#so away the numbers go

[jaythelay]

"Unalive" and other cutesy disrespectful ways to denigrate the severity of a situation and victim."

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[solarockk]

Decked out sketches

[sergle]

yall are about to piss me off by not having any PASSING basic knowledge of the way the u.s. military manipulates its recruits into joining by typing up one of your uninformed, unresearched, unempathetic, individualistic, unbelievably annoying posts about how 100% of the people in the military ended up there because they just Love America So Damn Much! they're extremely mature and informed at time of recruitment, they can totally leave anytime they want, they totally had tons of other avenues in life they could've taken, there was no rush at all to get income as fast as possible, and everyone in the military also totally is part of the combat divisions and personally enjoys being IN the military very much, big believers of violence. everyone in the military is shooting guns all day, that's how that works. they LOVE BLOODSHED. also I love the "amewicans haha" twang to this type of shit because you're actually TOTALLY stealing our Thing, which is turning systemic issues into Individual Issues. Instead of talking about the powers that be, it's so Personal Choice up in here. It's, "well you shouldn't have done it then. I totally wouldn't because I know better." you don't wanna talk about the military industrial complex as a whole, and you don't want to talk about recruiters, you just want to pin the blame on Specific Individual People one-by-one, as if they're responsible for the system that they're being ground up in. someone was in the military? bad person, no matter what. it's easier to believe that, I guess, than to acknowledge that Normal People (with high school educations) are manipulated and incentivized into joining a system that is Bad. at like age 18. but yeah no that 18 year old should have just been smarter lol haha anyway here are some screenshots for no particular reason

side note this reply of someone going "umm just get loans and go into a high paying field it's easy XD" as a direct response to someone trying to explain how most americans joining the military are being funneled in that direction out of a need for money.

and another person who Decided that americans join the military just CLENCHING their teeth thinking of other people, and not thinking completely selfishly about their own selves and their own income/housing/healthcare.

[phoenixcatch7]

In love with the idea of captain marvel being Billy's imaginary friend. Like, it'd be so easy. Early depictions had them as almost fully separate people sometimes, like one soul with two minds, rather than just two filters like we mostly see now.

But imagine a Billy down on his luck, hurt and hiding from police and criminals alike, daydreaming the hours away as children do, taking inspiration from all the superheroes rising to fame, making little stories to play out his dreams of saving the world with a generic action doll he found while dumpster diving once. Most of the paint's rubbed off.

Red's his favourite colour, his comfiest jumper is a bright ruby even after all the grime and washes. Gold, too, it's shiny and warmer than silver! A hero cape is a must, big and eye catching! And he can fly, of course, like superman, and in his daydreams, when he's sore and frustrated after a long day's grind, his superhero is smart enough and knows all the right words to get the bullies to stop without resorting to fighting.

His superhero fantasy is one he spends a lot of time on, the first one he goes for when struggling to sleep at night, and he can picture it so clearly. Captain marvel is big and bright and kind, strong enough to lift the boxes for the old lady up the road who's moving all by himself, fast enough to catch Jamie who fell out of the tree on Saturday and broke his leg and couldn't come to class for weeks. He appears at the entrance to alleys when Billy is cornered, he steps up behind to cover for him when he gets caught shoplifting, he sits at the bus stop with him when it's pouring rain and the right bus doesn't seem to be coming.

And then the wizard comes, or rather whisks him away, and like a magician from a fairytale breathes life into his imaginary friend until Billy feels thrice his size and a million times more invincible.

From then on, captain marvel is a real hero, just like Billy is a real boy, and as one they save the whole city, and then the whole world, and get cats down from trees and help Mrs Victoria move the last of her boxes and she gives them a pinch in the cheek and cookies for the road and sometimes it hurts but it's so much better than he imagined.

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 21 thoughts:

Well that was sure a turn around from last arc's "I'm going to rally the students so I don't get captured."

I know my daughter has made some . . . mistakes, but I'm not a fan of her turning herself into the openly corrupted and also bad at their job parahuman cops.

(Parahuman cops as in "cops who police parahumans" not "cops who are parahumans")

Like look, I get it. A precog told her to cut ties. I can't say it's wrong to follow that advice. But she could do that in a lot of ways that don't involve the PRT.

The second not from Dinah just being "I'm sorry" is brutal.

But before she can turn herself in she has to absolutely fucking crush the PRT/Protectorate for outing her civilian identity.

I love how fucking simple taking out the entire PRT headquarters was for Skitter and her girlfriends!

Who needs anyone else? Bitch brings muscle, Tattletale brings information, Skitter brings battlefield control. Lesbian polycule power activate!

Was it an overboard response? Maybe. Was it badass how she just took out so many heroes and PRT troops with ease? Yes.

Poor Dovetail has one of the most embarrassing introductions ever. First time we see her and Skitter is wiping the floor with her and thinking about her "crummy power".

God I hate Tagg so much that he makes me miss Piggot. Like she was absolutely terrible, but he's worse! And making me miss Piggot makes me hate Tagg even more!

Kindly old cemetery groundskeeper who doesn't pay much attention to the news! Never a bad trope.

They gave Butcher 15 to Cherish???!? Like sure they give all the reasoning for it but like ... it just seems like a really high risk situation. If she ever gets out it's going to suck. A lot.

THE SCENE AT RACHEL'S PLACE OH MY GOD!

SHE IS BUILDING A COMMUNITY! I LOVE HER SO MUCH!

Rachel just over here finding everyone like her and giving them a place. Legit crying. Look at that fucking growth!

(Also shout-out to my wife for having basically done the same thing. It's how I met her. It's how I met one of my girlfriends. And so many other important people. So ya. I fucking love this.)

Also you ever like a girl so much you try to give her an entire planet? Cause Taylor sure has.

"Rachel I don't want you to be sad when I'm gone so you can basically have this whole other planet we found."

GGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

Imp let Regent take control of her . . . welp. Like, I'm not really surprised by this. And in a different situation I wouldn't even really find it that weird. I'd do it with the right person. But combination of age and the situation they are in and Regent being Regent annnnnd ya. Welp.

I did love how much of the interactions between Skitter and Regent/Imp really was just her struggling with parenting two teenage supervillains.

IT'S NOT SO EASY, IS IT CHILD?!? MAYBE YOU'LL CUT ME SOME SLACK AND LISTEN TO MY ADVICE IN THE FUTURE!

(She won't)

I fucking LOVE that she made the bible themed hero kneel. Absolutely fucking amazing.

Oh shiiit, Skitter just flat dropped that guy multiple stories. Is she going to far?

. . . wellll, these guys do literally worship the Endbringers so I guess a little aggression is ok.

Damn, Valefor sure has some fucked up powers, I wonder what they're gonna do abou-

. . .

. . .

. . . . . .

. . . wellll, these guys do literally worship the Endbringers so I guess a little aggression is ok.

. . .

Yep.

. . .

. . . I think I preferred when she just used a knife.

So anyway

Not a fan of Taylor having more alone time with Brian (not because I have any issue with the idea, but because I think she needs to be focusing on her girlfriends), but I am a fan of her using bugs to clean her dress and fix her hair afterwords while Brian just kinda sits there and has to contemplate what he has gotten himself into. Queen shit.

Flechette was SO mad that Parian wasn't "cute" anymore, I couldn't stop laughing. Sure, she said "You had to take the playfulness away? The joy?" but we all know what she meant. Of course, it's won't take very long for the new costume to get Flechette's attention. (I have to mention that this is basically exactly what I said when reading the scene, and the interlude a few chapters later just proved me right.)

Flechette is just so hopelessly gay

Miss Militia is actually getting very mild respect from me right now. Like, she's still working for the cops but she is actually agreeing to silently push against some things. Now, she says she doesn't have more power then that but she is a very well known hero and if she would publicly speak out about certain things there is a decent chance she could do more. That would of course be putting her position at risk though. Which is why she only gets very mild respect right now.

OH MY GOD I DIDN'T JUST GET TO SEE TATTLETALE'S MURDER WALL, I GOT TO SEE HER ENTIRE MURDER ROOM!

Fucking multiple bulletin boards with threads connecting them. Everything color coded. Reference numbers to files with more details. Multiple TV screens, computer with constant information dump. God. It's like a literal representation of the inside of my mind while I read Worm. SO MANY THINGS TO FIGURE OUT!

I love a lot of characters, but Tattletale always stays near the top. She gets me.

And from the fucking joy of getting to see that setup I come crashing the fuck down.

Like, I have completely figured out at this point that Skitter is turning herself in. I know what is coming. She's had her moment with everyone else and Tattletale is the last one.

And then. Then just . .

No goodbyes.

😭😭😭😭😭

HOW DARE THIS BOOK MAKE ME FEEL MY OWN FEELINGS!! I'M TOO GAY FOR THIS!

I do find it hysterical that the PRT officers working the front lobby don't all recognize Skitter on sight. Fucking gas station employees will manage to keep track of people with pictures on the "bad check" board, you'd think the PRT could manage to have their officers keep track of the face of one of the most well know villains in the country, if not the world, who also controls their city. PRT is forever bad at their job.

That one guy did notice her eventually though, so I guess he gets to be employee of the month.

The Number Man interlude thoughts:

The inside of this mans mind is one of the sexiest things I have ever seen and the constant reminder of the horrible things he is helping Cauldron do to all their prisoners was very helpful because it was the only thing keeping me from deciding that The Number Man is a perfect soul that can do no wrong.

I have no illusions here. I am weak. This man is a monster and I should not have any trouble remembering that.

But fuck shit fuck oh god fuck I don't even need him to touch me. I just need him to TALK to me. I just need him to get high with me and let me pick apart how his mind works!

He understood numbers, and through them, he understood everything.

That line. Absolute killer. Fucking take me.

. . . anyway yes it's a very interesting interlude!

Loved seeing more of the inner workings of Cauldron

I very much want to see the final level of their basement that only the Doctor goes into because I said that I thought Cauldron had a dead (for values of dead that are non-definable) higher dimensional being in their basement back during arc 15 and now I know for sure that there is something down there. I wanna know if I was right!

Oh my god he was friends with Jack

"Friends"

Look I make everything gay ok? It's not my choice! Sure it means I get to enjoy every tiny bit of Wolfspider and Chatterbug cause I see all of it. But it also means I see the ships I don't want to think about!

I men what was I supposed to think when Jack said “We can live this. Together. Every waking second…”?

Gay

Parian interlude thoughts:

And speaking of gay!

Fucking Flechette just full blown "Fuck all of this I want you to tell me what to do for the rest of my life!"

Full U-Haul lesbian.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

This is Parian's new costume having an effect.

Just so gay. I love it.

Also Bitch just so fucking ready to break Skitter out. So fucking gay.

And the incredible loyalty, which is gonna hurt if she ends up feeling betrayed by Skitter.

Still gay though.

Tattletale, basically without powers, just completely giving Accord the "fuck off, we're in charge" was amazing. All she had to do was promise to consider his binders and he was all in. This poor man just wants somebody to read his ideas! He's like a aspiring screenwriter just begging people to read his script.

[todayisafridaynight]

rate the outfit

[moiraineswife]

"You should have stayed away."

"I know."

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

[whoopseydaisy]

i feel like i need to pick up the slack with my ame defending. if ame has a million fans I am one of them. if ame has one fan i am that one. if ame has no fans i am dead.

[fanfanfanfaire]

Someone explain to me how Checo gets to renew his contract when his crash in Monaco was SO BAD it put him in lead of the Destructors Championship by over $400k and Ferrari is only 24 points behind in current standing.

[kuromi-hoemie]

interviewed a very beautiful Afghani trans woman just now and I'm gonna be thinking about it the rest of the day.

[thedawningofthehour]

I was thinking more about how Yokai life stages are so different from ours and what kind of effect that would have on everything else. Like, if we assume their life cycles is similar to that of a human, just on a much longer scale, then a Yokai could be in their 'child-bearing years' for literally centuries. (I mean, it all depends on the Yokai and the life cycle of their source DNA and how much they inherited from that, but assuming most of them are more human-like) And their kids do take slightly longer to mature, but not by that much.

I've already figured that there's much less of a push to get people having babies as soon as they can-they've got so much time, and especially since Yokai are generally healthier and less susceptible to disease they're expecting most of those kids to survive to adulthood. That would just be a lot of babies, and rapid population growth would really put a strain on resources. So even though Yokai are legal adults at 20 and probably reach sexual maturity around the same time as humans, having kids before you're a century old is considered super early. Like, Bella is 45, and she would practically be considered a teen mother if she had a kid now. "You're not even fifty yet, oh my god, you haven't lived! You need time on your own to figure out who you are!" (ironically, there are kids she went to school with who are grandparents now)

But anyway, considering the baby-having window is so wide and Yokai kids don't take that long to grow up, I feel like it would be the norm to have one, maybe two kids and then raise them to adulthood before having the next. That way you're not splitting your attention between a bunch of kids and can devote all your energy and resources into the one you're working on right now. Then once the kid is a young adult and doesn't really need to be actively parented anymore, then they can move onto the next one.

This also makes Draxum's decision to mutate and raise four mutant children at once even more unhinged.

[bitternace]

Any number? 23 and saïx :)

couldn't count all the ways that i've died for you

[ID: a digital drawing of saix from kingdom hearts. He is shown from the hip up, his body in 3/4's and his face in profile. He is shadowed in warm tones. He has a neutral expression, and he's standing straight.

The background is transparent except for a circle that lays from the middle of his shoulders and upwards, with three sections that have a slightly bigger circumference where one to three, seven to eight, and eight to nine would be on a clock. All scenes are blue tones with a noise overlay. these three are all from saix's perspective.

In the first, there is a cloaked figure shown from the waist down, the tip end of young xehanort's keyblade leans forward and some of it goes out of bound, tiled floor as a background. The second one is saix's hand reaching for kingdom hearts. The third is his hand reaching towards Lea, who lies on the floor of radiant garden's lab.

The rest of the circumference is a labyrinth wall in keyblade's graveyard, with a harsh diagonal line of light on the upper half. Most of the circumference is lined black, except from nine to one o'clock, lined white. /End ID.]

[doctorsiren]

Okay chat here’s my Spotify wrapped

I find it funny that two of my top artists are The Same Artist

620 out of 621 of those streams for Stuck Inside happened in a single week, which was right before they stopped tracking for wrapped

[schmweed]