#grammar stuff

[not-poignant]

@blooper-boy replied to your post “if ur still doing the writing meme (i've liked all...”:

I had no idea people were so argumentative about the Oxford comma. Also just, the arguments seem dumb? Its all punctuation. As long as its making your idea clear, then it doesn't matter how you punctuate.

​Yeah it's frankly a pretty silly hill to die on, given it literally doesn't matter unless you're at university or work at a journalism / news place etc. or your publisher has a fixed style guide (in which case, that's why they have editors lol).

The rules change all over the world, but most of the time it's not mandated and there's no official consensus anywhere. It's one of those 'pick the one you like and stick with it' scenarios. But oof an Oxford Comma discussion when you're against using them in your own work will show some people's true colours, as will a 'do you dog ear your book pages' re: how judgemental other folks can be on how people do things that are literally none of their business. :D

[thunderlina]

In the wake of the TikTok ban and revival as a mouthpiece for fascist propaganda, as well as the downfall of Twitter and Facebook/Facebook-owned platforms to the same evils, I think now is a better time than ever to say LEARN HTML!!! FREE YOURSELVES FROM THE SHACKLES OF MAJOR SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS AND EMBRACE THE INDIE WEB!!!

You can host a website on Neocities for free as long as it's under 1GB (which is a LOT more than it sounds like let me tell you) but if that's not enough you can get 50GB of space (and a variety of other perks) for only $5 a month.

And if you can't/don't want to pay for the extra space, sites like File Garden and Catbox let you host files for free that you can easily link into NeoCities pages (I do this to host videos on mine!) (It also lets you share files NeoCities wouldn't let you upload for free anyways, this is how I upload the .zip files for my 3DS themes on my site.)

Don't know how to write HTML/CSS? No problem. W3schools is an invaluable resource with free lessons on HTML, CSS, JavaScript, PHP, and a whole slew of other programming languages, both for web development and otherwise.

Want a more traditional social media experience? SpaceHey is a platform that mimics the experience of 2000s MySpace

Struggling to find independent web pages that cater to your interests via major search engines? I've got you covered. Marginalia and Wiby are search engines that specifically prioritize non-commercial content. Marginalia also has filters that let you search for more specific categories of website, like wikis, blogs, academia, forums, and vintage sites.

Maybe you wanna log off the modern internet landscape altogether and step back into the pre-social media web altogether, well, Protoweb lets you do just that. It's a proxy service for older browsers (or really just any browser that supports HTTP, but that's mostly old browsers now anyways) that lets you visit restored snapshots of vintage websites.

Protoweb has a lot of Geocities content archived, but if you're interested in that you can find even more old Geocities sites over on the Geocities Gallery

And really this is just general tip-of-the-iceberg stuff. If you dig a little deeper you can find loads more interesting stuff out there. The internet doesn't have to be a miserable place full of nothing but doomposting and targeted ads. The first step to making it less miserable is for YOU, yes YOU, to quit spending all your time on it looking at the handful of miserable websites big tech wants you to spend all your time on.

[chiropteracupola]

c. 1540 CE: a young man from Chalco, and his dragon.

[creativemercinary]

I think a part of it is also - instead of gender identity - gender performance. The biggest example i can think of are butch lesbians who use he/him pronouns not because they identify as male (some might, but that's by no means universal) but because that's part of how they express their masculinity in womanhood.

I think the other piece is that pronouns are personal preference, so some people decoupled the gender connotations of pronouns. Most of the time when you're using a pronoun, the antecedent isn't man/woman/person, it's Susie (pronouns indicating she's a girl) or Steve (pronouns indicating he's a guy), but not everyone personally feels the pronouns connect with the parenthesis.

Of course, this still has the confusion you mentioned, but I think it's understandable to want to identify how the person wants to be referred to and feeling like you're floundering when one of the cues you use (pronouns) isn't being as effective as you intended in that regard. The good part is that most people aren't jerks about you getting it wrong when you haven't been told.

Also, English isn't nearly as broken as we think. It's complex, yes, but literally every language is complex, it's just a matter of how much so. And part of English's complexity is in how it was influenced by other languages. It's a germanic language that was occupied by France, thus getting a lot of French influence, particularly in the vocabulary department, and was spoken by people obsessed with Latin being The Ultimate Language, and thus including more Latin-based vocabulary and some grammatical rules (that honestly don't apply in english). And what's more, its the natural state of a living language to change, if not become more fucked up, since people will always use language to suit their current, living needs. That's how we went from hast to has and phased out "thou" in favor of plural "you" to the point that "you" is functionally both singular and plural (with modification necessary for the latter). And it was because if shifting cultural norms of formality. Pronouns shifting grammatical function is nothing new, it's just that its happening in our lifetime and is weird in its unfamiliarity because of it

btw you cant tell what a person's gender is based solely on their pronouns. we really gotta get out of the hole of he=boy she=girl they=nonbinary.

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: "Fantine"

Every character's  name in Les Mis is either an elaborate pun or has some deeper symbolic thematic meaning — usually both at once. 

One example of this is “Fantine.” There’s a wealth of hidden meaning packed into to her name, and some of those meanings are explicitly discussed in the original novel. 

The name “Fantine” comes from the french word “enfantine,” meaning  “childike, infant-like.” Her name basically means “Baby.” And obviously this speaks to her innocence and naivety. But also “baby”  is kind of,.,, well, it sounds more like an informal term of endearment than an actual legal name?  

And that’s because– Plot twist– Fantine isn’t her legal name!

 What is her legal name? She doesn’t have one. 

And the reason she doesn’t have one is directly tied to political turmoil of the era she was born into. 

Fantine grew up an orphan living on the streets, without a family without parents. Hugo tells us the origin of her name: 

“She bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the unknown. (...)She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She had never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory still existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal name; the Church no longer existed. She bore the name which pleased the first random passer-by, who had encountered her, when a very small child, running bare-legged in the street. She received the name as she received the water from the clouds upon her brow when it rained. “

This moment is adapted beautifully in the Manga adaptation by Takahiro Arai: 

But now let’s talk about the Directory. 

To wildly oversimplifly a lot of complex history: Before the French Revolution, the Catholic Church’s records of baptismal ceremonies were often used as a  registry of people’s legal names. During the French Revolution, the Revolutionary government– including the Directory– put in place a series of policies we now call “dechristianization,” where they attempted to dismantle the power of the Catholic church. 

Fantine was born during the age of these dechristianization policies. So she was likely never baptised, her baptismal name was never recorded, and so she has no documented legal or family name. She’s slipped through the cracks of the legal system, and ended up completely anonymous.

This sets Fantine up as this anonymous child of the Revolution– a stand-in for everyone who was left behind when the Revolution was left behind, and kings were restored to the throne. 

Fantine’s namelessness is meant to show her isolation. She has NO support system. She has nothing to connect her to other people, nothing to connect her to a support system. 

Finally, the way Fantine tends to “slip through the cracks” is something that follows her throughout her life.  When she’s fired from her job at a factory, Mayor Madeleine never learns  of it– Fantine has this tendency to be overlooked and forgotten in official records.  At the end of the story, she is buried in an unmarked grave, with not even the name “Fantine” on her headstone. She is born anonymous and she dies anonymous.

It ties into the novel’s questions about  which people we consider worth remembering, whose lives are worth being recorded. 

[Thank you for reading! This essay was originally posted as a video here. For more Les Mis talk, you should subscribe to the 2025 @lesmisletters readalong on Substack here, and join the BrickClub Discord server here!]

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[nomgett]

Once Edwin and Charles figure their relationship out, normalise Charles being super silly ™ in dates with Edwin.

This, by now, is their 2nd or 3rd official date and they are returning to their flat. Hand in hand they walk down the lamp lit London road leading to the office flat. Edwin is reveling in the slight warmth of Charles' hand in his, and atmosphere of the night. But suddenly, Charles takes off on a sprint, Edwin fumbles, calling for him and then begins to run after him. But the head start that Charles had means that he is already at the flat whilst Edwin is climbing the last flight of stairs. To his shock, the door is thrown open and Charles is kneeling on one knee, with one hand outstretched for Edwin and the other holding the door. His head is almost brushing the floor, but without looking up he says between ragged breaths:

"Come through, your honour. "

Edwin gently lifts his hand to his mouth in a shocked movement, but places his hand in Charles'.

"Thank you Charles, really I've never had someone do this for m-"

Edwin can't say anymore because in a single, swift movement, Charles sweeps around the stand behind Edwin, leaving his hand gently hovering for Charles' used to be.

"Anything for my best mate. " Charles breathes into Edwin's neck, winking. Suddenly Charles hands are sliding Edwin's overcoat off and hanging them on the nearby coat hanger.

Edwin has stopped working and has disintegrated into a furiously blushing puddle on the floor.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Kelsey Grammar you will always be famous.

[fraternum-momentum]

do you have a procrss for ur rendering

OK I MADE SURE TO RECORD THIS TIME. but i tried something new yesterday and didnt sketch anything and just started with a bigger brush to put general values in, then i gradually used a smaller brush for details shadows highlights etc other than that 0 thought process 😭😭😭😭 painting to me is a turn off brain type of thing, like i dont need to think about what im doing too hard ????? like if it looks ok then it looks ok

[sannehnagi]

In anni the verbs that derive body parts (possibly the reverse, I’m not entirely sure which I prefer) are also locative affixes that modify the meanings of verbs- Rover, in the translation, is a pet name which I translated as laatim->laa.t.im, away/from.to go.and the diminutive, where laa- comes from the verb -la- to push, connected to the noun laak- shoulder/upper arm.

So, laatim, cute goes-away from, he roves.

I did consider using ha-, from -ha- to embrace, which has the locative meaning of around/about

But each of the “base” body parts have a locative form (as well as instrumental and direct object forms) which attach directly to the verb stem.

T’aniš- t.taniš->dim.be small- little tiny one

Luupeq-la.uu.pi.q->shoulder(obj).on(back).sit.NOM(animal)->animal that sits on the shoulder

Haat’eqim-haa.t.q.im->arm/forelimb(INST).go.NOM(animal).DIM->bird+ie

Ayaak uking itš'inniit ataš aaniig nkateeq eqaasaš a'anaq uliigumbingiigaa atahanniil laatim, ana t'aniš, ana luupeq, ana haat'eqim sauigutl'ipia yaneqaš, hatl'anniit ikiitš'akilaa uumbing amaaš tuunt'ilaaq. Atataataš iluuliigassii aatlaatlii yuntunrhiiš a'up'anng anni at ngiinuyaš aaniig, tsiitlii a'oqqatlii, a'mu'untlii, a'utšatlii, a'laapunantlii.

But when they understood the problem was one of personal choice, anyone who wanted to be called Rover, or froufrou, or polly, or birdie in the personal sense was perfectly free to do so, they had no objections and so left the generic appellations behind. Insects left their names in great clouds and swarms of ephemeral syllables, buzzing, and stinging, and humming, and crawling, and tunneling away.

[elleldoe]

sure, maybe those two sentences could be considered complete, maybe there is supposed to be a period between them. but you know what? I don't want the full stop. I want the pace that the comma sets. I want the change in tone that comes with it. maybe I'll even go wild, maybe I won't stop at two, maybe I'll combine three or more complete sentences into one horrifying amalgamation held together by comma splices. try and stop me. you can't.

[shanklin]

Stanford never became friends with Fiddleford.

Instead he got himself a different small friend group who cares a lot about him. At least about the Ford he pretended to be in college.

A kind, soft spoken formerly bullied genius who researches very dull stuff in Oregon and definitely not anything weird. Their Ford would never break any rules or ignore safety measures [unlike that other student they heard about during their college years.]

And then Ford stops answering their calls and loses his grant. 

It’s time for an intervention and they start pestering Ford with letters and calls until he finally agrees to meet them at a science convention, but he’ll take his brother with him.

They’re relieved! Ford is with Shermie! They like Shermie! It's a good thing that Ford still has one brother who isn't a good for nothing selfish criminal who destroyed his entire future!

If they ever get their hands on Ford’s evil twin they’ll make sure he’ll regret ever messing with their friend. Ford is too nice for revenge. They aren’t.

Meanwhile at the not-yet Mystery Shack, the Stans freshly survived their own angsty canon divergent tale of two stans AU and locked Bill out of Ford's mind like a week ago.

Stan: I don’t know how long Ford will keep me around but this will be good for him. He needs some friends to take care of him after I inevitably get kicked out again!

Ford: I only agreed to this because Stan insisted and I still haven’t found a way to thank him and apologize. I hope all my “friends” die in a fire.

[ihavedonenothingright]

Okay I know this is not the intended reading, but seeing "Damen doesn't have an instinct for indirect speech" right after I got out of my morning Greek and Latin courses made me bluescreen for a few seconds. Like damn, that's gotta be hard for him.

Thinking and breaking down because of all the ways Laurent allude to the nature of his uncle's abuse. Damen being so impervious to what Laurent says between the lines.

Partly, Damen doesn't have an instinct for indirect speech, but mostly I think he clings to an image of Laurent - first as steely and cold, then as capable and sharp.

He doesn't allow himself to conceptualise Laurent as breakable. it doesn't occur to him that the "cold bitch" Laurent is the post-broken Laurent.

[penumbra-mayhem]

i feel joy and oh how it burns (pt. 1/2)

Sam confides in Vincent about his growing relationship and equally growing concerns.

part 2 // hurt/comfort // <1k words

——————————————

Sam’s gaze was fixed on the umber mug cradled in his hands. He’d been that way for a few minutes now, ever since he’d walked onto the porch and handed Vincent his tea.

Their monthly get-togethers often had moments of silence, but this seemed different. It was a full silence, brimming with something unspoken.

“You’re a bit quiet,” Vincent remarked, “More than usual, I mean.”

Stirred from his absorption, Sam took a sip of his coffee and explained, “Sorry. Jus’ tryin’ to figure some stuff out.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It was just an observation,” Vincent assured him, “An invitation, if you want. Sometimes solutions are seen more clearly when the problem is said out loud.”

Vincent’s appearance was deceptive, sometimes tricking even Sam. Occasionally, he found himself forgetting Vincent was really his age and thus carried the wisdom that often came with that age.

Sam took another long sip then looked back down, as if he would find the words floating in the depths of his mug. Vincent was right; he’d let this stew in his head for too long. He needed a perspective other than his own.

“I’m so afraid to be happy, Vince,” he started, his voice heavy with the admission, “I don’t think I’ve really been happy in a long time. I forgot what it felt like.”

Vincent’s heart broke, but he couldn’t show it. He feared Sam might see how much it hurt for him to hear that and stop talking.

Thankfully he continued, though not without a few cracks in his voice, “And now this…this epitome of loyalty and bravery and selflessness and love has broken through the clouds like my own personal sun.

And I feel warm again. I feel joy blazin’ in my chest, and I smile ‘till my cheeks burn, and I’m terrified, Vince. I’m so scared I’m gonna lose them…I already lost the sun once, Vince, I can’t…I can’t lose it again.”

“Why would you think you’re going to lose them?”

Had something happened? Had they gotten into an argument? A fight? Vincent was about to press further when he saw Sam shake his head.

“I-I can’t…” he stammered, shame flooding his veins.

“Sam,” Vincent entreated.

He waited for Sam to meet his gaze before continuing, “You are my closest, dearest friend. You can tell me anything. Anything.”

Sam placed his mug on the side table between them, afraid the tension in his body might cause him to grip it too hard and break it. Vincent mirrored the action, setting down his tea and adjusting to better face him.

“I haven’t been…intimate…since Alexis,” Sam divulged, his words slow and strained. “I hadn’t even kissed anyone since her…until Tank. And even that took a while. We've been goin’ mighty slow, so I’m worried that we’re gonna get to the point soon where they’re gonna wanna take things further, take things to the next level so to speak…and I’m not gonna be ready…I need that emotional bond. I need that trust developed, I need to feel safe. I always have, but ‘specially since Alexis.”

Sam blinked hard against the burning in his eyes. His voice grew hoarse. “What if I tell them I’m not ready and they’re not willin’ to wait? Some people need that intimacy to feel close, to grow the relationship. What if they’re like that? Or what if they want me to…to bite them, or…or to feed from them? I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that.”

Seeing he was starting to spiral, Vincent gently interjected, “Have they asked any of this from you yet?”

“No,” Sam answered as he caught his breath.

“Have you talked about this with them?”

“…no.”

“Well, I think you should. I think that would be good for you both.”

Sensing Sam’s immediate resistance to the idea, he continued, “Regardless, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. I’ll admit, I don’t know Tank as well as I'd like and certainly not as well as you do. But I’ve met them. A good handful of times. I’ve seen how they look at you.”

Sam scrunched his face in confusion, to which Vincent grinned.

“I don’t think you’ve seen what I’ve seen. The way they look at you…I think they’d do just about anything you asked of them.”

“Really?” Sam breathed in disbelief.

"Yes. Really. I mean, goddamn, they're devoted to you,” Vincent chuckled, “They hang on your every word like you're spouting poetry. They look at you like you handcrafted the world. When you hold their hand, they stand straighter. When you kiss them, their knees give. When they make you laugh, I swear I think they shift a bit. Their teeth get sharper, their eyes get bigger.”

A hesitant smile washed across Sam’s face as the tension in him began to subside.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Vincent proclaimed, “Sam, you have nothing to worry about."

[freezerfridays]

do you ever think about how the bad kids were only just children during s1?

Gorgug was 14 years old when he first died and had ended up in that dark forest, and when he was resurrected had to live through the terror that followed him to the waking world with the thought that he ended up in hell, because he was only 14, just a child, what had he done to end up in such a place? was it a result of his rage, the rage he was constantly trying to tamper down, was his simple nature fundamentally horrible enough to automatically buy him a seat in hell?

Kristen was only 14 when she had her entire existence turned upside down, everything she'd known and believed in unraveled in just one day. She had died, she'd met god(!), the god that had spoken to her, guided her, given her reason and given her purpose, and yet the meeting was disappointing, and it left Kristen confused and scared and wondering what to do next, what path to take if the one with Helio, the path she'd been walking her whole life, turned out to be leading to a destination she didn't want.

And isn't it scary, isn't it terrifying to end up in the place you've heard so many horrible rumors about, and for all those violent tales to turn out to be true? The moment Adaine walked into her new school all her fears were confirmed, and in just a few hours she went from bitterly mourning not being at Hudol to stealing an important book from the library, from sitting in detention to holding a broken out of shape ladle, sleeves of her uniform ripped and blood smearing her clothes and face, a body at her feet of a women who surely did not deserve anything that Adaine had just done to her.

Isn't it scary when everything suddenly goes so awfully, horribly wrong, and now you're stuck in a party with a group of people you don't know at all, who you didn't choose, and you're all just kids having to witness all these things you didn't sign up for and yet everything is only just beginning, and now you can't go back