#this is sure something

[luna-spacedoodles]

[ID: A screenshot from Lizzie’s latest Empires SMP video of an iron golem offering a baby villager a poppy as the villager walks away with it’s back turned to the iron golem. The golem and villager are retextured, the villager to look like a blue axolotl human hybrid and the golem to look like an axolotl with a disturbing anatomy with visible pecs. /End ID]

love is dead 

[kuackity]

Still catching up in things I only need two more streams to end with Quackity.

Also why are him and alexby talking english BUT only in clasic porn lines????!?

[agentlemanofthevoid]

*manifests in the captain's quarters* oh jean-luc

[ceilingfan5]

might i offer the most flattering picture ever taken of my lovely lady

i had so much trouble figuring out what was going on here limb wise and i think your cat may be a wizard  or a xenomorph 

so here’s my diagram

[undead-gearhead]

WIP tag!

I was tagged by @ofravensandgenesis to post a wip! Currently writing something so y'all get that, I guess. Idk who to tag that he hasn't tagged tho. Feel free to snag it and tag me tho.

Lemme just preface this that I'm currently writing a weird AU of an AU that ISN'T the cult AU ala ACABH of @ofravensandgenesis. Wait. That's complicated. Basically, this is a cult AU of my Deputy James. But like a weird, dark Herald AU that's vaguely inspired by ACABH but isn't in the same verse. What a fucking spiderweb of AUs and messes. Snippet is under the cut! It’s currently in a rough state. 

    ~~

     He was thrown into the grass before he could see anything but light. He blinked, eyes watering, trying to make out anything as he felt zip ties tighten around his hands. Through blurry vision, a figure came into view. Illuminated by headlights and halogen off road lights, he saw a man holding a gas can. 

    Red hair. A camouflage jacket. No. No, no, no. 

    The man walked forward as he struggled to scoot back. Not again. He wasn’t going back. Couldn’t. He was supposed to be safe. 

    Gasoline sloshed as the can was dropped just inches from his face, kicking up a cloud of dust. Well worn black Army boots came into view next as the man knelt in front of him. 

    Camouflage jacket. 

    Rabbit’s foot. Dog whistle. 

[redminibike1]

There’s Only One Ghost Here

Or: an interview with Ben Kenobi, a Jedi, a ghost, not-a-ghost, a man, more than that, not less, never less

CONSIDER! I have relistened to Last Days by Yasushi Yoshida and am FILLED with emotions about the Jedi and the Temple (what else is new ahdalfa). ANYWAYS, here’s a little back-and-forth I wrote...Kinda different, but I enjoyed it.

Dynamics: Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan & Mace, Cody/Obi-Wan (mentioned)

...

Would you have done it differently, had you known those were the last days?

Would you have looked longer, talked longer, held tighter? Would you have cherished more than you did, tried to memorize what would soon be lost?

Would you have tried harder?

Do you wish you had walked more slowly up the front steps, through the main hall, down the passageway? Do you wish you had stopped in your quarters, pulled out a mug, made tea, sat down in your living area? Do you wish you’d looked out across the Coruscanti horizon and simply breathed?

Do you wish you’d stepped closer to Mace, after that final meeting? Do you wish you’d tugged him close, hugged him like you used to when you were a boy, told him that he was kind and good, and that you were proud to have known him? Would you have asked him to lean on you, if he needed it, to share whatever plagued him, whatever caused those shadows under his eyes? Would you have said more? Would you have said anything?

Do you wish you had brought all of your troopers along to the Temple with you? Do you wish you had allowed them to roam your first home, allowed them to get a taste of what you’d once dreamed for them, after the war? Do you wish they’d been allowed to play with the Younglings, to speak to the elders, to laugh with the Knights, before their brothers were to kill them all?

Do you wish you’d nudged Cody’s hands down, made him shut off his datapad, as you sat together that last night? Do you wish you’d pushed your chair back and knelt at his feet? Do you wish you’d taken his hands in yours, looked up at him, and voiced the words that had choked you for so long? Do you wish you had surged up to meet him, to bring your mouths together, to curl an arm around his shoulders and bury a hand in his hair and smile against his lips?

Do you wish you’d done things differently?

No.

You’re sure of this?

More sure than I’ve ever been of anything.

And why is that. Do you not care?

I care so much I ache with it. But I ache with love, not regret.

Are they not the same for you, now?

Never.

All those words unsaid. You don’t regret a single moment of silence?

If I had—had been more knowledgeable about the events that would come to pass—You’re right, perhaps I might have looked around my home with more intent, knowing it would be the last time before—before the massacre. Perhaps I would have gone to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or up to the roof, or sat in my quarters. But—but then that last visit, before seeing the aftermath…It would have been tinged with that knowledge. I wouldn’t have been content, or happy to have returned for a time…I would be trying to hold on. The way things have gone…I remember my home as a place of warmth, of life, or growing up and learning and loving. I don’t need help to remember what I loved about my home.

And your family? You don’t regret the things you didn’t say to them?

No.

Why is that?

They didn’t need to hear it. They—they knew. Mace knew how much I cared for him. He knew how much I cared to listen. He didn’t need to hear it to know. Just how I didn’t need to hear him say it to know the care was returned. That last smile, the last nudge...They were enough. As for Cody…I have no doubt he was aware of it as well. I loved him so much it bled into everything I did. It bled into the way I moved, the way I spoke, the way I fought. It filled me and spilled out of me and made the galaxy glow. He changed me, and he was always so perceptive…It would not have slipped his notice. My love was not verbal, but it didn’t need to be. I loved my home and my family, and I never needed to say it for it to be true.

If you truly mean what you say…I believe you are ready, Obi-Wan.

Thank you, Master.

But first…Can you…Can you remind me, of home. Of what you love about it.

Has it faded? With time?

Faded, yes. With time…in a way. I was hasty, rushed, in my learning. The results are less than perfect. Memories…fade, in and out and in again. They dull, and morph, and twist. I will not be around forever, I know, or even for much longer, which is why I must share what I know. But I…I miss the simplicity of truth. I’ve missed your perspective, my Padawan.

I understand. I am…I am sorry, Master.

Do not be. Such is the way of the Force.

The Temple…It was full of light. It wasn’t harsh light. It was soft, and warm. The people, the other Jedi…they shone. At night, when the lamps were lit, the walls flickered with orange light, and the tapestries seemed to move, weaving stories as well as thread. The Temple was loud. There was always talking, always laughter, always children running through the halls. It hummed, with stories and sleeping and the Force. I loved the roughness of the walls, the smell of seawater, the whirring of the machinery in the hangar. I loved the way the light shone into the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the way the plants blocked the doors from closing all the way. I loved the way we ate together, the way we created together, the way we taught each other. I loved knowing each person as family, even before I knew their name. I loved that there was no need to be afraid, or worried, or angry, inside the Temple. I loved that it was ours, that it was safe, that it was gentle but also questing. I loved that it loved us, and it did. It loved us, our home.

I remember. I remember, Obi-Wan. I remember now. I loved it too. I loved them too.

I know. 

I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.

I know. Thank you, Master.

[knitting-gay-nerd]

I doodled some knitting hands in the margins of my math homework the other day, and it turned into this.