#YES I KNOW THIS ISN'T HOW THIS WORKS

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Apple Seed 5: The Name Game

Buckle up, Buttercups. We got another long one here.

Charlie: (beginning to waddle from the cantaloupe sized bump in her belly as she makes her way towards her office) Ugh... This thing is starting to weigh a ton, and we're barely halfway there!

Vaggie: (walking with Charlie and holding her hand while rubbing her lower back) I know, babe. I know. Good news, though. You're not puking every morning and evening anymore.

Charlie: You have a good point. (enters the office and sits in her plush chair. She tries to lean over to untie her shoes but winces in discomfort, both from the baby belly pinching and how the heels are constricting on her sore hooves) *whiiiiiiiine* Vaaaaggiiiiieeeeee~

Vaggie: I gotcha, babe. Relax. (kneels down and removes the heels, watching amusingly as the hooves flex and spread in absolute glee from being freed, before sitting cross-legged on the floor and gently rubbing the soreness out of each hoof from tip to calf)

Charlie: (melts into her chair as the soreness and stiff muscles relax, tears instantly springing to her eyes) You- *sniff* You're an amazing wife, Vaggie. I don't *sniff-sniff* deserve you.

Vaggie: (rolls her eyes fondly as she continues massaging Charlie's hooves) So you say every day, hun. I'm just trying to take as much stress and ache away from you as possible.

Charlie: I say it every day because it's true...

-Pleasant silence spreads through the room-

Charlie: I have about an hour before I have to do anything.

Vaggie: (slightly perks up) Oh?~

Charlie: (wiggles excitedly) We haven't talked about baby names yet! Can we think of some now?

Vaggie: (not where her mind was going) Oh....

Charlie: Yeah! We should think of a couple to have on hand! Since we don't know the sex yet, can I-

Vaggie: Choose the girl names while I pick possible boy names?

Charlie: *gasp* How did you know?!

Vaggie: I watch you sketch names into your little baby notebook every night, babe. It's not rocket science. But, sure. I'm game. Do you want to throw a few out and the other can agree or disagree on the name?

Charlie: Yes! Okay! Me first! Rhiannon!

Vaggie: Rhiannon?

Charlie: Mm-hmm!!! And if she wants to go by a nickname like me, She can call herself Ria!

Vaggie: I guess that's alright.

Charlie: What about you?

Vaggie: Me? I don't know. I haven't thought of anything. I'm not exactly the creative type.

Charlie: Come on, Vaggie. I know you can come up with something!

Vaggie: Okay... Uh... CJ?

Charlie: CJ?

Vaggie: (blushes) Ya know... Charlie Junior?

Charlie: (big puppy eyes) Awwwww.... You want to name him after me? You're so sweet, Vaggie~ But pass. Not a fan of naming kids like that. Having you moan my name during sex would be ruined forever.

Vaggie: That's fair. (works a nasty knot out of Charlie's left calf muscle) You're turn.

Charlie: Lucy or Lily? Oh! Lucily!!!

Vaggie: After your parents?

Charlie: (nods relentlessly) Mm-hmm! My relationship with my dad has gotten a lot better since the war with the Exorcists. I think it'd be sweet.

Vaggie: You know he would cry worse than the baby when they arrive if we did that, right?

Charlie: Babe, I'M going to be crying worse than the baby when they arrive. What's your point?

Vaggie: (sarcastically) Ah, yes. The Morningstar theatrics. How could I have forgotten. (stands up, pulls a second chair over, and sits next to Charlie - gently stroking her hand over the taught skin of her belly) We're gonna have to get you new shirts and pants soon. I'm surprised we haven't had to yet.

Charlie: (groans) Don't remind me! I'm getting fat! ...Aurora?

Vaggie: Not fat, maternal. And not naming a daughter after the most useless Disney Princess. Next..... Santiago? Call him Diego for short?

Charlie: *gasp* How dare you?! Princess Aurora is.... she's..... okay, you got me there. You want to name our son after a saint? And how about Calista? Cali for short?

Vaggie: Ouph... never mind. Scratch that one..... So we go from Salvadorian to Greek names? That one's not so bad. I'm for Cali or Lucy. Rhiannon is on the fence.

Charlie: Okay, possible girl names. Check! You need to come up with one more boy name.

Vaggie: Hmmmm..... (drums her fingers gently against Charlie's belly)

Charlie: (giggles) Vaggie, that tickles.

Vaggie: (smiles) Sorry, hun. Let me see.... Well.... I'm not fully versed in the Bible or anything, but if we wanted to keep the motif of naming them after your folks. How about Samael?

Charlie: Samael? What does that have to do with my parents or the Bible?

Vaggie: Wasn't your dad's name Samael when he was in heaven? He only changed it to Lucifer after he fell???

Charlie: I.... I actually have no idea.

Vaggie: Well, we can name him Samael and call him Sammy for short? It won't be as confusing as calling him Lucifer, and I'm sure your dad will be over the moon having the baby be named after him anyway.

Charlie: (giggles again and swats Vaggie's hand off her belly) Vaggie, stop it! I said that tickles.

Vaggie: .....I didn't do anything.

Charlie: Huh?

Baby: (flutters again)

Charlie: *GASP* (holds her belly) VAGGIE, HOLY SHIT, THE BABY KICKED!!!!

Vaggie: What?! (plasters her hands to Charlie's belly)

..............

Vaggie: Nothing....

Charlie: Hmmmm.... (mental lightbulb turns on) Say the name again!

Vaggie: Samael?

Baby: (little flutter)

Vaggie: ............Sammy?

Baby: (big flutters)

Charlie: (crying quiet happy tears) Okay... Sammy... We got a name. We'll just think of a boy and girl version when they're born.

Vaggie:

[ishouldbedoingalright]

people act like tommy leaving the date is the worst crime to ever exist and forget that buck is a whole ass adult who can take care of himself

[hella1975]

would you like to talk about how bad the mha ending was hella

as much as i would love to give like. a comprehensive response i genuinely dont think i can get my words together just yet without it being a constant unintelligble stream of 'AND ANOTHER THING-' and bc it's become quite torn in the fandom on if the chapter was good or bad i want like. an actual coherent response here. so i will reblog this if/when i can word it but know IM NOT FUCKING HAPPY

[demigod-of-the-agni]

A DEVIL REBORN

Happy Halloween!!! A detailed ID will be placed under the cut (it's close to being 1K i could literally post this to Ao3)

p1. ड्याम्म (dyamma) - Nepali for "(feeling) full", "hitting something"

p3. Chutiya - Hindi for "idiot", "moron" and other related insults

p5. க்ரீச் (kreech) - Tamil onomatopoeia describing scraping/screeching sounds

[Extended Image ID: DYAMMA! Slamming his hands on a table, Achanba Okram finds himself in the darkness of his laboratory. He is wearing black clothes and a white lab coat on top, and has a bowl cut with rectangular glasses.

His thoughts whirl within boxes that are coloured gold and are outlined with red; they put a voice to the uneasy feelings Okram knows are stirring inside of him. The thought boxes read:

With Pavitr gone, I finally have time to string my thoughts together. Half-drowned answers bleed out of my pores. Coalescing like some great, abysmal creature of unknown origin.

Bracing his hands against the table, Okram is acutely aware of his body, of the gaping holes in his back that bubble with demonic energy. His thoughts narrate, My body quakes when I begin to question, wracked with paranoia. With dread, as if the idea of what I had to face was unbearable.

The holes in back — four of them, spaced evenly from each other — begin to ooze golden liquid, hot like fire and viscous like tar.

And yet, Okram thinks, I felt it all the same: that crawling, scintillating horror of my reality. Of my tainted flesh and blood. My being here is the work of demonic forces.

Golden arms, fluid yet bony, powered by some otherworldly thing, unravel from the void in his back. They flounder and expand around him, filling the lab with a cold glow. The fingers are tipped with talons, and, if he looked hard enough, Okram swears they are edged with blood.

I died years ago, Okram thinks. I lost my humanity to the fire of the devil's madness. Thus, the question remains: what is the future of Achanba Okram, a DEVIL REBORN?

The lights of the lab suddenly brighten, and Okram hears him before he sees him. His arms register the presence of the other person, immediately unraveling and slipping out of reality. Just outside, Pavitr Prabhakar's voice calls, "HEY, DOCTOR OKRAM! Sorry I'm late! Traffic was abysmal today."

Pavitr's entrance catches Okram by surprise, and he stutters out, "PAVITR?! You- ah- you have one of your shifts today?"

His thoughts reprimand him, You CHUTIYA! Pavitr always has his shifts on Tuesdays!

Pavitr is unaware of Okram's turmoil, sauntering into the laboratory while hefting up a white plastic bag. He's wearing a black and white flannel shirt, and he has circular earrings. Pavitr's eyes are trained on the bag in his hand. He answers Okram's question with, "Yeah, I do. I, uh, got a little hungry along the way (I'm always so hungry)." Pavitr whispers the last part as he lifts the bag up. He continues, "so I went and bought some vada pav, and—"

He suddenly pauses, his eyes locking onto Okram. He can't tell what is going beyond Pavitr's eyes, but the other man's analysing gaze unnerves Okram to a degree beyond description.

(In Pavitr's POV: his Spider-Sense was just triggered. Red and gold squiggly lines emanate from and surround his head in a halo.)

Pavitr lowers the bag slightly in concern. "Uhm," Pavitr says "are you okay, Doctor?"

Dread and fear floods Okram's system. Suddenly he is hyperaware of everything in the room, including the golden arm that has sprouted from his back and was lying on the workbench behind him, right in Pavitr's line of sight.

Play dumb! Okram's mind screams at him. Accordingly, Okram replies, a tad too tightly, "Of course I am, Pavitr! Why wouldn't I be?"

KREECH. The golden arm scrapes its taloned fingers across the table, no doubt giving away its location.

Okram chuckles nervously, sweating almost immediately, at which his mind howls, Not that dumb!

Pavitr narrows his eyes at Okram and at the golden arm on the workbench. "Are those...demonic arms?" he asks Okram, a shadow crossing his face.

(In Pavitr's POV: In the back of his mind, Pavitr sees a vague and faded image forming in response to seeing the arms. He remembers Doctor Octopus, the man with two extra sets of arms who had attacked him many years ago; he was one of the first villains Pavitr fought as Spider-Man. But... Doctor Octopus died a long time ago. Perhaps...?)

"Oh, Doctor..."

Pavitr's gaze softens as he asks, "Are you being haunted by demons? Have you been attacked by them? Why didn't you tell me? I'm so sorry this has been happening to you. I can't imagine how stressful this is for you." A moment, and then, "Do you want to talk about?"

Okram hides his face in his hands, quickly responding, "No, I'm alright, Pavitr."

Pavitr walks forward, placing his bag down and reaching down to place a reassuring hand on Okram's shoulder. "But, Doctor, men of your generation have ignored their mental health for too long."

"Yes, I know," Okram sighs.

"It'll be okay, Doctor," Pavitr promises, "we can figure something out!"

"And what?" Okram asks somewhat sarcastically. "You will be here with me 'every step of the way'?"

"One hundred percent!" Pavitr says.

Behind them, one of Okram's demonic arms reaches out to peer at Pavitr and Okram; if an arm could be happy, it certainly was. The arm is seemingly pleased with Pavitr's helpful and understanding nature. /.End ID]

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #39: Gladiator's ELEVENTH Anniversary! (+ BONUS: Fic-to-Art #36...)

And here we are! March 26th arrived and I did not forget about it, but I paid for my ambitious madness with my wrist and forearm. Somehow, I finished my intended pieces on time, but I do not advise that you ever try to make 9 artworks in 3 days. No, sir. Bad life decisions, that's what that was... but this fic, as anyone knows, moves me to do things I never thought possible, starting with writing the fic itself!

It's really crazy every time it hits me that I've been doing this for as long as I have. It's been a complicated, chaotic journey, with its many ups and downs, but ultimately, it has been our journey. For some people, this is just one more fic in the pile: for me, it's been the best adventure of my life so far. Everyone who has ever been touched by Gladiator, who has ever cherished this story, who's looking forward to the big conclusion, who wants to see how the chaotic war is going to end... you're all part of this crazy adventure along with me, and I can only thank you for joining me.

This year, I had no time to make as big a project as I usually go for. Thus, I did a sort of free-for-all edition of Fic-to-Art over at Patreon and challenged myself to draw as many scenes as I could, out of their suggestions. I even sprinkled in a few scenes I impulsively wanted to draw because I loved writing them or because I look forward to writing them... and this is the result!

In order, the scenes are as follow:

Sokka combing Azula's hair, a common occurrence throughout the story.

Azula watching over a convalescing Sokka in the Chase of Jeong Jeong arc.

The outcome of Sokka's final battle in the Superior Gladiator League, namely a moment where Sokka and Azula more or less gave away their relationship's true nature to the public by raising their hands towards each other...

And now, spoiler territory! Some were by my choice, some by Patreon requests:

An important moment shortly after Sokka and Azula reunite.

Azula confronting her father, with a LOT of backup.

Xin Long's long-awaited freedom.

The aftermath of the final battle.

The full-blown confirmation of their relationship to the general Fire Nation populace.

Sokka, Azula and Hotaru's first night together

And the big final one is ACTUALLY Fic-to-Art #36 but hahaha woops I didn't post it here on time because it was super hard to finish since I had a LOT of things going on... but here it is now! :'D it's a glimpse VERY far into the future of this fic's timeline!

Alright, that should be enough talking and explaining. Some things are vague, some things aren't, but ultimately I really hope you guys will be looking forward to the scenes you haven't seen yet, and to Gladiator's eventual outcome.

So now... with all this being said and done, I'm gonna go take a trip down memory lane and watch my Tenth Anniversary video once more! Feel free to do the same thing if you'd like to commemorate the fic, I think it's a good way to experience Gladiator all over again, hahaha.

Thank you if you read all this, and if you read all THAT: 5 million word landmark, here we come! Thanks for hanging out with me across ELEVEN years of Gladiator!

[thesafireartist]

Shhhh it's still Halloween in my heart so this is not late whatsoever

For @emthimofnight's Discord Halloween tournament! I've been trying this new rendering technique where I skip the lineart and just go right over the sketch layer, and I quite like it!

Bonus Stellar the simp and Saiya the massive hater:

[rainintheevening]

Part I - Part II ... Part XVIII - Part XIX

It hurts to see Peter hurting.

More than the state of their city (still theirs), more than the shattered buildings (he imagines the inferno of Christmas with a little shiver), even more than the dark smudges under their mother's eyes (he and Susan make all the meals during the holidays), it's Peter who wrenches at his heart, ache welling behind Ed's sternum.

He sees how Peter yearns for a sword, an enemy, a way to make all the brokenness around them right. More than sees, though, Edmund knows.

Knows the hunger that eats at the back of the throat, the way a single page in the newspaper swamps security like a tidal wave, the helplessness that weighs shoulders and hands till falling to fury or despair seem the only choices available. Hunger and helplessness had been his old play-fellows, back Before, and now he finds their heads reared again, but he also finds himself too taken up with watching over his brother to pay much attention to them. He forgets himself in his concern for Peter.

Peter does not cry again, not that Edmund sees or hears at least. He sleeps little, laughs less.

The girls too are shaken by the alterations to what had once been their world, but Lucy laughs more than she cries, and Susan steps easily into the motherly role.

Peter does all the shopping. In the span of their three weeks holidays, he also fixes all the bicycles in the garden shed, digs up the whole bed of the Victory garden, mends two broken chairs and a chest of drawers, takes a broken clock to pieces (Ed is the one who finds the problem), and fights four different boys, two of them more than once.

Many of the children who had stayed through the whole of the bombing are quick to sneer at those who did not.

“As if we chose to go!” Edmund complains.

“Cowards,” hisses Daisy Moore as she passes them in the churchyard, and her brother laughs.

“Got scared by a few rockets, and left your poor mother all alone in her shelter, listening to us all burn?”

Ed does not relax his grip on Peter's arm until Daisy and Danny have disappeared, until the tremble of taught muscles under his hand has melted away, until the growl has died in Peter's throat.

“Look,” Ed says with forced lightness, guiding Peter toward the street where Lucy leans against a small tree, singing to herself. “I know it was terrible, but there's no call for talking like that. It might make you feel better for a moment, but it makes someone else feel horrid for awhile, so it's definitely a sum-total loss.”

Peter does not answer.

The next day he and Susan come home from a walk, and his sleeve is torn and there is blood on his knuckles.

“They insulted Susan,” is all he says to Edmund in the mirror, bent over, washing wounded hands.

Edmund is glad when they go back to school.

At St. Maurice’s, Peter's responsibilities are clear, he's respected, he has the wide open sky and the wild moors to ride over.

They step off the train at the village station, and Ed sees him breathing deep, smiling at Colin's enthusiastic greeting, leaping to catch a stolen cap and prolong a wild chase along the platform.

Ed joins Peter very early for a ride the next morning, slapped awake by the cold wet May air, but he sees the light in Peter's eyes, the way he greets each horse in turn, and Ed strokes Rose's neck, tickles under her chin as he smiles himself.

“Perhaps he'll be alright.”

But then this term Wollers is gone, graduated, good, steady old boy off to the war, and the new Head Boy ticks Peter off twice in the first week for ‘interfering’, slaps Alexander Morrow in Ed's form with a hundred lines (in French!) for cheeking him in the hall, and generally does his best to let everyone know he's in charge, while also making everyone hate him for it.

Ed hates it, especially for Peter's sake, when Peter's only a year younger and also named head of the Sixth Form. A few weeks in, Peter joins Ed on the way in to lunch, and his brow is drawn low over still-smouldering eyes, jaw set in a hard line.

“Beaumont”, he says, without preamble. “Trying to tell me what to do about Gilly when it's a Sixth Form matter. Now who’s interfering?”

“Not you,” Ed says mildly, watches Peter's shoulders drop, watches him exhale. “Just don't give him the satisfaction of marking you up for anything,” he adds.

“I know, I know,” Peter sighs. “Jolly well wish I could box him, but I can't unless he starts it. I don't know why they chose him.”

At least Pete has rugger to shine at, Ed thinks. Peter had sat his Junior Cert at the end of last term (and passed with Credit or Distinction in all subjects, which Ed is very proud of him for) so he's more relaxed with his own studies, making time for more tutoring of the young ones, and making the rugby team.

Edmund tries out for the Junior team, gets named a spare. He knows he's not strong, but he is fast, and slippery.

A letter from Dad comes, forwarded from Mum, and it is cheerful, telling them things they already know about the successes in North Africa, expounding on his work learning Arabic, giving a brief written sketch of the desert sunset that strikes up vividly at them like heat from the sand till Edmund can see it as clearly as the view west from Tashbaan.

Peter is quiet though, broody for days after. Ed watches, wonders, worries.

Three months and Peter will be 17, a year off of signing up. Sometimes Edmund is certain Peter would have already gone, fudged his age and signed his name; he doesn't doubt they would take a strapping youth like Peter with very few questions. But he'd promised Mum, and Peter Pevensie is not a promise-breaker.

He's also not the only one hurting, not the only one missing Dad, missing Narnia, but Ed doesn't like to worry his brother, doesn't want to add to the concerns Peter carries.

There are questions sitting somewhere in his stomach, and he tries to ignore them, but they've grown heavier over the days, weeks, months. Time ticking by, another spring, and something about the sunrises, the green flush racing across the quad, rising in the victory garden, the apple trees by the stables bursting into bloom, it makes the longing flare bright in him.

As always the memories stay hazy, sometimes fearfully so, only brought back in sharp relief, a cleared streak in fogged up glass, in odd moments. Ed thinks there's a pattern in it—when a lie hovers on the tip of his tongue, he hears Oreius's voice; when Peter turns with an angry word, he remembers tense council rooms; when an apology fails to melt Edmund's own shame, he sees Tumnus's face. But there are smaller, less specific flashes too, and one day, hard at work with the violin in one of the practice rooms, he gets lost in the music, notes dancing under his fingers, spinning, swooping, diving, soaring, and he plays and plays and plays until he coasts to a halt, stands breathless and a little dizzy, feeling exactly as he had after his first real flight on the back of a gryphon, and his hand on the bow grips involuntarily tighter, as if feathers and fur are slipping through his fingers.

“Oh, don't stop.”

A hoarse whisper making Ed spin round, but it is only Peter leaning in the doorway, yearning writ large across his face, until their eyes meet and it twists into sorrow.

Only then does Edmund realise his cheeks are wet, and he pivots quickly back, lays the violin down gentle, deliberate.

Peter says nothing, but he comes across the room, stands close behind, close enough that Ed decides he doesn't care, and turns, falls into Peter's chest.

Arms wrap strong around him, smile bunches the cheek that presses against his head, but still Peter says nothing, and Edmund is glad. Just for a minute he hides his face in his big brother's shoulder, and lets himself cry. Peter holds him, safe and tight, and he stays, sniffling into Peter’s vest, until Peter says, “It sounded like Narnia. What was it?”

Ed sighs, pulls away to scrub a sleeve across his nose. “I don't know. It just sort of… came over me. Or out of me. Or to me– I don't know.”

Slow grinning pride breaks across Peter's face. “So you're a composer now too!”

And Ed must needs shove him away, rolling his eyes. “I didn't exactly write it down, so I'll probably never be able to play it again.”

“That doesn't change how beautiful it was,” Peter says, hopeful and true like Edmund needs him to be.

He fingers the violin strings, plucking them gently, tick tock tick tock tick, and he says it quiet.

“It's been about ten years. In Narnia. Without us. If the time difference between the professor's visit and ours is consistent.”

“Corin will be a man,” Peter murmurs in the surprised tone of grown-ups talking about nieces or nephews they haven't seen in ages. “And what would you bet Aravis and Cor are married?”

“Peridan and Anna must have several children by now.” Ed’s voice catches in his throat at the thought of his friend, who had sworn he would make Edmund godfather of all his sons, as well as letting him teach them all how to fight. And oh, Ed had stood up at his wedding as best man, hadn't he? While Peter had given Anna away, in lieu of long-lost father or brothers.

“Erah and Pearl–” Peter starts, but can't finish.

“We weren't trying to leave,” Edmund says. “I wish they knew that.”

“We were only following Lucy into another adventure.” Peter has a little half-smile on his lips, and then his arm around Ed’s shoulders is warm.

“The professor said it wouldn't all be easy.” Edmund rests his head on Peter's shoulder.

“Do you ever wish-?” Peter starts, but cuts himself off with a decided “No, I don't.”

Edmund knows, he's wondered himself, once or twice on difficult days, but he always answers the same as Peter. He'll always be grateful they had been brought to Narnia.

But there's one question he does hesitate over, as the seasons change, and the clock ticks on, and he voices it now, barely above a whisper: “Are you so sure we'll go back?”

“Of course,” Peter says at once. “Aslan said we would always be kings and queens of Narnia. We'll get back somehow.”

“You're sure?” Edmund pulls away enough to look hard up into Peter's eyes, searching for a hint of doubt.

“Quite. We have to.” Peter swallows hard, looks away out the window where the rain falls steady in the quad. “We have to,” softer now.

Ed sees the longing in his brother's eyes, and he wishes suddenly that just being here with Edmund and the music and the rain was enough for Peter. But he loves his brother anyway.

“Alright, your majesty,” he says lightly. “Now come on, the supper bell will ring any minute.”

He snaps the clasps on the violin case closed, leads the way out of the room, humming the whisper of wings in a blue sky.

Behind him, Peter is silent.

Next

[jessicas-pi]

hear me out on this ok. ROTS AU where Anakin still turns to the dark side but that's Palpatine's problem.

So, Palpatine decides last minute that ehhhh maybe dooku could come in handy later and he doesn't encourage Anakin to kill him, and Dooku gets arrested and imprisoned in the Jedi Temple awaiting trial. (Also he didn't get his hands cut off because of uhh plot reasons?)

Fast forward.

Palpatine is encouraging Anakin towards the Dark side, tells him about Plagueis the Wise, etc. etc. But see, the thing is, Anakin is at the end of his tether, probably hasn't slept more than three hours over the past week, and has no remaining impulse control or inhibitions, and upon hearing that the Dark Side can save people from death, his first thought is, "wait a sec, we've got a Sith Lord in-house at the moment!" and he sprints out of the space opera and books it back to the temple.

Now, Dooku has been calmly waiting in Temple custody, confident that Darth Sidious will arrange his escape. But THEN Anakin barges into the cell like OMG THE CHANCELLOR TOLD ME THE SITH KNOW HOW TO KEEP PEOPLE FROM DYING AND I'M HAVING DREAMS ABOUT SOMEONE DYING AND I NEED YOUR HELP TO SAVE THEM

At which point, Dooku realizes Palpatine's plan. He's going to tempt Skywalker to the Dark side and REPLACE DOOKU. this is totally uncool.

So he's like "...who are you dreaming about, exactly?"

Anakin freezes. He can't admit it's Padme because their relationship is top-secret and he can't admit how important she is to him so he tries to think of a good fib and goes "uhhhh OBI-WAN! Obi-Wan, it's Obi-Wan, I'm dreaming about Obi-Wan dying-" and he just throws himself into the drama because now he IS imagining obi-wan dying because Obi-Wan is fighting grievous at the moment and he MIGHT ACTUALLY DIE and that's in addition to Padme dying and he's totally spiraling at this point- "pleasepleaseplease you gotta help me he's like the only father i've ever known I don't know what i'll do without obi-wan I have to save him YOU GOTTA TELL ME WHAT TO DO I'LL DO ANYTHING--"

Dooku begins to smile.

(Would stealing Skywalker out from under his Master's nose be petty? Oh, yeah.)

(But it would also be very, very satisfying.)

---

Obi-Wan calls in to a council meeting to report his defeat of Grievous, but before he can say so, Mace announces that Dooku has escaped and the Sith Master has been killed.

Silence falls between the eleven councilmembers (eleven, not twelve, because their newest one is conspicuously absent. Obi-Wan wonders just what Anakin's up to now. Honestly, that boy will be the death of him.)

Obi-Wan clears his throat.

"...indeed," he says, trying to handle the shocking news with composure. "Well... at least we're down to one Sith, now."

Another awkward pause.

"Yeah, about that--" Mace begins.

[infiniteglitterfall]

pretty please, my fellow progressives

Could we please all keep in mind that the concept of "The Jews In General, or A Specific Type Of Jew, Controls Education, Government, Media, and/or Banking", is a longstanding antisemitic trope?

And most of all, that it is false??

No, a marginalized group does not also control education, the government, the media, and/or banking?

No, Jews do not secretly control these things and just pretend to be marginalized? No, Jews have not secretly been accumulating power since the Holocaust, granted by too-generous gentiles, out of pity?

No, it isn't better if you just mean a specific subgroup or kind of Jews. It's still specifically Jews.

It's like when people who hate trans/queer people are fine with rich white cis gay men. So they think it's not bigoted to blame "people with blue hair and pronouns" for the downfall of society.

We all know this means, "I only see some of you as human like me. You have to speak and act a certain way to count. Everyone in your group has to pass a test to get into the Good group."

Doesn't work.

Sure, it gives them plausible deniability to the people who matter to them. But everyone else can see exactly how they feel.

We've all known for years that it's bad to think of a marginalized group as having some "good ones." Rein it the heck in, please.

Because YES, all of those examples are ones I've seen implied, or stated outright, over and over, within the progressive community. This month alone.

[fisheito]

hiya l'il-- medium?...large?? Assorted Sizes-Guy

oh thanks! i could always use more spices-

. what am i supposed to do with this.

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

it's not sinking in that today might be the last day in my house and town for many months to come

[thatonecrypticrobyn]

The many ages of Jing Yuan~

In honor of my man and first limited character finally getting his rerun for newbies in 2.0 (also what a trailer holy-)

Credit goes to the lovely mellon_soup on Pinterest for my pose references.

[moe-broey]

One thing they don't tell you about the Senshi tulpa that WILL inevitably manifest in your mind to tell you to eat better is that. Every time I make myself a coffee via kuerig instantly, I can hear him. Lamenting the fact that I have become so accustomed to convenience and ease that even a standard coffee machine has become foreign to me. I am thinking about how to make coffee without use of a machine in the first place, I am wondering where my french press went, I can see him. In my mind. Showing me how to make coffee in The Dungeon. Dungeon Coffee.

[beeholyshit]

FREE DAY!!!

So young and happy ❤️

[creepbryophyta]

hngghng

(this is like the third thing i've ever animated)

[tardis--dreams]

It's been over a week but here's my obligatory concert photo dump ♡