#Kit writes stuff

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

So, in my heart of hearts — Tom Kazansky is a sun-kissed Hawaiian baby boy who grew up in Honolulu because his Dad was stationed at Pearl Harbor-Hickam. 

But, I also want it to be so much more than that. 

I want Tom Kalahoʻolewa Kazansky to be Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian) through his mother, who ran the best hālau hula (hula dance school) on the island, after she won the Merrie Monarch’s Miss Aloha Hula as a teenager. I want a Tom who grew up being called keiki, sticky with sand and with shells overflowing from his pockets as he spends every afternoon dancing at his mother’s hālau. I want him sticky with malasada sugar on his birthdays and winning surf competitions because he loves it so much.

A Tom Kazansky who grows up to be one of the best swimmers and divers at the USNA because he spent all of his childhood in the water. 

Give me a Tom Kazansky who speaks in Pidgin because he’s a local, who still searches the beach for shells during the best and worst moments of his life because shells hold memories. He stops dancing after his mother dies when he’s a teenager and he doesn’t start again until Bradley complains one day, around age eight, that he doesn’t have a dance for a multicultural day at his school. So, Uncle Ice teaches him one. 

I want to imagine a world where Iceman is a joke of a nickname because this boy has never seen snow. 

I want him to marry Mav on the beach as an old man because he can, with leis around their necks and haupia cake to eat. 

And when he dies, the Navy has a grand ol’ ceremony for Admiral Kazansky, but his friends and family have a paddle-out afterwards for Tom: where they all take surfboards and paddle out in a big circle of joined hands to send his ashes into the sea that he’s always loved. 

Just… this hits so right in my soul, guys. 

[rising-lights]

today in kit looks up obscure shit for fic purposes: what colors did 1996 ford explorers come in?

[lunarfly-studios]

HEY LOOK AT ME, I'M ACTUALLY DOING THE THING I SAID I WAS GOING TO DO

So yeah, I'm writing a book. You may find me posting accompanying artwork, but to be clear, everything on here is mostly conceptual and unofficial. Everything I post online is subject to change for the final product.

But otherwise yeah I'm super excited!

I've been dealing with a lot of crazy stuff the last several years of my life, but now I'm finally in a position where I can pry myself out of the mental and emotional garbage I was dealing with before, and actually focus on this!

I'm hoping this goes somewhere enough to make a viable living from this project, but I also just hope that you guys find it entertaining to some degree.

[harveylikestoart]

Keeping up with the Freemans.

[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.

[pan-catra]

Shadow Weaver seeing Glimmer not as her own person but rather as a version of Micah that didn’t fail her ohhhhhhh i love the fucked up mentor/mentee dynamics in this show.

[stygiansauce]

Hey gamers! I'm gonna give you an entire lesson on hyphens, Em dashes and En dashes via tumblr, right now.

Lets preface with this: Grammar has two modes of use.

Prescriptive: A set of rules that dictate how a language "should" be used.

Descriptive: How grammar/language is ACTUALLY used.

This is an important distinction for this lesson because I am going to start with a powerpoint that explains the rules/uses of hyphens and dashes. THEN after, we will talk about the rhetorical effects dashes have on readers and how authors can use them to their advantage. COOL lets begin.

The first thing you all need to know about hyphens and dashes is what they look like.

Please note how the EM dash is the longest, the EN is next, then the minus, and the hyphen. The sizing and name of these dashes was historically decided because Em dashes were the size of an M and an En was the size of an N.

This is wonky now considering typing and fonts and all that jazz, but the size still matters (haha).

These are how you type them! I am a google docs user, and the short cuts in docs are weird. You will want to go into Insert then go down to special characters. Type in the dash you need, and click it to insert.

Hyphens so these things! What is a modifier? It's a word that MODIFIES the noun. like a light rain, or a long drive. these are adjectives/adverbs (depending)

Hyphens can link two modifiers. They can also link compound nouns.

These are the things Em dashes do! If you take a gander through Margin of Error (Chapter 4 would be best because that's where I learned the special character function) you'll see all of these examples in action!

En dashes aren't as common as EM dashes or hyphens. These are used strictly in a prescriptive sense. From my knowledge there is no way to use these rhetorically. only for clarity and these are the three times you'll see them.

COOL! Now lets talk about how Em dashes are used rhetorically. What does an Em dash do to your writing? How does it effect a reader?

Emphasis Em dashes create pauses in speech. If I were talking to you and I wanted to pause-- or cut myself off, I could use either an elipses or an Em dash. Where an elipses is more of a trail off... the Em dash draws the readers eye. It makes the reader stop and look at what is around them.

THATS IT! Thats what it does! It's more emphasis than a comma or a parenthetical. You could in theory use a comma, but think of how much stress you want on something.

FOR EXAMPLE, in this line from Margin of Error.

With no Puncuation: “Ah well Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this something he does a lot when talking about his family so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

With Commas: “Ah, well, Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this, something he does a lot when talking about his family, so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

With Em dashes: “Ah—well, Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this—something he does a lot when talking about his family—so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

Notice how it's different? The commas certainly do their job at making the reader pause. They help insert the phrase, but its not the same as the dashes. The dashes make the reader LOOK at what is between them. it becomes the focus of the sentence. We are no longer worries about what Jimmy's tone is, but that he uses it often when talkin about his family.

Look at this example with parenthesis too, and see how those change the effect.

With parenthesis: “Ah—well, Grian and I weren’t really getting along at the time…” He trails off in a way that screams I’m done talking about this (something he does a lot when talking about his family) so Tango moves the conversation in a different direction.

Seeeee? it makes a difference! The parenthesis make it more of a passive thought. Something for the reader to consider, but is overall not important to the story. This is why us authors sometimes hem and haw over grammar! I certainly think that Em dashes can be used based off vibes (I do this all the time) but now you know what its really doing for your reader! I want to look at one more example of this before we wrap up.

With no Puncuation: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully suddenly like he can’t hold it in any longer

With Commas: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully, suddenly, like he can’t hold it in any longer

With Em dashes: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully—suddenly—like he can’t hold it in any longer

With Parenthesis: “Your eyes are pretty.” Jimmy says wistfully (suddenly) like he can’t hold it in any longer.

TADA! You can now use hyphens, em dashes and en dashes!!! Thank you for coming to class. Your homework is to play around with these in your writing. I will accpet questions via the Ask box or the comments of this post. Happy writing nerds, go use your new toy.

xoxo Ms. Sauce

[sapling-clangen]

Moon 11!

Trembleseeker is finally a warrior! (like 4 moons late but whatever, her teacher was like an 11 year old)

Babies being cute!

Moon 0

Moon 10 - Moon 12

[lazywriter-artist]

So yeah- warp bunnies are weird :)

Oopsies :P

Fun fact! Inquisitor Aster-Rae here is the main inquisitor on research for the warp bunnies and is the ‘pov’ I write my lore dumps from ;)

[deadn30n]

alrighty gaymers my temporary hiatus ends tomorrow and i will be spending most of the day putting my drafts + starters into my queue. i can't guarantee i'll get to everything, but i will be working on it in the background until everything's in there and it's filled up

after that, i will get to owed messages + dms in the evening and i'm once again saying thank you for your patience with my slow ass, esp after the accident. my back has been in pain so i haven't been able to do much except exist, but i think i'll feel well enough by tomorrow to be social again ♡

[noahtally-famous]

for td 2024 wlw week!!

priyemma | 3.3k words | oneshot | 2024 wlw week day one: campfire

summary:

After that mess of a 'Would You Rather?' challenge and a more painful loss, Priya is sure who has to go…but then she sees Emma sitting alone on one of the logs in the campfire clearing a while before the elimination, and the consequent interactions turn about several thoughts and emotions.

[torchflies]

The real reason why our favorite green-eyed gremlin has no family besides Carole, Bradley and Goose. (WARNING, READ TAGS).

Maverick was born behind a neon-lit bar on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, sometime in 1964. His father, a traitor who went down in ‘Nam. His mother, a dancer who disappeared as quickly as she arrived, left him sitting in an alley at two years old, wearing a paisley scarf and holding a handful of pictures and papers. But the queens found him.

They were the performers of The Garden of Eve, a half-underground drag revue known for its peacock-feathered glamour, subversive laughter, and the kind of love you didn’t talk about in broad daylight. All they had was each other and now — they had a little boy to raise. Miss Ruby D’Vine was the first to pick him up. “Well hello, little love,” She said, cradling him in rhinestone-covered arms. “We didn't ask for you, but some of the best things come from the clearance rack, darling.”

By the time he was ten, Maverick could hot-roll a wig, cinch a corset, and quote lines from Mildred Pierce with frightening accuracy. His guardians — Ruby, Charis, Maude, and Auntie Legs — raised him not just to survive but to dazzle. He learned early that strength could wear false lashes and walk in six-inch heels through a thunderstorm, baby. That was how Maude came to his after-school functions, holding out her perfectly manicured hand for him to take. “Come along, Peter Pan.”

In the seventies, The Garden was more than a nightclub. It was sanctuary. It was the school of life. It was church. The queens taught Maverick everything — how to lip-sync and sew, how to stand tall when people sneered, how to throw shade that could cut and how to use glitter as both armor and gospel. They brought him to balls, they taught him how to charm his way through the doors of life.

He was sixteen the first time someone in their tight circle got sick. Miss Loretta Love started coughing backstage. “Just the flu,” She said with a painted-on smile. But she never got better. They took care of her, even as she wasted and forgot her favorite songs, forgot her dances.

They didn’t have a name for it yet — only rumors, only whispers. “Some kind of gay cancer,” The papers muttered, GRID, as if their very existence was an affliction and this was the solution. And then one by one, Maverick’s world began to vanish. Charis stopped performing and lost weight until her sequin gowns hung on her like mourning veils. Maude couldn’t hold a tune or a spoon, she went blind and then it was Maverick who buffed and painted her nails for her casket. Auntie Legs died in a hospital room alone, misgendered even on her death certificate. He screamed and hollered when they put her in a suit for the viewing. He was the only family she had left, and his mother would be buried in her best evening gown.

Maverick would sit in the dressing rooms, now quiet and haunted, staring at empty styrofoam heads. He tried to keep the club running. Ruby, who had always been the strongest, still painted on her smile but no longer performed when she couldn't cover the lesions anymore. “They’re forgetting us, Peter.” She whispered to him once, in the dark as she fought going to the ward. “Like we were never here. I'm so sorry, Peter Pan, I'm going to have go on without you.”

She found that second star and she was gone too.

But Maverick fights. He takes their lessons and carries them, even as the city turns its back. He makes flyers for memorials. He marches. He screams at politicians with no faces as he buries more friends and family than any teenager should have to. He meets the two people who are going to mean the world to him one day — at an ACT-UP march. A pair of twenty-somethings from Nowhere, Tennessee.

By the time the eighties roll in, The Garden of Eve is long shuttered, its sign rusting above boarded doors. But Maverick — no longer a boy, not yet a man — keeps a shoebox full of polaroids, press-on nails, lipstick tubes, and old ticket stubs. He calls it his inheritance.

And whenever he puts on one of Ruby’s old coats, he stands just a little taller. Because he was raised not by a village, but by a galaxy of stars, and even in grief, they taught him how to shine.

No amount of Academy rejections or Navy men bellowing in his face will ever tamp down that shine — and if he still gravitates to bar mics like the queens who raised him? Well, he's still their Peter Pan underneath this get-up.

[rising-lights]

Me: writing H:LOTS fic

Also me, looking things up: what’s the flash point of acetone?

So basically my search history is becoming increasingly suspect like it did last time I wrote in this fandom and it shouldn’t be as funny as it is

(I promise I’m not setting anything on fire 😂)

[ambriel-angstwitch]

Kit Lyrical Breakdown

So Boreas is a song on my Kit playlist and while it’s also there because it’s the kind of music Kit likes let me breakdown how she relates to the song

With my back on the floor. Cold linoleum icing my growing pains

Two ways I associate these lines with Kit

1. Closer to the original intention of the lyric. She’s trained hard all day. She’s worked herself to the bone. The cold floor is a relief to her aching muscles not only from the work she’s done but because she’s growing. She’s still a child.

2. The cold incident. She’s convincing herself that it has a purpose. That this suffering she’s going through is only to make her better, to make her grow. The cold is her growing pain.

Watch the ceiling fan turn its shape again

A ceiling fan is a constant cycle. Kit’s life continues in these constant cycles. She has the same training. She has the same pattern of getting hurt by Gunntech and justifying it.

My threads are coming loose

But these lies she’s weaved for herself can only stand so much wear. During the run of the show her faith in the company is waning.

Yeah, I'm one spoon away. From setting the ends of my hair on fire. If I'm kindling for a little while. At least I'd feel of use

Kit’s destructive desire to be of use to people. She wants approval and has kept herself in harmful scenarios to receive it.

Maybe then my breath could embody. A wildfire starting I'd sweep up the forest floor

Kits desire to be something greater than what she is. She wants to prove herself. To be something greater than just kindling.

And my body'd breathe life into the corners Be a darker soil

Kit desires to help people. She wants to bring life, bring joy to others. To fuel others like dark soil fuels plants

Making lists, folding laundry Keeping tidy with my radio show I'd be lying if I told you I'm keeping tidy anymore

Once again reflects her tendency to be useful. She takes up little tasks whenever possible. Little ways to earn affection

Yeah, I swing from believing That maybe my working will all pay off.

Kit believes that in the end that everything she does, everything she goes through will be worth it in the end. She’ll have earned affection. She’ll be useful. The world will be safer and better because of what she went through.

To considering drinking with Molotov. I'm halfway out the door

Reflects destroying everything and leaving it all behind. Which unlike this lyric isn’t something Kit considers often

Promise me That you'll start where I end And I promise to give you Everything that I am

Promise to cover up her faults. Promise to take her in and be with her despite her faults. And Kit will show you undying loyalty. She will give almost anything for Gunntech, she’ll give everything for her friends.

(On and on and on) We'll go on and on and on

Once again the consistent schedule. Her consistent ties to Gunntech.

In the end All I hope for. Is to be a bit of warmth for you. When there's not a lot of warmth left To go around

In the end if she could be anything she’d want to be a bright spot. She wants to make people happy, make people feel safe. She’d like to be warmth

[iron-bullogna]

nah there was no payoff for that. that was some trash ass writing and I called all these shitty "plot twists" from early act one. jesus christ this game had so much potential but the main story writing is complete ass

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

re: the last post i reblogged bc i am realizing just how much i yapped in the tags and i do not wish to subject the wider tumblr public to that rant LMAO