, or a weird mix of somewhere in-between. For a small man, he had a tremendous way of making you feel alone, as if you were the world, yet so seen. You fiddled with your hands, avoiding his gaze as you answered to the ground, wooden flooring suddenly becoming interesting. 

“I do... I-It’s just been a while...” 

“I’d appreciate it if you answered to me rather than at the floor,” Crane replied before swiftly moving on. “I think we should use the remaining time to work on that.” 

Your heart dropped at the statement, and you finally broke your gaze with the floor to stare at him. 

“H-How —“ 

“Start by making yourself comfortable,” he began. “And place your legs up onto the table as you spread them.” 

You felt ill, yet there was a painful curiosity in your loins that made you want to follow his every command. It was clear that he wanted to present yourself to him, virtually in a platter, and as much as it made you sick that this was a man you despised, you needed this.  “Doctor, I don’t think this is necessary —“ 

“We’ve got forty minutes,” he interjected. “I suggest you make this quick.” 

It’ll make you better, you thought to yourself as you placed your feet onto the table, leaning back as you allowed yourself to relax into the couch. The hem of your skirt rode up as you did, giving him an eyeful of your thighs and up towards your pelvis. Once done, you stared at him expectedly, and he hummed (one that judging by his frown of his lips were of displeasure) getting up from his seat and adjusting you himself. Nothing was ever good enough, something always needed to be fixed. Typical Crane fashion 

His hands were cold on your skin as he spread your legs apart, adjusting your footwork so that he’d be able to see more of you. You shuddered as his fingertips momentarily lingered on your inner thigh, and you suddenly became self conscious of your clamminess derived from the sudden condensation of entering the building. 

“Interesting,” he spoke, cocking a brow as he wrote something down. “You’re clammy to the touch and your legs are trembling. Is there something you fear?” 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. 

“Perhaps this will clear your head,,” he said softly, undeniably amused. “I’m going to guide you through your fears…Remove your underwear.” 

His voice was noticeably more breathy and ragged than previously, and you took a quick glance down at his crotch, which, if you weren’t to be mistaken, was slightly raised, his usually smoothly ironed clothes now somewhat crumpled. Hesitantly, you shifted your hips up to slide your panties down your legs, quickly unnerved at the fact that you didn’t know what to do with them.  

“Put them on the side,” Crane instructed. “Inhale, and place your hand between your thighs. As you exhale, I want you to place your fingers at the top, on your hood.”  

Your chin wobbled nervously as you did so, eyes locked on Jonathan’s own. He swallowed, and you could’ve sworn that you saw his lip tremble in the process. You didn’t know to be scared or proud that he was seemingly anxious about it all. 

“Now begin to stimulate the area as you would if you were alone.” 

You nodded, using two fingers to rub small circles on your hood. Sometimes, when you’d tried in the past, it’d been apparent that there simply wasn’t enough lubrication.  

Today that wasn’t the case. 

The action gave you a tingle, but it wasn’t enough to make you feel better. Jonathan seemed to sense this. 

“Use pressure. It’ll make you feel better.” 

It did. The force of your middle finger down on your sensitive clit hood sent a pulse down you legs, building to a steady rhythm as you resumed your motions. You let out a broken sigh and bit your lip, your restraint a great disappointment to the man across from you. 

“Why must you insist on running from your own pleasure? I want to hear you, and I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to ask twice.” 

Craning your neck, you willed yourself to let out a moan, finding that it was far easier than you’d expected. It was just one of the many things you let build up in your head. 

“Good.” Crane hummed, and you could’ve sworn that he had unzipped his pants, relieving some pressure from his swollen bulge. “Now, move down to spread your labia apart. Allow yourself to indulge in your deepest fantasies, and use more fingers. I want you to explore yourself for me.” 

Letting out a whimper, your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself lost in the smooth timbre of his voice; sensuous, pointed, with a deep rumble. It pained you that this man – this antagonist – was the individual within your fantasies, much more the fact that he knew it. How long had he been waiting to do this? 

There was a slight pain upon entering yourself; your walls moulding to accost themselves to the unfamiliar intrusion as you pumped your hands in and out of you. Your slow but methodic movements brought you a great sense of pleasure as you spread your arousal across your fingers, stimulating your hot sex.  

Jonathan let out a slow hum as he watched your chest rise and fall, succumbing to his basic urges as he mindlessly rubbed his hand over his cock. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of taking it out; let alone masturbate in-front of you. No, that would come much later. 

“Take your fingers deeper,” he instructed, subtly biting the inside of his lip. “I know it worries you. Too often we fear the unknown, but if you want to feel better, you’ll do it for me.” 

You did, burying your fingers into yourself to the point that your first phalanges disappeared within you as you motioned your fingers in a controlled movement. Finding yourself growing a quiet confidence from Crane’s amused smirk, you began to fasten your pace, pistoning your fingers like a machine. 

The wet sounds of your sex filled the room, the shine of your fingers undeniable as you spread yourself apart, baring your pussy just for him. This is what he wanted. 

This was what you wanted. 

Right? 

Right. 

“Very good,” the man crooned. “It feels good, doesn’t it? If this was all it took for you to be obedient, I suppose I would’ve introduced masturbation to our sessions a while ago.”   

The differences were stark; all your spite from the beginning of the session had dissipated, and you were like putty in his hands. He’d integrated your mind like a parasite, a snake, and had carried out his word – he was making you better. 

“Y-Yeah..” you whispered, mind blank as you found it difficult to keep your legs up. Crane was stimulating himself through his trousers, small breaths from his chest ragged as he spoke. 

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Is my voice turning you on? Would you like me to bring you to release?” 

You nodded, an uncharacteristic squeal escaping your lips as you brushed past your clit. Jonathan sighed again, his lips pursed as he fought the urge to do it all for you, just for a feel of your wetness and tight walls. Alas, unlike other men, he knew how to exercise control. 

“Taste yourself.” he commanded without an ounce of hesitation. You winced, hands trembling as you removed them from inside of you and bringing them to your lips. Cautiously, you took a small lick of your juice, squeezing your eyes shut as you tasted yourself on your tongue. You’d never done that before. 

“Now touch yourself again, only faster. Keep your legs up, I want to see you. All of you. In this room, in this moment, you belong to me.” 

You wanted him to fucking consume you. Frantically, you switched between stimulating all of your zones, from your lips to your clit, a pornographic squelching sound coming from your nether regions. Crane bit down on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared as he palmed his cock, feeling spurts of pre-cum coat his pelvis. 

He let out a restraint grunt, and for some reason it made your loins tingle, sending a pulsing heat to your core. Given the way your head spun, and your vision became jagged, you could tell that you were close, which Crane took great joy in. 

“Perfect…” he hummed. “Look at me when you cum. Can you feel yourself lose control? This is what you needed, wasn’t it, you silly whore? Give yourself to me. All of it…” 

Had you been in a clear state of mind, you would’ve taken that as a threat, but in your bout of ecstasy it was hard to not be intoxicated by the idea. His voice was so soothing, so controlled and yet menacing that you felt like you’d sold your soul to the devil himself. Perhaps in a way, you had. 

Your legs were overcome by the force of your orgasm, quivering as you found it difficult to stay still. Squeezing your legs shut, you came around your fingers with a cry, your fluids spurting around your fingers and trickling onto your thigh and seeping down your legs.  

It felt impossible to come down from your own palpitations, and Crane’s stare was far from useful in relieving your anxieties. The man had barely moved, but he looked somewhat flummoxed, his hair slightly curly and tousled from sweat, whilst his pink lips looked raw, as if he’d been gnawing on them. 

Had he cum? Had he enjoyed this at all? Oh God, you were wondering if your therapist had cum from your private masturbation. 

The reality of what you’d done was coming back to you now, and you truly didn’t know what to think. You wanted to stay; to be petted and showered with praise for your show, and yet run and hide completely. You’d only known him for two months. 

And. He. Was. Your. Therapist.  

And so, you found yourself glancing back up at the time again.  

“That was…quite something,” Crane said slowly, clearing his throat as he nonchalantly polished off his glasses before putting them on. “I assume you’re feeling better now. I think I’d like to integrate this into our future sessions, starting with next week,” 

There was his usual detached tone. You thought orgasms brought mental clarity, but Jonathan was an enigma. 

“- It might be useful for you to wear a skirt, something accessible...I happen to like the colour you’ve got on now.”