#refusal to serve

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"When the F.B.I. agents finally came for me, it was my day off and I was alone in my room working on a long poem having to do, as I recall it, with everything and anything that I happened to be thinking about at the time. I wrote in an indecipherable longhand in a ruled notebook. One of the F.B.I. agents picked it up and studied it for a time and then asked what it was.

“Poetry,” I said. He looked blank. “Contemporary.” I added. This seemed to satisfy him and he dropped it back on the table. I was vaguely disappointed. I’d briefly held visions of its cryptic contents creating all kinds of uneasiness high up in the councils of the powerful.

I was a little put off—put down—by the casual, offhand manner in which the agents handled my arrest, as if they found the entire business strictly a bore. In my room they wondered aloud, amused, if it would be necessary to manacle one so obviously bent on breaking into prison—they decided it wasn’t—and their search of the room itself was accomplished indifferently and in silence, with first the one and then the other agent picking up my books, leafing through them, and setting them back down without comment.

Clean underclothes were found in one dresser drawer, dirty underclothes in the other, a discovery the agents seemed to find vaguely significant, of what I can’t imagine, but worth a grunt and a head shake anyhow.

...

At the F.B.I. office, I suspected humor when the youngest of the two agents, preparing his report, requested the address of Henry David Thoreau, whose name I had given when asked about persons who might have influenced my thinking. When my answer, Walden Pond, was dutifully written down and the agent looked up, waiting for the rest of it, I could only explain, chagrined, that the man in question was a writer of books I much admired and a man now many years dead.

With some annoyance, the offending material was struck, and it was explained to me that the crime of conspiracy, a charge to which people like myself might become liable if our numbers ever became really significant, was a hell of a lot more serious than whatever it was I thought I was doing now.

(Just for a minute there the state had flexed its muscle. And—correctly, I believe—a man who had never heard of Henry David Thoreau or of Walden was the man to make me know it.)

But in general, except for that one little, “Watch it there, bub,” I was treated by the F.B.I. as not much of a fish—I am reminded of the old coffin maker’s disdain in Chekhov’s Rothchild’s Fiddle when called upon to make a coffin for a child—but rather as a waste of their true, esoteric talents.

Yet I stuck with my own private notion of the enormity of my act, the deliberate violation of a law which, since our own civil war, no modern nation had been without—the law that said men may be conscripted into armies, made military instruments, impersonal as guns—if it, the state, wished to abrogate all strictures against fratricide in the name of its national best interests; if war, that is, was to continue to be seen and employed as a viable instrument of national policy."

- Donald Wetzel, Pacifist: Or, My War And Louis Lepke. New York: Permanent Press, 1986/2016. p. 38-39

[reinbouxsworld]

Jamil and Kalim on their respective dreams 😭🏜

silver, a vanrouge:

[cowardlykrow]

A conversation between my mother and sister

[bixels]

Taking the current topic as an excuse to ask you to tell me all the reasons you love Rarijack. Your art for the ship is so sweet and intimate I'd love to hear any in depth thoughts you have.

Breathes in.

I think what makes their dynamic really strong is that they have opposing personalities but aligned values. It's deeper than just "opposites attract." Rarity's fancy, prissy, and femme while Applejack's modest, rough, and "masculine." But both value hard work (to the point of being workaholics), their families (both have guardianship over their little sisters), running successful businesses, and eventually each other. Their relationship can be boiled down to, "Despite our differences/disagreements, I still like you because we value the same things."

We see their relationship develop so much. In the first season, they can't stop bickering about surface-level differences. By season four, they still bicker, but will mend their relationship because they can't help but do nice things for each other. In Trade Ya, they start off arguing over personality differences (Applejack likes old junk and Rarity likes useless crap). Then they pivot and start arguing that they value their relationship more than the other. In the end, they mend things by sacrificing their needs and buying each other a gift. Even if they don't understand it, they know it'd make the other happy. And that's all that really matters. It's a genuinely sweet moment that shows how arguing can be healthy and necessary for relationships to strengthen.

We even see them dropping their hang-ups about each others' personalities. In Made in Manehattan, when Rarity runs off in dramatics about someone's fashion, AJ doesn't roll her eyes or scoff, she smiles. Oftentimes, their conflicts are very common domestic conflicts romantic couples face. Applejack's Day Off is about a woman's inability to balance work and life and find time to properly spend with her partner, causing her partner to feel neglected.

By season seven, they're actively participating in each others' interests. Any problems or conflicts that arise are dealt with, and they come out the other end stronger and closer. In Honest Apple, AJ pretty much spells out why their relationship works so well: even though she doesn't understand fashion, she can recognize and appreciate how much work it takes and wants to respect that. When she realizes her mistake in the episode, AJ goes above and beyond to fix things and apologize to Rarity. They care about each other so much.

The two go out of their way, sacrificing their personal desires and beliefs and doing things they normally wouldn't, to make the other happy. That's just love.

There's Simple Ways, where AJ gets stuck in an unwanted love triangle between Rarity and her hipster crush. And her frustration and anger can be so easily interpreted as AJ finding herself in a terrible position; the girl she loves wants another man, and that man wants her.

I dunno. I've always had a preference for opposites attract ships, but Rarijack's stuck with me like a brain worm because they have the perfect chemistry. The way they show they care, or do things for each other, I've always read it as the truest representation of romance in the show.

[catladychronicles]

[azuree1733]

Lestat 😼

[tennessoui]

Would you like to do this one for Obikin ? 👀

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

💯

[from this list of prompts]

[2. 'have you lost your damn mind?' (LATEST) - 5. 'are you jealous' - 13. 'kiss me.' - 14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.' - 18. 'this is the stupidest plan you've ever had. of course i'm in.' - 19. 'the paint is supposed to go where?' - 24. 'you're the only one i trust to do this' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 28. 'marry me?' - 29. 'i thought you were dead' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' - 37. 'wanna dance?' - 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

22. 'I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice.'

"Oh," a very familiar voice says. "I wasn't aware you were attending the banquet tonight."

Anakin stares down at the empty plate before him. The servers are moving around the tables as guests rise from their seats and begin to chatter amongst themselves. Anakin thinks for a moment about trying to catch his master's eye, but Qui-Gon is across the hall in deep conversation with the representative of Alderaan the last time that Anakin checked. And anyway--he's not sure his master would intervene to help him with this problem.

Even though, technically speaking, this problem is half Qui-Gon's problem. Or, like. At least a quarter of it.

Probably.

"Though I suppose I would have known if you'd responded to my comm-message," the voice says in a lilting and crisp Coruscanti accent that Anakin knows is as much of a ruse as the rest of him.

Anakin scowls down at the table and counts to five. He is here to represent the Jedi Order as a senior padawan. He is not here to start a diplomatic incident by stabbing Prince Kenobi in the hand with a shrimp fork.

Or is it Lord Kenobi?

He thinks, yes, technically probably a lord. Or maybe it was a knight? A duke? Anakin can never remember all the words that make up Kenobi's title. He just knows that Kenobi's elder brother married the queen of Stewjon, so he's now the king consort, and Obi-Wan got to claim a bunch of useless titles without even doing any of the hard work.

And so Obi-Wan Kenobi gets to call himself a prince now when once, he'd called himself a padawan.

Once, even, he'd called himself Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan.

Anakin counts to five again and gathers up all the diplomatic words and scripts he's learned over the years. Then, he actually turns and faces Kenobi, and all of those words fly out of his mind.

Kenobi looks unfairly good in the ivory white of his outfit. The top half is mostly lace, which--isn't it cold in space? Isn't it cold on Stewjon?

He's wearing a small, ceremonial circlet atop his auburn hair, and the glinting gold of the crown offsets the white of his robes nicely. He just--

He looks so beautiful, even as he's lounging in the chair next to Anakin, eyes pinned on his face as if he'd wait all night just to hear him speak.

That sort of look is dangerous. Anakin knows that intimately well. That sort of attention...Anakin isn't built to withstand it for long. Not without succumbing to all and any of Kenobi's demands. He's sure he has a backbone, but it just melts when he's around Kenobi.

But not anymore. Anakin's twenty now, and he's going to be Knighted any day. He's above such weakness.

"I'm sixteen years your junior," Anakin bites out, hand becoming a fist in his lap. "Don't you think maybe it's a little inappropriate to be comm-messaging me without my master's approval?"

Despite the venom he tries to weave through what should be a cutting rebuke, Kenobi's eyebrows raise. He doesn't look ashamed nor does he look particularly discouraged. "After all the rest of the inappropriate things we've done together, darling, I'd think you'd overlook a comm-message."

Anakin's scowl grows exponentially, but Kenobi continues without pause, "Though if you'd like me to get your master's retroactive approval for every time we've interacted, I shall of course. Do you think he'd approve of your judicious but creative use of the Force when you used it to hold me up against the Senate Commons wall and kriff me silly before my meeting with the Chancellor, or should I leave that out?"

Anakin can feel his face flushing, and he's quick to stand, throwing his napkin onto his empty plate and striding away. He needs--he needs to be further away from Kenobi. He needs to not look at the man, not hear him. Then, he'll stop wanting him.

He must stop wanting him. It's ruining his life.

So of course Kenobi follows him because there's nothing he loves more than ruining Anakin, apparently. He's not even being subtle about it anymore, grabbing Anakin's wrist in plain view of all and sundry and using his grip to tug him out of the banquet hall and into an unused nook of space.

It's small enough that there's not much room to stand apart, but Kenobi at least makes the good faith attempt to drop Anakin's wrist and step away from him. In the Force, he feels strange. Worried, almost, which is not an emotion that Anakin has ever felt from Kenobi. Kenobi, who crafts an air of not caring about anything or anyone whenever Anakin and his master are near. Kenobi, who's purposefully disrespectful to Master Jinn, acts purposefully slow and air-headed and conceited.

He could have been one of the best of us, Jinn had told him once. It was the only time he'd ever talked about Kenobi. He made different choices, and I suppose he still blames me for them.

"Come now, Anakin, tell me what's wrong," Kenobi says, nudging at him almost clumsily in the Force. The touch startles Anakin. It's been twenty years or so since Obi-Wan left the Order. Or since Master Jinn refused to take him back as his padawan after a mission on a civil-war struck planet and Obi-Wan had had no choice but to leave the Order.

Jocasta Nu told him once: all stories have different endings and beginnings when the teller changes.

He thinks that's especially true when it comes to whatever tension exists between Kenobi and Qui-Gon. Though Anakin wasn't wise enough to keep himself out of it, he's certainly not stupid enough to shove his nose so forcefully into the middle of it.

"I've seen the way you've looked at me tonight when you think I'm not looking," Kenobi is saying, wheedling really, as his Force signature rubs even more insistently up against Anakin's, like a--like a loth cat winding around his ankles, searching for affection it knows it will be offered.

No. Not anymore.

"Enough," Anakin snaps, throwing up his highest shields and pushing away from Obi-Wan.

"Just tell me what I've done, darling," Kenobi says. Pleads, really. A part of Anakin thinks it's a very good look on him, and then hates himself for thinking it. Weak. Kenobi makes him weak. "It's not that you don't want me anymore, or you'd have spent less time gawping at me all night."

The words are cruel in their truthfulness and they hit unerringly at Anakin's shame, and so he's snarling back at him before he can stop himself: "Everyone was gawping at you, you're dressed like a schutta."

Kenobi doesn't look to be offended, which riles Anakin further.

But then--then the man steps closer and rests a hand on his chest. They're of a height now that Anakin's grown another two inches over the summer. Obi-Wan's eyes are right there. His lips, also.

"And yet who have I dragged off into a dark corner to ravish me?" Kenobi asks, voice pitched low and eyes blinking sultry blue at him from beneath his eyelashes.

"Yeah," Anakin bites, "only because even after twenty years you're still trying to get back at my master for throwing you out like trash. But the stupid thing is that he doesn't even think about you anymore."

The words hit the way Anakin had meant them to, but as he watches the way Obi-Wan's eyes shutter, the way his mouth tightens and the way he takes a step back and his hand coming up to hold his elbow, Anakin realizes that he didn't--he didn't realize what it would look like, to hurt Obi-Wan.

He hadn't realized Kenobi could be hurt, that Anakin had that sort of power.

And maybe he doesn't really, maybe this is just Anakin's master hurting Obi-Wan all over again, but it's still Anakin wielding the weapon. Anakin who was trusted enough that Obi-Wan did not see it coming.

"I see," Obi-Wan says, and Anakin can't hide his wince at the tone. He doesn't like that tone. Didn't realize how warmly Obi-Wan spoke to him until the chill set in.

But it's not as if what he said was wrong, Anakin tells himself. And it's not as if Obi-Wan's been fair to him either, using Anakin like that.

And--and sure, maybe when they first started...whatever this is--was--maybe Anakin had wanted to use Kenobi too. After all, he'd been eighteen and charged with guarding some rich senator at an event just like this one. And Padmé Amidala had been there, and Anakin had been so desperate for her attention that he'd thought--maybe if he could make her jealous by talking with Kenobi--

And talking had turned into kissing had turned into bedding, but it hadn't been about Kenobi, not really, not that first time. It'd been about Padmé and how much Anakin had wanted her to notice him, see him for the man he'd become.

And he's sure that Kenobi had bedded him with ulterior motives too--not to make Qui-Gon jealous, of course, which is a thought that Anakin doesn't even like to think about, honestly--but to make Qui-Gon upset. Master Jinn didn't like the slimmest reminders of his old apprentice. To find out that his old apprentice had bedded his new one...no, Master Jinn did not, in fact, appreciate that.

So they'd both had ulterior motives the first time they slept together, and they'd probably had them for a while after too. It was an arrangement. A casual affair.

Before Anakin had gone and developed feelings for Kenobi, of course.

And now it's not fair. None of it's fair, because Anakin's in love with him and Kenobi's still just sleeping with him for the sake of some bruised pride he's been nursing for twenty years and now Anakin's gone and hurt him, genuinely hurt him, and he doesn't feel the way the Chancellor had told him he'd feel when he told the prince where to shove it. He just feels awful, like he'd been hurt too.

"I apologize for wasting your time, Padawan Skywalker," Kenobi is saying when Anakin tunes back into his voice. His face is hidden behind a cool mask of untouchable indifference. His arm is still crossed in defense over his chest. "I was mistaken in the understanding we had between each other, and I have thus overstepped erroneously."

It's not fair, Anakin thinks wildly as Obi-Wan steps away from him like he's going to move out of the alcove altogether. It's not fair that Obi-Wan's apparently so good at the diplomatic script of the Jedi that he can fall back on it at any moment, even after all of these years, and it's Anakin who can apparently only ever use his words to hurt.

So Anakin doesn't use his words. It's instinct, probably the first one he ever learned, to reach out in the Force instead. Nudge their Force signatures closer together and drop his shields so he can feel--truly feel--the heat of Obi-Wan's presence in the Force entangled around his own.

It's easier after that to reach out his hand and catch Kenobi's wrist. Then it's easier than anything else to use that hold to push him up against the wall and bracket him in with his body to keep him there.

Kenobi doesn't fight against his touch, but he doesn't bloom under it either, the way Anakin's gotten used to him doing. He doesn't even look at him, keeps his eyes on the neck of Anakin's Jedi robes.

"No, I'm sorry," Anakin murmurs, squeezing Obi-Wan's captured wrist. "I didn't--I didn't mean that. Not at all."

"If you didn't mean it at all, you wouldn't have said it," Obi-Wan points out, which is...well, correct, technically, but Anakin doesn't like to hear it.

"I was just...someone told me that," Anakin admits. "And I--I mean, I know you and I know--what we have. And what it is. And I'm fine with that, I understand it. I just let it get to me, that maybe you only like me cause you're still out for revenge against my master. But, um."

Obi-Wan is looking at him now, something soft and quizzical and confused coloring his gaze.

"I thought I couldn't stand being nothing but revenge to you," Anakin makes himself say, even though his breath feels caught in his throat. Danger, danger. He is skirting too close to the truth. He is saying too much. But if he doesn't say anything, what then? "But that's not so bad, I guess. It's better than being nothing to you at all."

Which is a lesson that Anakin has just learned and is eager to never experience again. Even if it makes him pathetic and weak and spineless and some prince's playtoy, or whatever else the Chancellor had implied. He'd like to see the Chancellor stand up to Obi-Wan's dignified yet wounded eyes.

"Darling," Obi-Wan says, and for a moment his hand cups Anakin's face. It's just long enough of a touch that Anakin can't help but to lean into it with an exhale. "You've never been nothing to me."

Anakin gives into the urge to kiss him. It's a miracle that Obi-Wan lets him.

It's also nowhere near enough; Anakin is a greedy sort of man. He doesn't want nothing or a little more than nothing from Obi-Wan. He wants everything.

[briony-tallis]

i changed my mind, disregard previous posts. girldad lawrence clears actually.

[hanaybuns]

honestly, i think realistically a relationship with karamatsu would involve him doing way too much to either impress you or express his love and then ending up making things worse for himself and you. like, he would bend over backwards to perform these grandiose gestures for you, but really he's doing it for himself.

but yknow what? i really think we don't give kara enough credit. he's generally a pretty reasonable guy! i honestly think if you make it clear that what he's doing upsets you or embarrasses you, he would stop for the most part. like, i think he's able to give up his karamatsuisms for the sake of a situation or to actually really think about what the other person wants

so like, as long as you let him have SOME of his karamatsusisms, aka letting him give you things that are covered in his face and blindingly glittery... i think things will work out.

besides, karamatsu gives me the vibe of being one of those guys that has a post-relationship glow up both inside and out. whoever he's with will probably change him for the better.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"72 TAKEN BY POLICE SENT TO WAR JOBS," Toronto Star. September 30, 1943. Page 7. --- Hundreds Said To Be Reporting to Avoid Dragnet --- Seventy-two men rounded up in Wednesday night's police roundup of draft dodgers and selective service evaders were placed in war work today. While no accurate figures are available. officials believe hundreds have rushed to recruiting offices or to selective service for jobs to avoid the dragnet. J. W. Temple, manager of the Toronto office of selective service, said a report is being prepared to show the number picked up by police and placed in employment.

Hundreds have voluntarily reported changes of address to the authorities since the raids on pool-rooms, beverage rooms, restaurants and street corners were started.

[minish-mae-art]

“King’s rule wasn’t THAT bad”

Rouxls says, lying through his teeth

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

okay but the way negotiations between mark s and his outie immediately fell apart. and why wouldn’t they? mark s has only known an existence where he’s been used by his outie. he woke up in a room where a voice asked him sixteen times who he was, and he told that voice he’d kill him. he knows every single way helly’s going to fail at escaping because he tried it himself. two years pass in this endless hell scraping by and his outie doesn’t take his resignation and he can’t escape the building because his outie just walks back in. And then suddenly his outie needs his help and he’s meant to just fall into line and kill himself for him. that conversation started with mark s wanting to believe his outie so bad. He was apologizing for what he did to him. He was sorry. but now he just wants to take what little life he’s built and kill him. reintegration is just tossed to him as a scrap of a promise and outie mark is lying as he does it. He didn’t reintegrate because he felt that this was unfair to his innie. He reintegrated because of Gemma. Mark S’ entire existence is utility for Gemma. He was created to help Mark Scout grieve Gemma and he’s supposed to die to get her back. But his outie can’t comprehend that his innie has something similar to lose. He condescends about his relationship with Helly, gets her name wrong, and then tells him that what he has with Gemma is Helly times a thousand. Mark Scout wants to sacrifice Mark S to save Gemma but never considers that Mark S would do the same to him to stay with Helly

[can-of-slorgs]

*japanese funky nightcore cover music in the background*

[lesbianpegbar]

i think one thing that’s funny about ajin (aside from everything about it) is that if you only know about it from the anime or general cultural osmosis you think that kai is gonna be a secondary protagonist and our yaoi bait but when you read the manga it’s like no he’s. gone. for dozens of chapters. and then they just drop this other guy who looks kinda like kai if you squint into the narrative and he is Always there and fills that role instead. sorry guys the childhood friend is gone here is this kinda stupid random construction worker instead have fun

[vague-humanoid]

[sweetestflow3rs]

tw for abortion talk ( fictional ) //

and if i said that i am contemplating the idea of the dr impregnating vanida in the institution and vanida inducing her own miscarriage by eating poisonous herbs in the forest when escaping, how many rocks will be thrown at me?