#being emotional is not a weakness

[where-is-caithe]

Diophne (Dee-off-nee), she/her, goes by Dee.

I made a cute little sylvari! She cries so much and she has a little cat. She's way different from the usual commander I make and it'll be fun to explore with how she reacts to things.

[thehauntedmarionnette]

He is fighting a war. Just got his arms back. Has been fighting for his life so intensely that even we as the audience are unaware of the passage of time. And still has time to fanboy.

[cyanbeetle]

Trinity thesis

[tubbytarchia]

Hey guys I think The Last Unicorn is such a Scott book

[holmesandbees]

Can we all say thank you to Granada Holmes for showing Holmes and Watson reacting this way to a blackmailer bringing up how he destroyed a gay man’s life?

[myoonmii]

I keep thinking about Merlin’s love for Arthur and how it’s so clearly portrayed in the show to the point that it practically drives the plot of the show. However when it comes to Arthur’s love for Merlin it’s more subtle and sometimes difficult to even grasp, and I started thinking why that was, aside from the obvious fact that Arthur has a lot of trouble expressing his emotions affection or otherwise. I think it also lies in the fact that Merlin knows Arthur intrinsically throughout the show; he is one of the closest people to Arthur, and sees him for who he really is. Arthur admits as much.

Sure, Arthur knows Merlin but the main part of the plot is that he really doesn't know Merlin. Merlin wants him to desperately understand him and “see me for who I am” but he can't yet. And I think this subconsciously creates a barrier in the way in which Arthur can care for Merlin, and how Merlin can let himself be seen by Arthur.

Which is why I think he was also so hurt when the magic reveal happens because more than the betrayal of Merlin having magic, it was the betrayal of Merlin not letting Arthur see him for who he really is and for hiding a main part of himself. Arthur says it himself “why did you never tell me” that’s what hurt him the most.

I think the most damning piece of evidence for this is the fact that while we see snippets of Arthur’s feelings for Merlin thought the show, the biggest signs are in the last episode after the magic reveal; in which he finally gets to understand Merlin, and this time REALLY know Merlin, and as the barriers of what held them back from understanding each other truly fall away, Arthur evidently “falls in love with Merlin all over again”. We see him actually express himself to Merlin.

This is another reason why I think if anyone was ever to create another season of Merlin after Arthur’s return, it’s physically impossible not to make it about Merlin and Arthur acknowledging their feelings for each other. Because there is no way forward without them acknowledging how deeply they care for each other, obviously anyone is free to argue what kind of love that is, but its impossible not to see the deep love there either way.

They always knew they loved each other, just maybe never realising how much and what that means, because its almost second nature to everything that they do.

[ohitslen]

Promises

He should know better. 

Wolfwood has seen Vash make promises, or hear about the ones he has made in the past. He has also seen the end of each one and how every single time the outcome is less than what was promised. 

Vash likes to say embellished words, with a soft and determined voice that lures you into his hopes and dreams, it almost feels like a spell, as if he was calling for you to come closer and believe him. But Wolfwood knows better.

He believes in him, but Vash is much closer to being an idealistic dreamer than a realistic person like he is. He might not be aware of it, but his beautiful promises of a better future give people hope, a hope that is usually embraced with things like disappointment and abandonment. 

He doesn’t think that Vash does it with the intent of looking for any of those things. Far from it, he might even do the impossible in order to accomplish said promises, but life is too short and humans are too mortal for his wishes, so in the end, most of Vash’s promises end up being empty or they come to haunt him as a reminder of his failed vows. He admires the man, for his perseverance and idealism, but he also hates the man, for his stubbornness and lies. 

Wolfwood knows all of this perfectly to a tee. And yet, he has also found himself being drawn to his world. Because he also dreams of it.

A world in where his always present calls for love and peace exist, a world that is far more kind than what he might deserve, a world in where the kids can be happy and roam around without any worry in their heads, a world in where he can peacefully turn grey with age and his hands can shed the harsh callouses of his life. Who knows, maybe a world in where he and Vash can finally know the peace that was taken away from them, in where they can share the calmness that comes with the passage of time, indulging in every tick of the clock welcoming with open arms whatever comes their way without any fear.

It is a beautiful promise. But Wolfwood is a person that has to keep his feet on the ground, indulging in “what ifs” would only make things harder than what they had to be. He can’t have any ifs if he can’t make it through the now. And by the way he is carrying his present, he is doubtful he will even get to see a shed of that promised world that Vash tries to drag him into. So why mourn something he doesn’t even have, or will ever have for that matter.

He hates the way Vash seems to promise things so easily. His tongue silky and pliant, slipping divine words one after the other, promises way too big for what that barren world can actually fit. 

But when Vash talks to him in that holy voice of his, when he hears him say “It’s okay, everything will be alright, I promise” so gently right on his ear, while he holds his face so tenderly making him focus on him and nothing else, he wants to believe him.

He has seen the end of his promises. He knows how impossible they are. But for once, he wants to believe it too. Believe in that loving world that will cradle them both until they fall asleep, listening to the soft sound of the wind laughing while the moons smile upon them. 

So he allows himself to indulge in the warmth of his palms, leaning into the comfort of his existence, feeling the soft air of Vash’s breaths against his skin while their foreheads meet in a touch that feels like a hot brand that will melt him.

For an instant, he allows himself to be selfish and believe that maybe, that is how living in that world Vash so desperately fights for would be. Soft and warm, making him feel safe in the hollow of Vash’s hands where the world seems to fit so well. A world where the blue sky is a blanket that covers the love and care that is nestled in it like the one in Vash’s eyes. He wants to see that world.

For now, he will selfishly think that the world that fits in Vash’s hands is right there in where he is holding him, where his blue eyes are drowning in the light of the sunset dripping with love and care while looking at him, that the gentle touch of Vash’s thumb wiping his tears is the same as the kiss of that laughing wind in that distant future, where the smile of his eyes overcomes the smile of the moons.

He should know better. But he loves the thought of that world. And he hopes that Vash will get to see that world, because that gentle sight is more fitting for someone like him than the one of his violent world.

He promises to himself that he will do what it takes for that day to be possible. Even if the end of that promise will be empty for Nicholas, he knows it will be a full one for Vash. So it really isn’t that empty for him after all.

He hates his lies, and he hates how true they sound, but Vash’s embellished words are far sweeter than his bitter thoughts so they feel better on his insides, almost like a balm that cares for the wounds of his throbbing, painful reality.

He should know better.

But aren’t humans weak at the promise of love?

[maomango-doodle]

(13 pages) Forlorn

[ruporas]

honeymoon phase! (ID in alt)

[stuckinapril]

The whole “be responsible not for other people’s feelings but to them” distinction is so so true… at some point you need to realize that other people’s insecurities really are their responsibility & dimming or contorting yourself to make them feel better helps neither you nor them. Firstly, bc they need to realize what they’re doing and grow up. And secondly, bc you’re not just compromising on a one-time thing. You’re comprising on who you are as a person. I don’t want to look back when I’m older and stay stuck wishing I held my ground despite people’s projections or asserted my presence more or didn’t apologize so much for who I am. I really just want to own everything (the good and bad) & continue doing what makes me happy

[haunted-xander]

Do you think Saix' emotional co-dependence started as a Nobody or did it start as human Isa and just grew to an unhealthy degree?

[willowser]

one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—

android!shouto x reader

wc: 2k+

tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.

notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷

original post

You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.

By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking. 

Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.

Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.

And yet—

The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.

The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.

It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.

Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.

(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)

(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)

Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.

And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.

Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.

“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”

“Oh, hello.”

At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code. 

Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.

At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.

“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”

“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”

“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”

“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”

“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.

“What other types of play are there?”

“Just—hush.” 

And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.

“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”

“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”

He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.

“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits. 

“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”

Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”

You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know—”

“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.

He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine. 

This is what you tell yourself. 

As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.

You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”

Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.

Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal. 

There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.

“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.

“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”

His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—

Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.

“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.

He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.

(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)

(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)

A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief. 

You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face. 

Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional. 

Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed. 

There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.

You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.

“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”

“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”

That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.

“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”

Of course he doesn’t.

[shadebloopnik]

There's just something about Floyd being unhinged in fics that just gets me.

Like yes he gets portrayed as a sweet frail uwu boi most of the time, which is also niceee and all, and would also suit his sensitive title. But then there are fics where Floyd is absolutely off the rails at times; where Floyd is nearing losing his voice being the loudest in a shouting match, where Floyd nearly bites someone's head off in anger, where Floyd tries to sneak out of his room multiple times even when his body still very much recovering from greeting his grandma, where Floyd wrestles with his brother on the floor because he's about to do impulsive sht for the people he cares about, fics where Floyd absolutely LOSES HIS SHIT

And the best part is that none of it is out of character for him at all. In fact, it'd cement his title as the sensitive one even more. Being sensitive isn't just about sad and mopey. Sometimes its about being nuts, and paranoid, and being impulsive when your loved ones are in danger and being so so angry that you'd yell and cry from the frustration. Not that he's always feral and wild- because he's def the one to mediate most of the time, but in situations where his loved ones are in danger, I just love when he's unapologetically emotional in every aspect about it, when he's sobbing and yelling without abandon.

There's something about Floyd in fics letting his emotions speak in such a powerful, feral way that gets me.

[markantonys]

reddit:

literally every other WOT viewer in the world:

[to-the-all-blue]

On my walk home from the cafe I was thinking about Sanji (as one does) and how every influence in his life for 19 years screamed at him to hunker down, stay silent, and never appear weak.

As much as I love Zeff and know he loved Sanji, it's clear he has such a straight-laced and unflinching view of masculinity and what it means to be a man. The environment on the Baratie was an extension of that.

It was a machismo world where affection was hidden behind kicks to the head and insults. The kind of environment where cutting your hand or something gets a response of "what? You call that an injury? Don't cry over nothing". Where outright kindness has to be dragged out of people, and then immediately covered up with a half-baked insult.

Throw into that environmemt a little boy who is desperate to prove he's not the failure he was told he was, and out pops a man who wears his heart on his sleeve for "acceptable manly emotions" but who hides real emotions behind anger, and hides pain (physical or emotional) altogether so as not to seem weak.

Tack onto that the idea that the only surefire way to show love is through self sacrifice (his mom + Zeff), then of course Sanji will be all sorts of jacked up.

We see throughout the series how Sanji is so unwilling to be vulnerable or to even admit he's feeling hurt at all. Plaster a smile on, make some comment about loving women, and voila! He's the man's man everyone expects. No need to worry about him. After all: he's strong.

...🥺

[antianakin]

Had a thought, I think what's bothering a lot of people about recent Force stuff is that Filoni/new shows are treating the Force like a "soft magic" system. As in it's flexible to whatever the plot is and the few rules can change. Vs the more solid "hard magic" system the original stuff operates on. Only certain people have it, there's established things it can do, and it's main point of flexibility is that if you don't think you can do a thing with the Force, you can't.

Like movies/clone wars/even Rebels establishes that having the Force is an innate thing and while non Force users can "hear" the Force (various other practices we see like Chirrut) they can't utilize it. That there's certain abilities are things everyone has and more rare abilities exist but don't seem to be learned (at least not easily). I'm even willing to say Force Healing works in the og system set up in that it's a rare ability and it takes energy. You can't bring someone back from the brink of death without killing yourself or someone else.

But things like Sabine suddenly able to use the Force or Ahsoka able to use abilities out of nowhere and established to be innate and rare basically throws the hard rules out and gives it a confusing inconsistency that just makes it unenjoyable.

I think the problem is, in part, that canon itself treats the Force as both soft AND hard, depending on what aspect you're talking about, because Star Wars runs on Rule of Cool sort-of above and beyond anything else sometimes. For example, the Force Ghosts. Even within the original trilogy, the implications about how the Ghosts work seems to change from ANH to ROTJ, and then you get into the prequels and TCW and the sequels and now the Mandoverse and the Ghosts are just... wackier and wackier every time. There are NO RULES for the Force Ghosts beyond that the person ghosting should be definitively dead, not a Sith when they died, and they should look bluish. Like that's... really it. Beyond that, everyone seems to do whatever the fuck they want with it and they always have, even Lucas himself.

And then you have other things that seem to have remained fairly static this entire time even if they went unsaid, like who is capable of wielding the Force and who isn't, whether it's something you're born with or just something some people can learn easier than others. Up until the Ahsoka show, everybody seemed to agree on this one, so even though it's never been outright stated in canon that you HAVE to be born with the ability to wield the Force or you'll never be able to, it's just a generally accepted part of the worldbuilding and one that a LOT of the character narratives sort-of rely on. BUT, because it's never been outright stated and OTHER elements of the Force and how it's used can be pretty "soft magic", I suppose it's not shocking that eventually someone would try to switch this one up. It's infuriating and it's bad writing just because what little we DO know about it is so important to how these storylines go, but it's not shocking.

It's not like I hate "soft magic" systems in general, but in a lot of those stories, how the magic WORKS isn't actually important to the story being told most of the time. Like in Lord of the Rings, how Gandalf can do magic is completely irrelevant to the themes and messages sent through the story of Frodo and the Ring and the Fellowship. It doesn't MATTER.

But in Star Wars, the way the Force works is baked into the themes and messages of the whole ass story. What darkness is, where it comes from, what balance means and how it can be achieved, all of this is VITAL to the story being told throughout the first six films. And so a lot of the little stuff that gets added to the overall "how the Force works" stuff (psychometry, midichlorians, etc) should all sort-of work within those overall themes already set up. Midichlorians are important because Anakin is DEMONSTRABLY super powerful, more than anybody else in history, and it DOESN'T MATTER. He's literally MEASURABLY more powerful than anybody else and he still fails to do anything he actually wants to do. His power makes it so that his choices change the fate of an entire galaxy, but they're also completely useless in any way that actually matters to him. The fact that they can measure his power helps that message get across. Psychometry takes a lot of the stuff about how the Force allows you to dial into the emotions of other people and just takes it up an extra notch to really hammer home some of those themes about control over your own power and being connected to the world around you.

So Star Wars, in many ways, DOES have a "soft" magic system, it always has, but the things that are changed or added to it SHOULD generally still fit within the overall themes and messages that Star Wars has set up prior to this. Sabine being Force sensitive randomly very explicitly goes AGAINST all of these themes and messages and that's why it sucks. Changing the system so that literally ANYBODY could have the Force if they just worked hard enough at it (and having Sabine gain her ability to wield it only when she FEELS the most emotions as opposed to when she CONTROLS her emotions the best) completely fucks up a lot of the narratives for other characters. What makes Luke so special if literally ANYBODY could have just learned to do what he did, but apparently they just weren't trying hard enough? If Ahsoka felt this way this entire time why wasn't she training up TONS of people in the Rebellion to utilize the Force, why was she HOBBLING the Rebellion by keeping this from them? It's just... SO so stupid in so many ways. Why does Filoni seem to think that fans want the space wizards to be LESS special? It's ridiculous and it's insulting.

I think that at this point we're also just VERY tired of Filoni's blatant favoritism for his own characters and the ways he very intentionally will bash other characters in order to lift up his own faves, and quite honestly THAT'S what pisses me off the most about the Ahsoka show. Sabine and Ahsoka can't be special on their own, they HAVE to call the prequels Jedi failures because they were elitist in order to make Sabine and Ahsoka seem like they're so much better and more enlightened than those OTHER Jedi. And that honestly just stinks of a lack of imagination on Filoni's part. If he can't figure out how to make these characters feel special without tearing down other characters in this franchise to do it, then maybe he's just not that good of a fucking writer to begin with.

So while I'm not PERSONALLY a fan of the way the Force is often very "soft" in the way it's written, that doesn't make it bad in and of itself, but Filoni (and the Mandoverse in general, but mostly Filoni) feels like he's actively flipping the bird at prior accepted assumptions about the worldbuilding and the way those things really helped build the NARRATIVE just because he wants to insist that HIS characters are NOT IRRELEVANT and are in fact more important and cooler than everybody else. When I consume a Star Wars story, I'm EXPECTING something about how it's better to accept and acknowledge your own darkness so you can let it go and control it rather than letting it control you. I'm EXPECTING something about being selfless and compassionate over being selfish and greedy. I'm EXPECTING something about how destiny exists but it isn't everything and your choices still MATTER (both good and bad). And that's just... not what Filoni gave me. The things he changed DON'T suit the narrative of Star Wars, regardless of whether the Force is a soft magic system or not.