#worstjediever

[scribblingbearcat]

Khes, what's the best day you've ever had?

“Oh! That’s EASY!” She grins at you, the scar on her face crinkling between her button nose and bright green eyes.

“The day Master Kon chose me as his Padawan, of course! What else could it be? That was definitely the best day of my life. And it changed like, everything, forever, y’know? So yeah.”

[swtorfandompositivity]

cptprocrastination worstjediever… I don’t even know where to begin with her. If anyone was ever sister by heart than by blood, it’s Cap. Her writing makes me weep (sometimes literally), her characters are incredibly complex, and she as a person? She’s too precious for words. Love ya, Cap. 

[ezroad]

Commission for captainprocrastination of their two Dawnquis

commission info

[depizan]

And I just seem to be breaking Tumblr tonight. Sorry, worstjediever.

[milanigrey]

Drabble - Sketching

"This is pointless." 

"Oh, it isn't so bad, Narithia." 

Narithia shot Konur a look and he just smiled at her, and went back to his sketchpad, carefully recreating the bowl of fruit on the table. She peered over his shoulder.  "You know, you're actually pretty good."

"That's because I take my time and work slowly." 

"... I tried that and it only looked worse!" 

Kon looked up from his sketchpad and tried to look over at Nari's, and she quickly slid it towards herself, away from his view.

"It's really bad, Kon."

"Oh it can't be that bad. You've always been good at everything." He smiled at her and she shook her head.

"Not this. I hope this class doesn't determine pass or fail.." 

He looked at the white-haired woman next to him and smiled. "I'm sure it's not. Your sketch can't really be that bad, can it?"

Nari shamefaced and slid her sketchpad over so he could see. "Don't laugh."

Kon bit his lip to keep from laughing till his sides hurt, and looked back at his own sketchpad. "Keep practicing, Nari."

[scribblingbearcat]

Abstracts for people. Hints are in the tags.

He is the wolf and the hound, howling mournfully at a starless sky. He is the one who watches over the sheep, a silent hunter and protector, finds the strays and brings them home, fights the bears and mountain lions and other farmers and those who would prey on the weak. He's the mutt in the mud, stuck outside in the rain. He is the baying voice on the wind, relentless, terrifying. He's the mad vicious animal and the whining pup and the wise old guardian on the front porch. He's seen cages and fields of flowers and rains of blood and the darkest days and the brightest moonlit nights. He's a staggery set of bloody pawprints in the snow, refusing to die, refusing to fall. But he's also the one who leads a motley pack; omega became alpha, or perhaps he was an alpha all along. He's the fur you cry your heart out into, and licks away the tears. And he's the one pups come crawling to, tail between their legs, and he teaches them to hold it high and bark loud and show thier teeth and fight for the pack. He's Mentor-Father, and Brother, and Murderer, and Savior. 

Twinkling good humor stretched over infinite sadness; cinnamon and sun warmed wood and light is he. Solid as oak, but more like a flower growing in the desert of a heart, despite scorching scathing heat and abrasive sand. And he's the scarred hand that never leaves, no matter the bites it gets, and bleeds for them all, willingly. He's the knight and his armor is all he's lost, his sword unsheathed blazing hope, and his shield planted firmly in front of the innocent. Not again. Not this time.

Snake eyes, half lidded and amused, poisoned honey drips from her forked tongue and she charms you instead of vice versa. Cloaks herself in death and darkness like fine silk and uses them to fight for the living, even if she can't stand the light. Her fangs drip narcotic aphrodisiac but neither joy nor arousal nor the pain they will inflict is equal to that she can wreak with her tongue. Serpentine queen: do not tread on me.

Sharp blows and softer words with far more punch: speak softly and beat thier asses with your stick if they do not listen. Still waters run deep, with bones at the bottom of the river, lost and loved, caressed by the current. Strength and speed of a tsunami, kept in check, but rages against her enemies and destroys them. Gives life, feeds the littlest fish, and teaches the smallest raindrops to grow a mighty force.

Desert incarnate, burning and harsh and unforgiving, she cares not for the allegiances of those who walk her sands: only to her own does she adhere. Dichotomies, cold night and burning noon, they define her. Wanderer lost like the dusty winds, finds an oasis, and defends with sandstorm's fury.

The Great White Wolf: Alone, but when she howls to the unforgiving moon the mountains ring with echoing song and legacy. She saved a mutt, once, having lost her pack, and he grew up in her shadow. Ancient love and ever present grief surpass time and space until the day she is reunited with her mate and can finally rest her weary, blistered paws. Stoned and scorned, but called to fight, she cannot deny. Goddess of moonlight and cold empty space, she is the mystery of the forest at midnight; the stars and the darkness in between. She sows the seeds of Fate and Destiny, and weeps for the bitter crop. 

Black panther prowls arrogant and proud in the shadows of the underworld; here he is king and kin, eyes flashing in the dark. Scars mark his neck where once was chained and now set free; trods the knife edged blade between the worlds and the line of grey. Trailing him, a demon dog: unlikely companions and lovers, but needed as ice needs fire. Playfully twines between your legs, nips at your heels, watches you with all seeing intelligent eyes. 

Lightsabers have nothing on her library; mazelike halls and tall forbidding shelves resolve into a homey pattern, welcoming, with time and effort. A table with tea in the corner, books piled high, and words are her greatest weapons. Sharp corners, don't underestimate her, but as rain beats against her windows she is a shelter for those in the storm of life. Come, sit, read, eat, be well and happy and healed. Greatest strength is greatest burden: to know, to teach, to heal. 

A smile, always that lovely smile, and a whisper in your ear, knife blade tracing your inner thigh; deadly dancing game of dominance, mentor of the darkest arts. Let me show you how it's done, he says, and uses your body as his cauldron. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble, he's a master of his craft. Gentle as the kiss just above your jugular vein, just as threatening: iron hand in a velvet glove, sheathed blade smile. His heart is for one love, or maybe two. Spark of intrigue sizzles challenge, and he rises from the dead to take the challenge.

Broken chains rattle on the cold concrete floor, door to the cell swings open: he is free. Young blood thrumming with ambition and desire, and yet he still is outcast: matters not, for power attracts followers, and gruff kind words keep them. White lion leaves the pride to seek his own.

DO YOU KNOW WHO THEY ARE????

[karanan]

worstjediever reblogged your photo: finally finished this thing that’s been mocking me...

what a pretty mosaic

it's a window shhhhhhh