and it's not like he doesn't ever say things like that

so anyway i have been thinking about the force and how it is leveraged as a kind of political thing in the rebellion versus the empire conflict - where the formal aspects of the empire (beyond palps and vader) are like THE FORCE IS FAKE while the formal parts of the rebellion go around saying ‘may the force be with you’ in a way that is obviously meant to be deeply political - and because i binge read through grievous’ legends wookieepedia page for reasons yesterday, i’m now wondering about how the separatists who merged into the rebellion would think about this

because like, the force as expounded upon and performed by the jedi was effectively a state sanctioned religion under the old republic which means that any belief in the force would have been especially inextricably bound up in the problem of the state and its apparatus of power. the jedi occupy the weird space of being obviously spiritual and yet obviously deeply involved in the politics and the diplomatic fabric of the galaxy. they’re also involved militarily, even if as a last resort kind of thing so i imagine there’s a fair bit of resentment against them (this is the interesting strain of thought i picked up from grievous’ page) floating around, especially amongst the separatist camp. obviously the rebellion is a coalition formed on the basis of political expediency, but there’s obviously one particular strain of thought that’s gained primacy in there - one that dictates ‘may the force be with you’ as a political saying which marks difference from the bureaucratic indifference of the empire, which is simultaneously also a very jedi saying as compared to the kind of saying from any other conceptualizations and belief systems wrt the force.

and like, this is a charged saying! there’s a history to it! some of it politically violent, some of it being bound up in one group of people being more successful at lobbying the jedi into action than another group of people - and ofc the dynamics of power here are crucial to examine wrt who was able to lobby the jedi more successfully into action and who had the resources in the first place, to be able to push the jedi into action - some of it bound up in a history of jedi and republic interventionism that has its own fraught political complications. and especially wrt rebels who came from separatist planets: its likely that they saw a great deal of republic sanctioned violence and specifically, state sanctioned violence enacted by the jedi, on their planets and their homes before the republic transformed into the empire. and now, of course, the jedi are framed politically as martyred heroes because the empire has rendered them taboo and calls them traitors, which automatically makes the political expediencies of the rebellion expand to include the extinct jedi in their fold.

there had to have been some kind of resentment among the rank and file of rebels wrt blithely accepting the jedi conceptualization of the force as the conceptualization of the force (i mean, we’re also more or less given a nod towards there being multiple understandings of the force outside of the light/dark and jedi/sith binaries in the rogue one novel so i am taking it to its obvious furthest conclusion) and moreover, to accepting what was once the republic sanctioned conceptualization of the force which was practiced by their spiritual military enforcers. like, if you’ve lived your life in a conflict where your planet was ruined, your home destroyed and your people killed by the republic and the very visible jedi, i can’t imagine you’d take ‘may the force be with you’ with anything except deeply bitter resentment. or a kind of grudging acceptance, at best, because you recognize that this is part of political positioning on the part of the rebel leadership (again, who is the leadership and who amongst the leadership gets to elect this as the appropriate thing to say to each other while going into battle, while coming out of battle, while dying, while living - that is also a deeply deeply political choice: both mon mothma and bail organa are from planets that were loyal to the republic during the clone wars and the mon calamari were all on the side of the jedi & republic during the conflict on mon cala so their approach to the conflict and the role of the jedi in the conflict is going to be immensely different from someone who grew up on a separatist world and learned separatist politics and then watched the republic tumble it.). 

tl;dr i wonder if the separatist-turned-rebel factions of the rebellion actually grit their teeth and say ‘may the force be with you’ out loud or if the rebellion is democratic enough to allow them to use and voice their own conceptualizations of their beliefs in the force - and even if it is, i do wonder if there isn’t a deep-seated resentment that remains even through the tenuous coalition and what that means in the long run for the rebellion and for the new republic when it’s finally reinstated.

Stranger Danger

“Why would you even want to wear that shirt, Simon? The thing’s hideous!”

Simon scoffed. First Penny had picked on how his boots- the new ones, a pastel yellow with smiley faces on the front, didn’t match his jumper, and now she was complaining about the new shirt he had just bought.

“Stop acting like a mum, Penny. I happened to like the pink and blue mixing with the planets,” he retorted defensively. He thought he got enough critiques for the repetitive pastel pallet in his wardrobe, along with the fun styles, as it was. He did not need his best friend acting like a parent and fussing over his clothing. They were his anyways; not like she had to wear them.

“Leave me and my boots alone.”

Penny smirked, and from the expression alone Simon could tell that she was trying to get under his skin. He wondered if that had been her plan all along- something that she had been plotting since she texted Simon asking if he wanted to make a trip to the retail park downtown. He shrugged it off though, as he knew it was Penny, and therefor meant to be interpreted in a sibling-rivalry sort-of-way, even though he had no siblings to actually be speaking from experience.

“Someone has to be your motherly figure Simon,” she said jokingly, nudging Simon’s ribs with her elbow.

“Stop that, too. You sound like the guidance counselor.”

They stopped by a bench, one slightly down from the clothing store they had just left. It wasn’t crowded, only passerby walking by and the occasional person stopping to use one of the rubbish bins to the right of them. It was the perfect place for forming a game-plan; where to go next and how to get there.

Penny pulled her phone out of her cardigan pocket. She was wearing the purple and orange one, covered in some sort of tribal pattern. It wasn’t Simon’s favorite, but it suited Penny well enough- bright and bold, like her. She checked the time, even though it really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, and slipped it back.

“It’s only three-thirteen, so we have plenty of time. Where else do you want to go?”

Simon shrugged at her. They had already visited all of the shops he definitely wanted to go, with the one they just left being the last one on his mental list. “We could just cross to the other side. Wander around,” he suggested. Penny smiled slightly, the corners of her mouth tilting up and going back.

“Works for me.” She slipped her arm into Simon’s, so their elbows were crossed, and made her way. On the walk, Simon thought about how they couldn’t have been any more different- but they worked together so well. Penny was bright and bold and smart, and Simon was more reserved, and only mediocre on the knowledge-spectrum. They weren’t quite opposites, like their clothing was, but even still they complimented each other perfectly, Simon making up for the few parts Penny didn’t have.

They made their way to another section of the retail park, this one across from the one they were at previously, and if you turned one of its corners, you would meet another section, this one going back towards the left. They kept walking, nothing in particular standing out to either of them, no clothing, no stores, no restaurant, nothing.

But then something, or someone rather, caught Simon’s eye, standing ahead of them. They seemed so familiar; perhaps it was the style, a dark turtleneck with skinny jeans that he recognized, and the inky hair running messy-in-the-neat-sort down to the person’s shoulders. He searched his mind, racking through different faces and names, and only one seemed to be apparent.

“Penny,” he said in whisper, as if it were an embarrassing secret that no one else could hear. She looked at him, her gaze expectant, saying “yes?” and “go on,” simultaneously.

“I think that guy is my cousin.”

Penny squinted as she looked around, searching for which guy Simon was referring to, but her attempts were futile; there were too many possibilities. “Which guy, Simon? There are people everywhere.”

Simon pointed as subtly as he could to the guy once more, who was now standing off to the side, messing around on his phone from what Simon could tell, because his back was still facing Simon.

“How would you possibly know that’s your cousin, though? I thought your dad wouldn’t let you meet any of them?”

“He won’t, but that doesn’t stop my grandmother. She sends pictures to me sometimes,” Simon explained. He thought of the last time he had received an envelope adorning his name, with what he learned to be Grandma Salisbury’s name and address on the “Return To” slot.

“So what you’re saying is you don’t know that that’s your cousin,” Penny said. She sounded skeptical, like her voice did when she thought Simon had a bad idea that should never be carried out. Except, this time, Simon didn’t really have an idea, not one that she knew of yet, but he did have the suggestion that the boy was his cousin.

“That is exactly what I’m saying. But I am also saying, just now actually, that I intend to find out.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Penny questioned, her left eyebrow raised, her hands clasped on either side of her waist. Simon thought she looked odd, with the various striped and bright shopping bags still hanging from her wrist, but he didn’t say anything about it.

But then he realised he still hadn’t answered her question, and that he didn’t exactly have an answer. Well, he had an idea, but he wasn’t sure what Penny would think of it. He also didn’t know what he would do if the boy wasn’t his cousin, whose name was Jeffery or James or something.

“Well… I have an idea,” he started unsteadily, his hands tugging at the end of his jumper sleeves, something he did when he was nervous or unsure. ‘It’s pretty bold though.”

“Okay… You still haven’t told me what it is, though.”

“That would be because it isn’t the best of ideas… I was just going to… uh,” he dodged around his Peter Pan collar to scratch his neck. “I was just going to hug him,” he said quickly, because he knew that the plan didn’t sound the most sensible. There really was a chance that it wouldn’t be his cousin. (There was also the chance that he would have no clue who Simon was, but he didn’t realise that. Simon doesn’t think. Penny was the brains, and he was technically the muscle, just wrapped in pastel and sugar. He’s not very intimidating.)

“Just hug him? Like no warning, whatsoever? Actually just… hug him?” Penny asked, dumbfounded. How did Simon think this was a good idea?

“Well, yeah. It’s the best I could think of. Unless you have any better ideas?” Simon prompted, but Penny could tell by the way his jaw was set that there would be no other suggestion that Simon liked more. She would just have to sit there and cringe silently in the background, unless this guy ended up being a Class A jerk and tried to beat Simon up. (It happened more than you would think. It could take the wrong person looking at the pink shade of Simon’s favorite Converse or his purple flower crown for him to be punched. But Simon could hold his own most of the time, getting in a hit or two, that pretty much always caught the other person off-guard.) No, then she would be prepared to tackle him to the ground.

But she was going to try and give Simon a different plan anyways. “Well, you could always, I don’t know, ask for his name?” she said, as if it were blatantly obvious. (It was, but clearly not to Simon.)

“But, Penny,” Simon whined, crossing his arms and slightly stamping his foot, “that’s too awkward! What would I say? “Hi I’m Simon and what’s your name because I want to know if you are my cousin who I have never met before?””

“Better than your idea,” Penny grumbled, and Simon made a noise of resentment.

Penny huffed in defeat. “Fine, Simon. Go hug him. Make a fool out of yourself.”

Simon’s eyes lit up and he smiled, lopsided but genuine. He slid his bags off of his wrists and placed them at Penny’s feet, telling her to kindly watch them. He skipped off.

Baz was frustrated, to say the least. All he had wanted was a simple day in town, as little problems as possible. And that had worked out for a while, better than he had expected, actually. Dev and Niall had been decently behaved; neither of them had started unnecessary fights or anything of the like, and Baz had been extremely thankful. But all good things must come to an end.

They had been in Topman, and Baz had left to go browse for a new jumper. He finally found one he liked, and turned show Dev, but he was gone. Both of them were gone. He quickly made his purchase and went outside, where he pulled out his phone and frantically sent texts of ‘Where are you?’ and ‘Ditching me? Why didn’t you just say you were leaving? We aren’t twelve.’. He received no reply from either boy.

But then Baz found himself being propelled forward by something, rather someone, and he felt arms wrap around his shoulders. He gripped his phone tighter, preventing it from falling. He huffed, and shoved the person off. He turned around, and was greeted with sky blue and gold. A boy, a gorgeous boy, who he guessed thought he was someone else.

He noticed him cower backwards in what seemed to be fear, or maybe embarrassment (either was likely. Baz didn’t exactly look to be the most approachable, and the situation was rather awkward.), and his face turned a dark pink.

“Oh- I, uh… I’m sorry, I just” the boy stammered out, turning an ever darker shade. Baz found it adorable.

“Your collar is rumpled, now,” Baz said, interjecting in the boys strand of mumbled words that didn’t seem to fit together. The boy went quiet, and went to fix the collar, but Baz stopped him.

“No, let me.” He turned the collar back to the front and smoothed out its wrinkles. The boy shuddered under his touch, and Baz pulled his hands back. “Oh, sorry, that was probably out of line. I just thought- “

“No, it’s fine,” the boy interjected this time. “Your hands are just freezing!”

Baz chuckled to hide his relief. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“I- I’m Simon, and I probably owe you an explanation,” he said quietly. Baz just looked at him, his gaze slightly downcast due to the height difference as he took the boy in, creating an outline of his face in his mind. Simon did the same, running his eyes over high cheek bones and large eyes.

Baz blinked rapidly, effectively snapping out of whatever trance he was in. He flushed slightly when he realised that he had been staring, and had left the other boy- Simon’s- question unanswered. “I think that would be nice.”

Baz tugged at the neck of his jumper, the turtleneck cut suddenly making him feel uncomfortable and hot. “Do you, maybe, want to go grab a coffee?” Is this to straight-forward? he asked himself. He didn’t even know how Simon would take this (A date? Baz wished. He didn’t even know if Simon was gay!)

Simon was slightly taken aback. Simon Snow was not the guy that was asked on dates. Or maybe it wasn’t a date- no, he shouldn’t assume that. Maybe it was just an invitation to explain why a pastel-clad boy just tackled a boy of his style-opposite in the middle of a walkway. Even then, Simon wasn’t the person to get invited to hang out either, unless it was Penny or Agatha. No, this was a new spontaneity that he wasn’t prepared for. He didn’t like to dwell on decisions for too long, and he couldn’t exactly say no, (way too awkward, as if this wasn’t awkward enough), so he was prepared to say no, but then he remembered. Penny.

“Well, actually I’m with someone,” he turned back to find Penny, but she was gone, along with their shopping bags. How did she just- “Well, never mind. It seems she has left me.”

The other boy laughed, almost harsh and sarcastic, and more like a puff of air than anything. He tugged at his turtleneck again, and then dropped his hands to his side. “Funny you mentioned that, because I seem to be in the very same situation.”

Simon smiled coyly. It explained why the boy had look frustrated, besides the fact that he tackled him. He doesn’t think I killed her.

They were in silence, neither meeting each other’s eyes. Simon knotted his fingers together, feeling rather shy for some reason. He knitted them in and out, while Baz watched him do so.

Baz cleared his throat, realising that watching someone you just met act shy and nervous, as adorable as it was, wasn’t really acceptable. “So, uh, coffee?”

Simon’s eyes snapped up, his hand stilled and separated. He looked up to Baz. It was then that he realised, after all of this, he didn’t know his name. “Uh, shouldn’t I get your name first? I mean, not that I’m opposed to coffee, but if I know your name, I’m not having coffee with a stranger, and I’m rambling aren’t I?” he asked, his hands finding each other again. Baz looked down at him, admiringly, because this boy is adorable. It made Simon flush, but not exactly like he was embarrassed. He wasn’t being scrutinized; the other boy seemed too caring, too much like he was admiring Simon, for him to feel exposed or analyzed.

“You were, but I don’t mind. You get really animated when you talk.”

Simon turned a little pinker, and his shoulders hunched forward, as if he was trying to hide the obvious heat to his cheeks, accenting his moles and freckles.

“Oh, it’s Baz.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he looked up to the boy before him once more. “What?”

“My name. It’s Baz.”

Simon’s mouth formed into an ‘o’.

“So, since I’m no longer a stranger, and we both have been abandoned, coffee?”

Simon smiled, and nodded his head. “Lead the way, Baz,” he said, adding the boy’s name on just to see how it felt on his tongue. It felt natural.

Baz smirked, and headed the other way, towards the coffee shop, his bags hitting his hips as he walked. Simon had to jog a bit to catch up, but then they were side by side, walking in time.

Once they were seated in the coffee shop, a small one that Simon had never heard of, one with plush velvet booths and walls covered in artwork, Simon pulled out his phone to text Penny. Baz had gone up to the counter to order their drinks, after relentlessly insisting that he pay for them.

[Simon] 3:24

Where did you go

[Penny] 3:24

Away. I’m doing you a favor, Simon. Trust me. ;)

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed again. A favor?

[Simon] 3:25

What’s that supposed to mean

[Penny] 3:25

Just the way you guys looked at each other (I’m assuming he isn’t your cousin, or this might be awkward.). There is no denying that you thought he was gorgeous.

[Simon] 3:26

I find him reasonably attractive.

[Penny] 3:26

Sure, we’ll go with that.

[Simon] 3:26

Gtg, Baz is back.

Simon slid his phone back into his back pocket as Baz sat two coffee cups on the table. Simon looked up at him and smiled, feeling much more comfortable with Baz now.

“So, acknowledging the elephant in the room, what on earth compelled you to jump on me?” Baz said, his eyebrows raised in what seemed to be amusement.

Simon flushed again, and looked down to his lap. Why was he so… blushy?

“That’s actually a funny, and long, story.”

“Well, I came here to find out, so do tell.”

Simon looked up to Baz again.

“Well, I guess the best place to start is the beginning,” Simon said, slowly and unsure.

“Really? I was going to suggest the ending,” Baz said, in a sarcastic tone.

“Shut up,” Simon muttered under his breath. Baz decided that he liked watching Simon when he was upset, affronted, just as much as he did in general.

“Anyways,” Simon continued now, “I lost my mother when I was a baby, a newborn actually. So it was just me and my dad, no cousins or grandmas or anything. He won’t let me meet them for some reason. But, one of my grandmothers, on my mother’s side, always sends me pictures from family gathering and stuff, and you looked like one of my cousins. His name is James or something. And I got really excited, because I had never met one of my cousins before, and I didn’t really think much so I just sorta jumped on you.”

Baz nodded, and Simon could see a trace of something, maybe pity, in his expression. He didn’t let it bother him; the look always appeared when he talked about his parents. “Okay. Anything else?” Baz prompted.

“Well, I was a little scared of you at first, because I thought you were angry at me. I mean- my dad always told me that my mother’s family would hate me, which is understandable, but I never actually thought they would. But then I thought about it, and I realised that you were definitely not my cousin.”

“Why would her family hate you, Simon?” Baz said, sorrow evident in his voice. He wished to grab Simon’s hand, but it wasn’t exactly socially acceptable to hold hands with someone you have known for a very limited time. Simon gulped; this was the part of the story that he always hated to tell, and often avoided. But he felt like he owed Baz something, some sort of explanation, so he was going to do his best to give one.

Simon had dramatically paled, and it was slightly concerning to Baz, so he threw caution to the wind and placed his hand on the table, face up, there if Simon needed it, so Simon could feed off of his energy and take his encouragement. Simon took his hand, and Baz squeezed it gently.

“You don’t have to tell me, Simon,” quiet, solemn.

Simon shook his head, no, “yes I do. I never tell anyone.”

Baz smiled slightly, just to provide some encouragement. He squeezed Simon’s hand again. He liked the contrast between the heat of Simon’s hand and the icy temperature of his own. He always seemed to be cold. “Take your time, Si.” He didn’t know where the nickname had come from, and neither did Simon, but they both decided they liked it.

Simon took a shaky breath, “I killed her,” he said, his words rushed and slowed together. Baz blinked rapidly in shock.

“Simon, what are you on about?”

“I killed her. She died because she had me. My dad says I killed her, and I think I might’ve.”

Baz held on a little tighter. “You didn’t kill you mum, Simon. That wasn’t your choice. You didn’t choose for her to die. You didn’t kill her.”

Simon squeezed Baz’s hand. He felt tears well in his eyes; people had told him that before, but from Baz, it seemed so much sincerer. He didn’t know why they were already so close, and why he trusted Baz so much, but he knew that he did and why didn’t matter.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“I lost my mum too, y’know. A freak accident.”

Simon looked up, his blue eyes wide and glazed over. “I’m sorry.”

Baz shook his head, “it’s okay. It happened a long time ago; I’ve come to accept it.”

They sat in silence after that, both replaying the conversation in their minds. Simon felt almost proud of himself; he had told someone. But he also felt sorry for Baz.

Simon phone sounded from his back pocket, startling both boys, and he squirmed around in his seat to retrieve it.

He sighed, “It’s my friend from earlier; Penny. I gotta go,” he said, looked to Baz apologetically.

“I could… take you home? If you want?”

“I would love that Baz, and would take you up on that offer, but stranger danger is very much a thing,” Simon said, smirking although he was serious. He didn’t quite want Baz to know everything about him yet.

“I thought you said since you knew my name, I wasn’t a stranger,” Baz countered, an eyebrow raised and his mouth forming a smug and lopsided grin. This, with Simon, had been the most fun he had had in a while.

“The rule still applies. We may know each other’s tragic backstories, but we haven’t known each other more than an hour yet.”

“Fair point. Well, at least give me your number, so we can meet again,” Baz said, fishing his own phone out of his pocket. “I mean, if you want,” he added quickly.

Simon smiled, and took the phone. They spent more time looking at each other, tracing the curves and lines of the others face.

Simon’s phone sounded in loud and rapid succession, signaling that Penny was at her wits end with waiting. A few from the shop looked at him, some annoyed and some generally curious, but then quickly lost interest in the pastel boy whose face was what Baz thought was impossibly red at this point.  Simon fumbled to put his number in (Baz later found out that he had put it in as Simon Snow :) ) (Baz also learned that Simon’s last name was the silliest one he had heard yet) before handing the phone back to Baz. He smiled one last time, and then was out the coffee shop’s door.

Simon met up with Penny at the car, where he was supposed to be five minutes ago. (He’ll just blame it on the walk to get to the car park.) He found Penny behind the wheel, her fingers drumming repeatedly against the wheel. (She had always been rather impatient in Simon’s opinion.)

“You’re late,” Penny said as he opened the door. He shut it and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“I know. Sorry about that,” he said. He buckled his seatbelt and turned to face Penny, who had yet to actually start the car. She had a smirk on her face, like a teacher would have if they knew you were lying or if they knew they were about to make your life miserable.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t your cousin.”

“No. Definitely not my cousin.”

“Did you get his number?”

“Yeah. Well, he got mine.”

Penny smiled and held her hand out for a high five. Simon hit her hand with his own. “That’s my boy.”

Something i just don't really understand very well...because i see people literally say these things in the same sentance
  • Person: Rowan and Aelin were so much better platonic, just, they were my brotp, they were such deep and good friends, i hate their romantic relationship, it was so much better when they were friend soul-mates
  • Me: Why do you hate their romantic relationship?
  • Person: Because its like she fell in love with her abuser! He was such an asshole to her, so abusive and terrible and awful, it just doesn't make sense that he would be with her
  • Me: But as friends-
  • Person: My Brotp, ah, they were so cute and friend goals and much better platonic
  • Me: But romantically
  • Person: Their relationship is so toxic, all because of how he treated her in the beginning, total abuser asshole, he is the worst
  • Me: friends you-
  • Person: Love them, so perfect, they were the best
  • Me: ....Wait what?

anonymous asked:

First time when Misaki/Saruhiko say "I love you" to each other?

My inclination is that Yata says it first – Fushimi’s probably never said those words before or ever had them said to him so I think it would be a lot harder for him. I imagine the first time it’s like they’ve reconciled and maybe been living together again for a while but they’re both not really sure exactly what type of relationship they have, like are they just best friends again or is there something more or what, but Yata starts to feel more and more like he wants to take the next step. He probably thinks about it for a few days, like trying to decide the perfect way to say it because he’s not sure how Fushimi will react, plotting the best moment, and then he totally ends up just blurting it out over dinner or something. I think Fushimi kinda sits there absorbing it and is finally just nods, like “…Mm.” Which Yata isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not but they kiss and Fushimi seems happy about it, so he figures it went well. He gives Fushimi a little leeway on saying it back because I think Yata would know how hard it is for Fushimi to express his feelings in words so he just keeps telling Fushimi he loves him and gives Fushimi time to process the whole thing. (Meanwhile at some point Fushimi’s talking to Yata when other people from S4 are present and before they part Yata says something like “See you later, Saru, love you!” and Fushimi just nods, and one of the S4 boys is like “Aren’t you supposed to say ‘love you’ back?” and Fushimi’s like “…You are?” because he has no clue about this stuff.) At some point finally maybe they’re just doing something simple, like having fun and playing video games or something and Fushimi kinda mutters “I love you” to Yata and Yata just freezes for a second, and Fushimi starts to get defensive like “What’s with that look?” and then Yata totally tackle-hugs him and starts kissing him and they’re just all cute and in love and everything.

i always feel a little iffy about fandom using ‘hard-working’ as Feuilly’s main quality - usually in sortings or ‘les amis as … ‘ posts, ‘cause…

okay, it’s not that he’s not hard-working, because he is! he does so much! and it’s a good quality! but with Feuilly it’s in large part because he has to, because really for him there’s no other choice. 

it might work for other characters (no one ever calls Enjolras or Combeferre hardworking when they most definitely are? I wonder why - except no, I know why) saying the main thing about Feuilly is that he’s gounded and hard-working and values hard honest work above everything else, to me, feels like. you take the one guy in the entire group that’s known to be working class, the only one who has to work to survive in a group of privileged students, and the first thing fandom says about this character is like ‘oh boy! he works so much. he loves working to survive, it’s so deeply intrinsic to his personality as to be his main traits. working fullfills him, it makes him happy’. idk. it feels a little like mocking the socioeconomic inequalities that force him to work himself to exhaustion everyday just to survive. especially when you ignore everything else we know about him, his enthusiasm for the outside world, his knowledge, his compassion and his passion for learning, etc. which are, btw, highlighted way more than the hard-working part in the actual text

yeah, idk.

Can we please end this bullshit of attacking a person for not knowing every single fact of everything ever, like you do because you’re some kind of all-knowing God.