my rotting out

pplwkp-deactivated20170512  asked:

Hi, you replied to my ask about Leia and Bail a while back, and I was wondering if you could help me again? I thought all the while that Anakin killed Padmé, but my friend pointed out today that she lived for a moment after he choked her. I asked this elsewhere and somebody said Palpatine may have killed Padmé`? do you know? thank you!

Okay so there’s no Real Answer for this, unfortunately. (Why? My money is on bad writing and bad directing that didn’t get the point that Lucas was trying to make across to the audience.) Also unfortunately, we don’t have a whole lot of evidence, frankly, because what happens is a little bit…wishy washy. This, however is what we do know:

1) Padme was still alive after Anakin choked her. he knocked her unconscious, but she was still alive when Obi-Wan goes to check on her, and then again later on the ship and at Polis Massa (the asteroid base where the twins are born)

2) Padme stays alive long enough to give birth to Luke and Leia

3) the droid that goes to tell Obi-Wan, Bail, and Yoda that Padme is dying says that it has no idea why Padme is dying–that she seems to just have lost the will to live

4) at the same time as Padme is giving birth to the twins, Anakin is being operated on

Okay so, why do I make those four points specifically?

Because I actually agree with the other person you asked: I personally think that it was Palpatine who killed Padme. why do I think this?

Well, as we established, Padme is still alive after Anakin attacks her. This fuels into Anakin’s confusion and sense of betrayal after he wakes up post-suit. “But I felt her,” he says to Palpatine. He felt that she was still alive at that point–and yet Palpatine convinces him that he had, in fact, killed her in his anger.

It was, ironically, actually Palpatine’s insistence that Anakin had killed her, and his confidence in Padme’s death, that convinced me that it was Palpatine who killed her.

We know a few other things as well:

1) droids cannot feel the Force

2) Palpatine claims, at least, to have mastered the ability to control life

3) by all rights, Anakin Skywalker should have died. three of his four limbs were severed, he had third degree burns on like 100% of his remaining body, and his lungs were irreparably damaged by ash, fire, and smoke

4) it seems vastly out of character for Padme “I saved my planet from an invasion at age 14″ Amidala to just…”lose the will to live” because the man she loved went Dark Side

So here’s my proposition:

Palpatine wasn’t actually entirely lying to Anakin when he said he could manipulate life and death. Because he actually can. but the thing is, you can’t just…create life willy nilly. Instead, in order to give life, what if you have to take that life from somewhere else? Thus, instead of creating life, it’s more like…siphoning off life, or reapportioning it to someone else?

Thus, when Palpatine was faced with the prospect of losing his apprentice, he did the only thing he could have (would have) done–he gave Anakin the life he needed in order to survive his wounds. and he did this by taking Padme’s life–which was, quite likely I think, bound to Anakin’s via the Force, via both love and intimacy–and giving it to Anakin. To the droid examining Padme, who could not feel the Force, it would seem that Padme had just lost the will to live–because it couldn’t see any reason for her life to just, inexplicably, be draining away.

This also cements Palpatine’s assurance to Anakin that Padme is dead, however. Because how did Palpatine know, with absolute certainty, that Padme was dead, unless he had felt her die? To make such a strong statement claiming that Padme was dead if he didn’t actually know that, with absolute certainty, would have been incredibly dangerous for him. because what if he had made that claim, and then Padme showed up like six years later? The final act which had bound Anakin in complete subservience to him would have been shown to be a lie, and I bet you Anakin’s loyalty would have fractured at that. I mean, Anakin’s loyalty fractures when he finds out that Palpatine lied about his child being born. And it’s ultimately that child(ren) which brings him to kill Palpatine. I bet you it would have been the same, if not even more immediate, if Anakin found out that Palpatine had lied about Padme. And I bet you Palpatine knew that too.

So Palpatine would have had to know that Padme was 100% dead in order to so certainly make the claim he did. And…well, how else would he have known, with absolute certainty, unless he’d had a hand in killing her?

This option also gives Padme much more agency, too, and I feel like it lines up with her character much better. Because now, instead of being reactionary and passive in the affair, and just…giving up on life because Anakin went to the Dark Side and betrayed her, we have a woman who held onto life with tooth and nail long enough to give birth to and name her children. Now we have a woman who fought the darkness with her last breath, and with her last breath gave hope to the galaxy, even as her light was being taken to feed the darkness.

And that not only fits her character better, but I also feel like is so, so much more tragic–on every side. On Anakin’s side, who is convinced by the man who actually murdered her, that he killed the woman he loved. On Padme’s side, who was stripped of her life and her hope, but with her last strength and last resolve brought the new hope into the world. And even on Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Bail’s side, who thought that their friend had died for nothing, and who will mourn her for her weakness, and who will never know that perhaps the greatest battle against the Dark Side was fought and won–because it was from Padme, and from that final battle, that Light was born again–by her in those last moments.

“Lonicera Paellax”

Ignis/Aranea (FFXV) | 3.2k words | I’ll tag it M but it doesn’t really deserve it

Authors Notes: Oh god, there wasn’t enough content for this ship so I made some??? Have 3,000 words of Ignis over-intellectualizing the entire universe, and Aranea being her generally sassy self. Pre-Altissia. Canon compliant where there’s actually canon to be had. Vague musings of Iggy’s backstory. Allusions to Aranea/Ravus. 


“So what is this plant we’re hunting for, again?”

Lonicera Paellax.”

“Great. Got anything more helpful than that, Ivory Tower?” Aranea’s voice was a taunting barb a few paces behind him as they picked their way through the beach rose and scrub pine of the Vannath sea-cliffs. “I’m not writing a dissertation. I’d just like to be able to spot the damn things before I’ve crushed them all to hell. These boots aren’t exactly ballet shoes, you know.”    

Ignis smirked. Of course he new that the scientific name was useless in their current context, but he liked the sound of the words… and maybe the sound of her frustration.

Keep reading

3

The Town of Invergarry. 15 December, 08:45 PM.

I live in a dingy basement hidden in a dark alley. I can’t complain; it’s better than living in an overcrowded tenement as so many do, but it’s still a basement. My front door was already rotting out of its frame as the first snow mixed with the rain and turned into slush, seeping through the roof.

Most nights after work, I warm up by the fire with a cup of coffee and listen to the radio

Ho, Hey

Summary: You overhear your boyfriend Cas saying that he doesn’t feel like he belongs, so you do everything you can to show him just how wrong he is.

Pairing: Castiel x Reader (surprise, surprise)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: FLUFF OVERLOAD. seriously so fucking sweet and fluffy. like, my teeth rotted out as I wrote this.

A/N: so this starts out in episode 12x03, “The Foundry”, and this is loosely based off of the chorus of the song “Ho, Hey” (hence the title) by The Lumineers. I actually didn’t originally plan on ending it the way I did, it just happened, and I hope yall enjoy it. Cause this fic is HELLA fluffy. OH YEAH, and “olani hoath ol” means “I love you” in Enochian :-)

Originally posted by cassammydean

Your eyes fluttered open, your brow furrowing at the empty spot beside you in the bed you shared with your boyfriend, Castiel. Where’s Cas? you thought.

With a groan, you tossed your blankets to the side, standing up and stretching before leaving your room to go find Cas. You had become so accustomed to sleeping next to him, it was almost like your body knew when he wasn’t there, refusing to sleep until he was back beside you. Where he belonged.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

💕

Memories of my partners now?…good choice


So don’t tell Smol i said this, but there was a time when i was teaching him how to read he kept staring at me instead of the book. He was blushing the whole time, so i pretended i didn’t notice cause i knew he’d get mad. *giggles*

And Wild i just remember when we first started dating he just give me so much love to the point where i could’ve swore my teeth rotted out. He just so affectionate!

// @boris-in-the-wild @asksmolboris

i hate when people turn self deprecating humor posts into positivity posts. like no!!!!! let me drag myself and others like me!!!! stop trying to pick me up!!!! i want to be writhing in the dirt with the other worms where i belong!!!! stop trying to make me love myself ur goal is futile!!! leave me to be vile u relentless saccharine human personification of splenda artificial sweetener!!! it is the only way i experience joy!!!!

anonymous asked:

So I went back and looked at the staged airport drink pic. It was always odd to me the combo of drinks that were supposedly ordered at one time for one person. Wine, orange juice and coffee. But the orange juice has ice cubes in it. It's not your morning glass of oj, its a cocktail. Now does one order 2 drinks at 1 time? Or is someone traveling perhaps not by themselves?


There are many oddities about that inane post besides the fact that it’s just embarrassingly stupid no matter who posted it and that the glasses are all sparkling clean as if no hands or lips had ever touched them.

You know who orders coffee and water when others order cocktails? Alcoholics in recovery. You know who orders cocktails in front of alcoholics in recovery? Assholes. You know who is an alcoholic in recovery? Anne Lamott, author of that book prop…..

But there was one tiny problem. I was dying. Oh, also, my soul was rotted out from mental illness and physical abuse. My insides felt like Swiss cheese, until I had that first cool, refreshing drink.
So, not ideal. The elevator was going. It ONLY goes down; until you finally get off. As a clean, sober junkie told me weeks later, “At the end, I was deteriorating faster than I could lower my standards.”
And against all odds, I picked up the 200 pound phone, and called the same sober alkie that my older brother had called two years earlier, when he had hit his coked-out bottom. The man, a Jack Lemmon type, said, “I will come get you at 11:30. Take a shower, and try not to drink till then. The shower is optional.”
I didn’t; when all else fails, follow Instructions. I couldn’t imagine there was a way out of all that sickness and self-will, all those lies and secrets, but God always makes a way out of No Way.
So I showed up. Before I turned on Woody Allen, he said that 80% of life is just showing up. And I did. There were all these other women who had what I had, who’d thought what I’d thought, who’d done what I’d done, who had betrayed their families and deepest values, who sat with me that day, and said “Guess what? Me, too! I have that too. Let me get you a glass of water.

No. I’m not implying that she was hanging out with Anne. I’m saying the picture taker seems to be in recovery and hanging out with assholes. In an unidentifiable airport serviced by British Airways. 

For further in depth over analysis of a ridiculous meaningless picture and human behavior, please do check out David Foster Wallace’s speech, This Is Water. Read it. Consider yourself hydrated for the day. 

the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

This is water!

This is water!

https://genius.com/David-foster-wallace-this-is-water-kenyon-college-commencement-address-2005-annotated

I am blue as blue can get
but I know how to shoot a shotgun full of buckshot bullets,
I know how ‘no’s turn boys into beasts. 
I’m not scared. 


This is a truth and an untruth.
I am a wrecker
Not of homes,
Of people
(Including myself)
Im an equal opportunity wrecker!
Does that make me a feminist?
Or am I a meninist?
I mansplain all day to these boys,
They should really know by now
that I am a curator who knows better,
they taught me well.
They sharpened my skills.


Truthfully,
I’m not a notorious serial killer,
I’m a petty criminal who took all the credit.
The only way I can explain is through shitty analogies.
I am a metaphor that the reader thinks he understands.
I’m Lady Macbeth, and my hands are just dirty as fuck!


It doesn’t makes much sense to me.
I’m a shitty texter,
I’m not cool,
I’m loud
I think I’m smarter than you
(I’m not)
And I know I’m prettier than your ex girlfriend
(And your current girlfriend)
I light all my bridges on fire
I drink boy tears mixed with champagne,
(try it sometime)
and I sit at the head of the table.
I am a mob boss with a monopoly
over whiny boys who don’t get what they want,
I’m a girl made of alpha male,
and I protect my own.
If you fuck with the people I love,
you’re in for some twisted shit.
I am a multitude,
my blood is sarcasm and self-pity,
cinema and endless analysis,
I am a pain in the ass!
I will keep you up all night
And make you late for everything,
In the morning, I’ll oversleep soundly
And you’ll curse me from your work desk,
Only to come home the very same evening
and say you love me,
And say that I’m the most everything out of everyone that you’ve ever met,
and that you’ll wake up everyday excited
to do it all over again
Eventually, you’ll say I’m “too much” too often,
and when I decide not to come home anymore,
You’ll start knocking down MY door
and you tell I’m the most everything out of everyone you’ve ever meet
and this time,
You mean it!
I’ve rolled my eyes so much,
I’ve detached retinas.
(and you bore me).


Sometimes I think about my conquests and feel full,
Full of laughter and indifference and numbness
Not the bad numbness,
(I know that mother too)
But the kind of numbness you get in your face
When you’re drunk and it’s warm
and you’re swimming with you’re best friends,
And you’ll live forever.
But most of the time I am very sober.
It’s my duty to slap me awake,
to remind me of the truth.
I’m not a dictator,
I can be glamorous
but THIS isn’t glamorous,
I know the difference.
(caution: this isn’t an apology).


Those boys,
the ones I ate,
they were beautiful and hand made
of tiny shipwrecks.
I sailed them until they sank.
The seas we sailed were the only ones left that weren’t melting–
we weren’t the first to hit icebergs,
we weren’t the first ones to get lost.
I loved them,
But I don’t miss them anymore–
Not those boys, and not myself.
I’m not trying to bring us back to life;
An autopsy must be performed.
We all need a cause of death.


It’s still strange to me that
My body count is so high.
I’ve led many little lives
I’ve played the protagonist and the antihero,
The villain and the victim.
I’ve never chosen the roles,
They’ve chosen me,
(I’m a method actor).
I thought it was clear who I was when went we went to sleep, but
we were all wrong about me.


To those boys
I’m the small-town star quarterback,
The one you adore and resent at the same time,
The one who’s tragic and a little sick
But endearing because they’re beautiful and hard.
To them
I’m a rare catch,
And they can’t decide
If they should catch and stuff and hang me on the mantlepiece,
Or catch and release me back into the wild
Just so they can watch.


I don’t always know what to do with me either,
but I am not mythological.
I can’t tell you what I am
But I am not a suicide to be romanticized.
I am a championship
and a game lost by 1.
I am decorated
But I am NOT undefeated.
I’m not an Olympian
I am a soldier,
one who is valiant and strong
not because they’ve won it all,
But because they survived it all.
I am many
and I am few.
I am a fighter
And I don’t mean that in a story book sense,
I mean it very literally.
I have survived myself,
I have saved myself,
and I still don’t know
whether the blood on my hands
Is mine or theirs.


Those boys thought I was a war zone
(I did not feed them this lie).
They were shocked and horrified
when they realized
I was not propaganda.
They forgot
that all fire is enemy fire,
that there aren’t any “good guys” or “bad guys”,
just people trying to survive.
I didn’t mean to hurt them by living this truth,
but I can only be so remorseful over rain.
I am not your local weather man.
Everyone is made of bones and flowers.
I never wanted to teach those boys
that people are graveyards and gardens,
But I did, anyway.
I’m unqualified to articulate the ways in which one learns
how to love graves just as much as greenhouses,
I’m a cruel catalyst at best.


Still, I wonder,
can lightning strike 4 times?
when does electricity become an electrical fire?
when does negligence become indulgence?
when does survival become murder?
and when does coincidence become confluence?
Have I forged my own death certificate?
because part of me is angry.
It was pure luck that they walked in and watched my performance art.
It was curiosity that compelled them join me here
It was my contradiction that captivated them,
but it was their own set of addictions that made them stay.
They made up their minds about me,
and never asked what I meant.
No one has the decency to pray for fallen angels.
horns and halos aren’t all that different,
(the devil is a highway that we get on and off).


Long before I left those boys
I begged for them.
I loved them,
I loved them,
I loved them.
They may not have heard me
But I happened,
I still made sound in the forest.
I might not have been what they (thought) they ordered
But they ate the fruit anyway
and they loved it,
And they lost it.
My bags made plenty of noise when I packed up before the bell rang.

Come on, boys,
We all did this,
We all do this.
We’re all just fucking 4th graders anxious to go home,
We are unapologetic
We are all geniuses,
no one buys our art
we’re still masterpieces.
Just because you didn’t see me leave
doesn’t mean I’ll stick around after class to explain.
I can’t,
I won’t make it fair just to soothe you,
I won’t remain here for the sake of sticking.
I left early,
But I am a four day weekend,
And I can’t be so sorry anymore
(I’m not really sorry anymore).

The only solace I can offer is a thorough investigation.
I can only remember
what our autopsies smelled like.
I tried to respect them as I opened me up
but birth and death are messy!
I examined my insides and found my rot
then dug it out with my own two hands.
When there was nothing more to report,
I said hello and goodbye to myself.
I kissed my lives and loves one last time
before I had to leave.
I shut off the lights and showed myself the door.

Oh, my bittersweet tooth throbs.
I am on my way!
I have more wars to survive
And lives to live.
I have my own wrecks to discover
and helm to steer.
I am grateful for having shed my skins,
and I hope they feel the same,
but my chest bumps nonetheless.
It taps me, and it whispers:
You are on your way!
You are on your way!

If The Hobbit were an MMO
  • * Bilbo has joined the party *
  • Thorin: lol
  • Thorin: hobbit
  • Fili: xD
  • Kili: XDDDD
  • Bilbo: :/
  • Gandalf: a THIEF hobbit
  • Gandalf: he'll be useful
  • Gandalf: promise.
  • Thorin: He better be. Bilbo, build?
  • Bilbo: Build what?
  • Thorin: ...what's your build.
  • Bilbo: OH. Er...I don't think I have one.
  • Thorin: Stats?
  • Bilbo: Haven't assigned any.
  • Bilbo: I usually just RP in town.
  • * Bilbo has been kicked from party *
  • Gandalf: Thorin wtf
  • * Bilbo has joined the party *
  • Bilbo: @_@
  • Thorin: Is he level 20 or something whotf doesn't have a build
  • Bilbo: EXCUSE YOU. I'm level 80!
  • Thorin: What skills did you get?
  • Bilbo: I'm not telling you that, you'll just mock all of them.
  • Thorin: Gandalf I'm not bringing an untested thief along.
  • Thorin: He'll die.
  • Thorin: Several times.
  • Thorin: IDG why I even have to, we're pretty much set.
  • Gandalf: Yeah, 13 warrior-class idiots versus a level 500 dragon boss.
  • Gandalf: That'll scare him.
  • Gandalf: Look, his skillset's ideal and you have an extra party slot.
  • Gandalf: Just bring him along. What's the harm?
  • Dwalin: he's not even geared
  • Thorin: ...what?
  • Dwalin: look at his armor
  • Thorin: Oh god.
  • Fili: lmao that's like starter gear
  • Kili: XDDDDDDDDD
  • Bofur: HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?!
  • ... later ...
  • * A Stone Giant damaged Bilbo for 18,028 HP *
  • Thorin: jfc
  • * Thorin applies bandages to Bilbo's wounds *
  • * Thorin applies bandages to Bilbo's wounds *
  • * Thorin applies bandages to Bilbo's wounds *
  • * Bilbo has recovered his health *
  • * Bilbo has been kicked from party *
  • Gandalf: THORIN I SWEAR TO GOD
  • * Bilbo has joined the party *
  • Gandalf: IF YOU KICK HIM ONE MORE TIME I'M LOGGING OFF