forcemeadow-blog - Tumblr blog

[forcemeadow-blog]

i have no sense of self control, lmao. so i’m over THERE, maybe, if anyone wants to know.

[forcemeadow-blog]

@jedimessianic

UNDER THEIR PRECARIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES, a medbay was a luxury unaffordable; so here he sat, tending to his former apprentice’s wounded shoulder, soot and sweat clinging to his forehead in their temporary refuge from the roaring conflict. “you should have been more careful,” his voice was barely above a whisper, a little hoarse. it had been a while since he had had water, if he recalled right, but to think of that in this very moment would too be a luxury. “but alas, when do you ever listen to my advice?”  his tone could’ve been mistaken for playful if not for the fact he sounded terribly tired.

[forcemeadow-blog]

quiet & soft reminder i’m still alive, mostly just lurking.

[forcemeadow-blog]

Small PSA: If I reblog a sentence starter meme and you don’t think any of them quite fit your character’s voice, feel free to edit the sentence. Cut bits out, add/replace words, mix and mash them, change tense or syntax or language. If you think it’ll make it more in-character/a more interesting prompt, then change whatever needs changing.

[forcemeadow-blog]

SIRI:

She manages to refrain from rolling her eyes at his request. She does understand why he’s behaving like this. ( Her phone already had four text messages from Ferus asking her to be careful, and reminding her of the doctor’s instructions, in such exact wording that Siri was half inclined to think he’d hacked into her medical records just to make sure he knew precisely what she was allowed to be doing and when. ) 

“ I’ll call before I start working any cases, ” she agrees, “ But you’ve got to listen to me sometimes, Ben, like now, when I say I’m fine and ready to go back to work. ”

he’s aware she is annoyed but glad she seems understanding enough not to act on the feeling -- normally, she’d roll her eyes without mercy at this sort of worrywart behavior coming from him. pressing his lips together into a thin line for a moment, he nods curtly in agreement, all too aware he shouldn’t keep on delaying her departure; he’s not the type to like being late to work, so he’d offer her the same courtesy in avoiding wrecking her schedule. 

“alright. that’s quite good by me. so...” silence falls between them for a moment and it feels unnecessarily thick. he steps in her personal space to give her a peck to the lips, and he wishes he didn’t taste foreboding in it. “good work. i’ll be in class the usual time, but if you can only call me then, don’t refrain from it.”

[forcemeadow-blog]

better ways to meet

tired of bumping into each other in the coffee shop? try these:

muse a tries to stand up for muse b in a bar but unfortunately cannot fight for shit. 

muse a is having plumbing troubles in their new house and muse b says they can fix it: except they can’t, they just wanted to spend more time with the cute neighbor. (bonus if muse a has to spend the night at muse b’s place because of it)

muse a works somewhere that’s open late and muse b comes in to take shelter from the storm. 

muse a is assigned to be muse b’s partner in an undercover assignment. 

muse a needs money and signs up to be in muse b’s clinical trials. (bonus if some kind of accident gives muse a superpowers and unwittingly makes muse b their accomplice in their goals)

muse b is a siren and muse a is one of the few people immune to their song, so after drowning the rest of the crew the two are stuck together. 

muse b accidentally creates muse a, the world’s very first AI. (Can work with or without a body for muse a, or muse b can struggle to build a body for muse a)

muse a and muse b as Olympic athletes forced to do PR together, photo shoots, interviews, cheese montages. 

muse b is an anent for a time travel protection agency and has been assigned to protect muse a after they have been targeted by another time traveler. 

muse b is in love with muse a, but muse doesn’t love them back. At some point the two have a one night stand and makes matters more complex (via rachel). 

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slurred words

send “slurred words” over to have kenobi describe your muse while drunk | accepting? accepting | @tachiisms

if he would indulge any further than he already has tonight, such habit something ugly for jedi to fall into (–but were they not peacekeepers instead of generals, too, and yet here they were, fighting a war head on, waging conflict with the excuse of bringing forth peace in some distant future—), he’d slide long fingers down her hair; a curiosity that yearns to be sated since childhood or early teenagehood, he can’t tell as alcohol is a powerful thing when it comes to muddling some senses.

he refrains, though the soft twitch in his hand is telling if only to himself. he wonders if it is soft, but the stark reality of war reminds him that the chances siri has had the luxury of taking care of herself in a manner that would allow for that are low – yet it doesn’t displease him, it merely feels like a piece of a puzzle being put together in the haze of the moment, a glass of a blue beverage in his callused hand as she nurses her own drink on the other side of the table, both raggard and sore from the aftermath of battle.

still, she is beautiful to him.

still, he does not speak of it for unspoken truths do not stop being true.

“—we should return to the barracks, siri. it’s getting late enough someone might come after us,” and the flicker of her blue eyes towards his own has the corner of his lips quirk almost imperceptibly into a smile, much too faint and worn out not to seem odd. “and wouldn’t that be fun?” the lighthearted sarcasm drips softly into his words as he stands up to pay for their bill, something warm lurking in the back of his mind and in the pit of his heart.

some curiosities would indeed remain unsated, though by now, it’s part of their compromise.

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ANAKIN:

he could stand up, fold his arms, furrow his brow and pretend that he isn’t as exhausted as he is, but staying seated is what he chooses. his hands  —— empty; he won’t brush by obi-wan for coffee  —— are folded on the table until the familiar point ( the boiling point, more familiar than a smile these days ) forces them into fists at his sides. when obi-wan’s back is turned, he can stare with sullen eyes at the table. it is when he hears him move that his stare changes, forced hardness replacing the gloom as he looks up.

“taking care of my duties are i should be,” he echos, withholding the mocking tone that might make the accusation of childishness stronger. “and who’s to say i wasn’t doing the same? do you assume i’m capable of only trouble, obi-wan? only of RUNNING AWAY to sulk?”

the EASY thing would be to explain what he was doing and where he was. the distaste toward doing so is strong, however. he envisions how it will go, offering his excuses to obi-wan  —— apologizing  ——  and all but shudders. he’s always been rebellious, but the growing thing in the pit of his stomach smacks more of detestation with each passing day. he dislikes the caustic burn of his feelings ( easily confused for guilt, as it is ) but cannot quite banish them.

                      “well, if i wanted to do that, i could stay here and do it with you.”

hardness seeps through his eyes over his features, over the tight line his lips become. the mockery in the voice of his former apprentice, the accusations flung towards himself --- all of it, tainting the air with a static that has been sadly becoming all too familiar for them. he grips at the edge of the counter loosely before he straightens his back, trying to hold back the venom pooling back at the back of his mouth. he may be the NEGOTIATOR, known for a pacifying nature, but if anything, skywalker knows what kind acerbity lies behind the neutrality he tries to bear. 

the dam breaks when he hears the second part of his speech and he furrows his brow, something sharp shining in gray-blue eyes. they know each other too well, and not at all; how dreary it is to realize.

“---IT SEEMS you confound us,” his voice is too even as he speaks, eyes on anakin, arms crossed over his chest as his lower back is propped against the kitchen’s counter. “i’m not the one prone to childish escapades, nor to behaving like a selfish brat. that, my friend, is a trait that sadly befalls you only.”

[forcemeadow-blog]

‘ —you burn me. ’

▐ ❛ “anne carson sentence starters” [ x ] 

@forcemeadow

SUDDENLY, HE IMAGINES —— wherever obi-wan hides, in whatever cave or vault he uses as refuge, however distant he may be —— that he has burst into flames. he imagines that his rage, which has simmered for months now without losing its heat, has sparked something. he imagines that, through space and time, by the power of the force, because of the HELLBENT STRENGTH of his will, he has done to obi-wan that awful thing that was done to him. he has made him weak, vulnerable, flammable.

keenly aware of every fiber of himself, of where each scab and bit of dead flesh meets another, he wishes to leave only scorched earth where obi-wan stands. and so, his imagination runs wild at the very idea. if he could reach through the horizon of the force and strike a roaring fire to consume THE GREAT BETRAYER then he begs it happen now ——

but, he begs no longer. he focuses, acknowledges the pain in his heart and the pressure in his mind, and demands POWER from his suffering. 

he is learning more each day, and most valuable is this:

every memory of anakin skywalker, those visions of his beloved master and friend and partner and brother and fatal fragment of his soul, can be BURNED TO ASH to feed the inferno.

a great roar of exasperation rips at his throat from within and the thrumming of medical droids at the door disrupts his focus. he slams his fists into table before him, but in agony is unable to properly appreciate the way the surface gives.

❝ I WILL DESTROY YOU —— BY THE FORCE OR BY MY BLADE, I WILL END YOU. ❞

[forcemeadow-blog]

                                                                 FORM III  — Soresu ;;                                                Notable practitioners  — Obi-Wan Kenobi

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SIRI:

She pauses at the sound of his voice, glancing over at him. She can’t really blame him for his concern, she knows that. But this isn’t the first time he’s asked the question – and Ferus has asked it, too. She’s fine. It’s been months, she’s going to go mad if she has to take any more time off of work. ( Granted, she hasn’t been forced to sit around the house the entire time. Once she was allowed to, everyone had been more than willing to let her move around as much as she was supposed to, though they all – Trever especially – had been quick to point out when she was going further than her short leash from the doctors allowed. ) 

“ I’m sure, ” she tells him. “ I’ve got a doctor’s note and everything. ”

he understands this is her calling ---- it is what she feels whole doing, as teaching is like swimming to a fish, to him. still, loss has been something he’s felt time and time again in his life; he fears the day he’ll feel grief for her too is bound to come too soon now, having nearly tasted it. “---alright, that’s ah, quite alright then.” he looks away, trying to ward off the worry, the swallow he gives a metaphor to an attempt to silence the feeling. 

goddamn, he feels like a child now.

“can you at least call me before you get caught up in field work? i know i sound childish, but i’m sure you can understand why i’m behaving like this...---” 

[forcemeadow-blog]

Slurred words for your itty padawan, pls.

”send “slurred words” over to have kenobi describe your muse while drunk | accepting? accepting | @defenestratio

“KIND, alana. you are far too kind.” he starts speaking as he wonders briefly if bloom has nothing better to do than to watch it as he dries away the remaining contents of a distilled bottle that had been hanging half-empty in his shelves.it is not that her presence bothers him, but he is bothered with himself — she can probably tell how off it all is, for him to act like this, yet there they are in the couch of their shared apartment as she sits on her edge and he claims his own, the distance set by himself. “—there are far greater things for you to waste your time than to babysit your former master, yet here you are, aren’t you.”

there’s a bottle sitting before her if she so wishes to claim it, but he hasn’t openly offered. between them, though, he’s certain the gesture would be enough for her to understand. he takes another sip, lays his bottle back on the table and leans agains the cushions, looking towards her, seemingly pensive. 

“A HEART LIKE YOURS, it’s hard to come by. pardon my loose tongue, it’s likely the alcohol, but don’t they say no lies comes from the drunk?” there’s no slur in his speech and he seems far too sober for that claim; he doesn’t smile, though amusement glints briefly in his eyes before dulling down. 

                              “FORCE, i hope you manage to keep it that way.”

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ANAKIN:

“SOMETHING CAME UP. but, i’m sure you wouldn’t understand —— ”

he had entered the kitchen and sat down at the table, having slipped inside the apartment only minutes before. despite the otherwise unannounced nature of his arrival ( and his obvious avoidance of ‘home’ altogether ), a greeting was on the tip of his tongue. it was burned away after obi-wan spoke. he listened, expression tightening into one of displeasure as he tensed. 

the situation between them had become more precarious as of late and, while anakin was not above heaping blame onto obi-wan, he acknowledged —— internally, if nowhere else —— that he was not helping the situation. he grew defensive at the slightest of criticisms, was steadily withdrawing from obi-wan altogether, and now found the walls of their apartment like a cage. his most recent disappearance was an escape, and he refused to apologize for it. still, everything could be traced to internal questions and dilemmas —— issues of purpose and place and meaning  —— but he did not dare breathe a word of it to obi-wan.

                               “it’s not like you make much of an effort on that front.”

the urge to scoff is held back under his tongue, drowned under the last of his cup as he stands up to put it over the counter. the tension is palpable between them, ever growing more tangible every time an episode of these happens and it has happened before. one hand over the edge of the surface before him, he stares at the tiles before him to recenter himself -- he’s not letting this sour, no, he needs to be mature if his former apprentice can’t.

“ASSUMING you are correct and i would indeed not understand, anakin, i doubt anything would be so pressing you couldn’t at least unshield yourself so i’d be aware of something.”

he tries to keep his tone of voice even, devoid of accusation as he turns towards skywalker. the effort is promptly made vain as the other continues with what kenobi would call a childish comeback --- one that shouldn’t get under his skin, but shouldn’t both of them know better? 

it’s an age-old dance yet lately it has been starting fall out of cadence, spiral out of control.

“---i had thought you too old to behave like a child, but apparently i was wrong, so let us review: i was home, taking care of my duties as i should be, i wasn’t the one who VANISHED OUT OF THIN AIR.                        so do try again if you plan to pin me the blame for this.”

[forcemeadow-blog]

Grief is forever. It doesn’t go away. It becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath.

The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson (via aim-for-yourself)

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“slurred words” ( from satine? )

send “slurred words” over to have kenobi describe your muse while drunk | accepting? accepting | @starhidden

—IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME since he’s allowed himself to indulge, and perhaps it’s been the wrong place and time for it, now that he’s far too aware she is sat beside him in a bar stool in a place far too modest for her; it doesn’t seem to bother her to keep him company in a night that might as well be lost in history far too soon.

“STARLIT,” he muses, voice low, lips kissing the rim of his glass as his eyes linger for a second upon her visage. it’s a slip, it’s an accident, and he’s had too much in too little time after far too many blows, far too much stress. he should know better than to indulge (hadn’t he been through the learning stages of being a jedi? yet here he was—). “your eyes. they seem, you know…”

he trails off as it dawns on him how ludicrous he sounds and takes a good sip of his beverage, averting her gaze. there’s an apology slipping from the tight space between his mouth and the glass, muttered softly enough it could escape her ears.

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fortheaskbox:

Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.

[forcemeadow-blog]

you know what? fuck all that shit about how your significant other is supposed to make your heart beat faster and your hands shake. I want them to make me feel at ease, like I’m finally coming home. I want to feel incredibly calm and content when I look at them or spend time with them, no anxiety, no agitation.