#if necessary by force

[purgetrooperfox]

tired: fox has never done anything wrong in his life he was under control of the chip he didn't mean to kill fives he would never do that

wired: fox was being deliberately, continuously manipulated by palpatine into doing anything he wanted under threat of severe bodily harm, no chip necessary

inspired: fox is a product of brainwashing and genuinely believes in the senate and the republic, which is in constant conflict with the rhetoric he hears from politicians and his general dislike of senators, but that conflict is ultimately irrelevant. he believes in the institution with his entire self. he was born to die for this system and would lose his shit if he started questioning it in any meaningful way. The Institution told him to kill fives so he killed fives, it told him to hunt down ahsoka so he did it, etc etc. conviction that this is all worth it because the republic Can Only Be Right (or else his entire existence and everything the guard puts up with are meaningless) is what gets his ass out of bed in the morning. he'll do terrible things to protect it, and by extension his sense of self, and he won't apologize for it because it's categorically Right in his brain. none of this changes the fact that he's routinely abused by this system, or the fact that he's enslaved by it, or that he has no real choice in anything, only how he personally reconciles it all

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[spiderthread]

why don't you let yourself be gently peeled off the ground and tossed across the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes by the most handsome man in china, then maybe you'll calm down

(+ bonus:)

[stars-obsession-pit]

Decimation

Some members of one of the GIW’s top-secret research facilities have made an earth-shattering discovery.

They’ve found a way to make half-ghosts.

The failure rate is high. For every subject they successfully convert, many more are left burnt-out corpses—or worse, as rabid undead that must be put down with force.

It didn’t matter. The test subjects were cheap, worthless. Their countless deaths were an acceptable sacrifice in the name of progress.

Their operative’ deaths when they begin the full plan… those will matter more. Their warped agents may be more dangerous than normal humans in combat, but legions of foot soldiers still have their place. It would be foolish to leave themself solely in the hands of ectoplasmic entities, even if they’re allies and still partially human. Recruiting and training enough replacements to recover the losses would take time.

But it will all be worth it.

Finally, they will have control of a strong enough army to bring their goals to fruition. Those inhuman wraiths will be eradicated, ensuring the safety of the real, living humans and opening up a whole new dimension of untapped resources.

[ambeauty]

Ok let’s discuss partnership agreements for a quick second. I own a business and I have a partner. It’s common and it’s necessary to have a partnership agreements. It’s going to list the official profit share, how much time each partner is going to commit, what skill each partner brings to the business, and what factors are in place in case one partner wants to leave or dissolve the business. This is a very basic overview of a partnership agreement. Sydney needs this. It will legitimize her position as partner in the Bear. So Carmen extending this agreement to her is significant. He can’t necessarily force her not to leave but they have to have a protocol in place in case she wants to. It could get sticky but not if they follow the agreement. Unless she doesn’t sign it…

What’s strange to me is him saying “So I can push you and you can push me.” This makes me think he knows that he’s going to get toxic and he doesn’t want her to just walk out like she did in review. It’s like saying “for better or worse.” And also tell me when I’m fucking up because I don’t want you to leave. I have it in writing how much you mean to me and this business. So neither one of us can just fuck off when the going gets tough. Signing this agreement would make her (both of them) contractually committed to working things out with him even when it (he) gets difficult. That’s still a spiritual marriage. A business is a marriage and a (legal) marriage is a business.

[canisalbus]

To me, Machete kind of has the energy of a secondary villain/coldhearted side character in someone else's story that a lot of fans latch onto, moreso than the protagonist. Question is, would he be the villain in anyone's story?

Why, thank you! I'm actually glad to hear he gives off that vibe. I don't think he set out to become a villain but a lot of people certainly view him as one.

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

[threepandas]

Bad End, Chosen: Part 4

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The Cycles never "loaded" back in at quite the same point. It was something I had noticed, though I had only suffered a few of them so far. It was like the God's were hoping "Chapter" to "Chapter", fickle and easily bored, trying desperately to find something NEW.

It made planning all but impossible.

Where... where was I?

A simple room. A suitcase before me. Loading or unloading? I held a robe in my hands. Painfully familiar. I had worn them for years. The highly protective robes of Mage initiates, at the Magic Tower. Meant to work as armor, life support, even... God's forbid, an emergency beacon. They were hideous. Function over form.

I could cry, for how deeply I loved these ugly robes.

No one had EVER been able to figure out how to style them properly. God's know, we had TRIED. But when The Dark came? This ugly, ugly things? These long complained about hand-me-downs? Oh... oh they had saved so, SO many student's lives.

Such tiny little things. Pulled from the rubble, still breathing. All because of these chaotic, gaudy, terribly comfortable and so deeply loved, old robes. T...They truely were as hideous as I remembered, weren't they? Blocks upon blocks of overlapping stitches and patches, too many colors, as though the tower was too stubborn to throw as single thing away.

We were.

We... we NEVER leave anything or anyONE behind.

Packrats, all of us. Such terrible hoarders. But... I looked around. It did not tell me the date. Was I leaving? Joining the tower? How old was I supposed to be? I pulled on my robes.

It felt like coming home. Like balm against the raw nerves of my still fragile mind. I felt old. Brittle. At... at terrible odds, with my young skin. I wondered if this was how she felt. The woman, the poor girl, that came before me. Before she broke so badly even the God's could not force her to perform. I did not want to admit I understood the impulse.

Ah, there.

I had once, what felt like lifetimes ago. What WAS lifetimes ago. Bought this very calander. It was cute. Little fairy dragons danced upon the edges, delicate and joyous. They were, of course, incorrectly drawn. The artist had never seen a real fairy dragon, only heard of them. I had seen some during the war.

People forget that neither the Fae nor Dragons are sweet or gentle things.

They were... Awe inspiring. In the oldest sense of the world. "An overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, and fear." I believe the text defined it. Like living starlight and glass, sung poetry and water. They were the fury of long dead gods and the vengeance of beings who were divine unto themselves.

They removed an entire MOUNTAIN RANGE before they fell. Burned and reduced to molten earth, an entire inland sea. They died like STARS. Violently and with a force that destroyed the void itself. Consuming all that dared stand in their shadow.

Ha. And people think they're CUTE.

Ah...my mind is wandering again. I try to concentrate on the calendar. My... my mind doesn't want too. Oh dear. That's... that's probably a rather bad sign, isn't it?

Opening my eyes at the beginning of the cycle had brough such... CLARITY. As though my head had been held under murky water and finally, FINALLY, I was able to scramble free. But... much like the drowned... I felt something like a high. Adrift. Without my anchor. I wanted my Gran-...

NO.

I grab the dresser before me. Hard enough my knuckles go white. My wide eyes focus far away. Seeing without seeing. Hyperfocused on the woodgrain before me. I am my OWN anchor. Feel the magic in your veins. The push and pull of the world. We are not his slave! Not his PET, to keep and cherish. A toy on a shelf.

I am a PERSON.

I DEFY MY FATE.

A cheerful knock at the door to my room. My eyes finally focusing on the date. Fuck. Moving IN, then. I do not know if I can act "normal". I... I will have to try. I can not unclench my jaw, but with great force of will, finger by finger, I release my grip on the dresser. Stand up. Glance up into the mirror.

I look like I am some hateful little thing, vowing some ugly little vengeance. Perhaps it is just my face. The way anger and spite only barely holds my bleeding edges together. My fear. I...I look like I am about to cry.

What a wretched child.

I try to force a smile.

It looks hideous. More ugly grimace and deep disgust then "oh, Master, how pleased I am to see you!". Fuck. When did I become so broken? A knock again. More hesitant. I breathe deep. I can not do cheerful, then. But...I... I can do nothing.

My face slides into an emotionless mask. Blank. Like a doll. Vaguely pleasant but meaningless. How damningly familiar. Gran-... HE reduced me to this in the end. A few steps. Almost distant, robotic, movement. And I open the door to a once familiar face.

"Learner." My Master smiles, awkward and uncertain. He had not wanted a student. I forced his hand. I know now I never should have done so. He was not ready. "Are you, um, settling? In? I know it is quite different from the life you once lived, but I promise. I will tale care of you. Well figure this out together."

Oh, Master.

I...I wish I could weep. I had forgotten this lie. How deeply I had once believed it. It was a child's promise, from a man who grew old but never, truely, grew up. I was to be failed again and again. Had once given him chance after chance. Because I had believed his words. My eyes feel hot. He looks panicked.

"Ah! W-what did I do? Was that wrong? Please don't cry?! Oh no! Uuuuh-!"

"Well THIS is a record. Not even a day and you've made the child weep." Comes a terrible voice. No. Please, Gods. Not so soon. "Here I am, come to greet my precious Grandlearner. And what do I find? My student, tormenting a child."

My Master sputters defenses of himself. Not even noticing that his own Master did not call him Learner. All but disowned him before me. My fear howls like a deafening beast in my ears. But... cowering? Will not... can not save me. Turning my head is almost painful, with how tightly my muscles have tensed.

That is not the look of a man who does not recognize me.

He remembers.

Alaric Blight stands in truely magnificent Tower Master's robes, as though he has every right to be there. Respected. Beloved. A legendary talent, the likes of which have not been seen for lifetimes. ANYONE would be HONORED to be in his presence. After all... he is a man who holds the world at his feet.

He is a monster.

"Hello Grandlearner," he all but purrs. Stalking forward to loom, as only an adult CAN loom over a child. The power difference between is even greater now. I can not even count myself an ant before him. I... I can not breathe. "What a delicate little thing you are. Utterly precious. And so SMALL! You certainly have a lot of training to do, don't you?"

His hand reaches forward to cup my cheek, sparks of deadly magic dancing lazily across my skin too finely for Master to notice, but not so fine I can not FEEL. It is a subtle threat. A little reminder. Not a single soul in this tower is safe, so long as he is here. All it would take? Is.. Just. One. Touch~

"I'm sure you'll BEHAVE for your Master, WONT you, Dear? After all, he only wants what's best for you. And a darling child like you, Grandlearner? Should be cherished."

"He's right." My Master said, clueless to the monster he let so close. Who so very dispised him. "But... but Master, I'm not sure, well, HOW exactly..."

"Oh don't worry, student of mine." Alaric Blight, monster of my nightmares, hummed in a laughable mimicry of pleasantries. "I'll be with you EVERY step of the way. How could do anything less? We'll train my darling Grandlearner together."

A terrible grin.

"Leave everything to me."

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

pondering

[vinceaddams]

a lot of people, when they start learning how to sew, will see instructions about pressing carefully and staystitching and basting and grainline and machine tension and such, and will go "ehh, I can ignore that and save some time" and then later they'll go "why do my seams look so bad? :(" and. well.. that's why.

[ghcstao3]

Soap hc for your consideration:

When Soap has anxious or just angry energy that he doesn't know what to do with (and he doesn't feel like training it out) he'll hyperfocus on deep cleaning whatever space he can for hours. He's hardly aware of time passing as he's doing it too, he just stops when he feels all the energy fade away or become a more manageable level

some people joke that that’s how he got his callsign even though the name soap came well before anyone noticed his habit, but he doesn’t really mind.

because all that matters is that cleaning to him is calming; the repetitive motions, the smells, the instant gratification of stepping back from his work and seeing a notable difference in cleanliness. what matters is that even as much time as it may take, it’s draining in a good way and, in the end, the effort can be appreciated.

the 141 notices the habit when the common room is suddenly cleaner than it’s ever been—even the grout is white after years of being an ugly brownish-grey—and they find soap in the middle of it all, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain on the kitchenette counter.

after that, price, gaz, and ghost all chip in to buy supplies for soap on occasion, because it can get expensive, and they have to show they’re thankful anyhow. they don’t comment on the habit otherwise, and that’s just how things go.

[angelmachines]

to be clear i think the funniest direction to take ritsu and terus relationship is that they arent besties Or haters i think they try really really hard to be nice to each other (not because they dislike each other, just to make a good impression) for mob + their works sake but they see through each other immediately, and, because they both hate losing, it just devolves into passive aggressive middle school pettiness where they both keep doing really nice things for each other in a battle to see which one of them will cave first, all while inwardly seething and setting up more and more challenges to prove theyre the Better more Genuine friend in between like. warrior cats roleplay or whatever these two get up to. except that it backfires and they realize they do kind of sincerely really like each other as people. but also they still one up each other constantly for fun

[anghraine]

i just saw someone say that faramir is infuriating because he's self-aggrandizing in claiming that he won't act in any way that doesn't befit his status, and on one hand - i understand the root of it? he does have a courteous, almost formal style of talking. he does openly claim that he would not take this mysterious power (before he knew about the ring) if it was on the highway. he agrees to denethor's characterization that he wants to appear noble like a king of old.

but on the other hand i'm straining at the bit to defend my baby because - infuriating?? when he lives up to the words he is saying?? when the text shows over and over that he's loved by his people, that he genuinely tries to live by those standards (and seems to succeed) - him not killing even animals unnecessarily, him riding back for his men. even his proclaimed dream to see gondor's tree bloom and peace restored, is supported by him seemingly making that transition from steward to king as smooth as possible?

maybe it's because i instantly liked him so much. it just caught me so off guard because this particular criticism never ever crossed my mind. so funny how people will interpret the same thing differently. to some internet user out there, his words are self-aggrandizing. to me, his words are straightfoward and supported by actions - dreamboat central.

Hi, anon! I'm pretty much with you on this one. I've seen the occasional post like that, and I can understand finding his style grating (though I personally love it) or disliking the general baggage associated with Tolkien's handling of Númenóreanness (there's a considerable degree of classism and racism built in to the presentation of Elves and peredhil/Númenóreans in LOTR in particular, while later texts like "The Mariner's Wife" are relatively more nuanced).

But the idea that Faramir is essentially just performing the appearance of high virtue as a sort of imitation of Númenórean cultural values without actually possessing those values or the virtues of the best of them just seems a profound misinterpretation to me. He has flaws, but he's not a hypocrite and he does not fail to live up to his presentation of himself at any point.

He's exactly what he appears to be, a stern and intelligent young man out of step with the current trends of his culture, who still cares deeply about his people and their allies. He's potentially highly dangerous in the way of Denethor and Aragorn, and like them, his personality is hard and unbending when it comes down to it, but he's also gentler than either—the combination of his willingness to act on the threat he represents if necessary and ethically justifiable, with a deep compassion and sympathy for others (even animals), is distinct and really interesting.

I think there's a very important distinction between Faramir performing virtue and gentleness and putting on the persona of a great Númenórean lord in times of peace, and Faramir presenting himself as he truly is and then suiting actions to words, despite the fundamental antipathy between his temperamental inclinations and the circumstances he's been placed in.

[sunnykeysmash]

Man of words

[rhaenin-time]

Wait so Alicent, Daemon, and book!Rhaenyra were all married off at the same age, but for some reason only the one who abused the children from said marriage is considered a "child" and the eternal victim, while the other two are "selfish" for... not committing marital rape?

[uncanny-tranny]

Periodic reminder to trans people who use minoxidil/rogaine on their face:

Make sure to wash your hands afterward, especially if you have cats. Also, please keep it off your lips. You don't want to ingest it (it also tastes like hell, take it from me). If you're prone to dry skin, invest in a good moisturizer, something that agrees with your skin and will keep it feeling nice.

Carry on. I wish you all the best of luck in whatever you do to promote hair growth 💛

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

I’ve felt kind of off about my book recently, I’ve had a lot of rejection and I’ve started to think maybe I should just quit.

But then I think: what if one day it’s real? What if one day there is an actual book in the world, with a real cover and real pages and my name written on the real spine? And what if people read it? Maybe one day there’ll be people who want to keep it perfect, who don’t even want to crack the spines, who will lament over the slightest crease to the pretty pretty cover, who’ll keep their copy on a clean, beautiful shelf so pristine and perfect, who’ll share with the pages their favourite book mark with it’s pattern or it’s quote or it’s ribbon or the thousand other things that could make it special; maybe one day there’ll be people who will fold the pages, who’ll crack the spine, who’ll panic because they accidentally dropped it in the bath, who’ll underline their favourite quotes with their favourite pencil that they always have to tell themselves to stop chewing the end of; maybe one day there’ll be people who’ll put pen against the pages, who’ll draw stars and hearts in the margins, who’ll share their every thought on every page that was worth something enough to them to write on; maybe one day there’ll be people who’ll choose the perfect coloured tabs to match the cover, who’ll create a key, who’ll deem me worthy of their favourite highlighters, who’ll be able to look at the pages of their closed copy, run their fingers over those perfect coloured tabs, and see their thoughts as they read laid out before them; maybe one day there’ll be people who’ll borrow it from libraries, who’ll wipe dust from the cover, even if it’s slightly faded with time beneath the plastic sheath who’ll write their names on a card glued neatly into the front so they are part of it forever.

What if I am lucky enough to one day see a book that is not just my soul, but the souls of readers as well?

Keep writing my loves, keep writing 🖤