Obi-Wan Kenobi will tell you that he has vices just like everyone else in the GAR.
Properly brewed tea. Not this prepackaged nonsense that tastes like chemicals.
A comfortable meditation cushion.
A week without visiting the healers or needing any kind of bacta.
Did he mention sleep because he really enjoys sleeping?
What Obi-Wan will not tell you is that his vices are more intimate and emotional than physical.
He craves danger, craves the momentary release of the straight jacket he’s tied himself into. He craves the blessed mental stillness of the battlefield, where the hum of his lightsaber and the rushing white-hot river of the Force combine into the purest and sweetest symphony that only he can hear.
He craves the hit of adrenaline when things go sideways, when all of his mental faculties are called into service of the Problem and the search for a Solution. He is smart, clever and so quick with a quip, an answer, a theory and a hypothesis and he loves to be presented with a challenge, something that will give him pause. Something to examine and ponder over because there is so much boring noise and mental clutter in his day-to-day world.
He craves… well… there’s no real way around it. He craves Anakin’s company, his easy laughter and smiles, the casual way the younger man drapes his arm around Obi-Wan. When they are together the world is brighter, funnier and sharper. Music is prettier, food smells better and Obi-Wan doesn’t feel cold and hollow. He craves Anakin’s trust and friendship much in the same way the other man craves Obi-Wan’s approval and demonstrative affection. They are a star and its favorite planet, forever dancing together through life, through battle and through time and space.
But the deepest, darkest and most secret vice that Obi-Wan craves? The one thing he could never admit to? Not even to himself?
He craves honesty. Obi-Wan wants so desperate to be honest, to tell the world how he feels, to wear his heart on his sleeve like Anakin and Ahsoka. To weep for his dead master, to have confessed his love to Satine all those years ago, to tell Anakin how proud he is of him and how much he loves him now. There are so many secrets, harmless, gentle truths kept locked in the depths of Obi-Wan’s soul because he is a Jedi and Jedi do not have attachments and so Obi-Wan lies.
To his men. He is so proud of them. They deserve so much better and he mourns the loss of each of them like he was his own brother.
To his friends. He cannot believe they stay around but he is thankful for them and will support them, even the slightly dodgy ones like Hondo and Quinlan.
To his family. He loves them, so, so much. He is so proud of Ahsoka, so very proud of her improvement and her tenacity. She is such a bright light. And Anakin. Oh how he loves Anakin. He loves and he loves Anakin and would do anything Anakin asked of him. If he were allowed to be honest.
To himself. You love them and you want to tell them how you feel.
Going back in time, seeing his father at the height of his power and madness, assuring him that they would reunited before Rumple drinks the memory potion.
Learning who Emma is all over again, rebuilding their friendship, maybe even even letting themselves be in love again, finding joy in their shared son, trading their frustrations over magic and families.
Watching his father suffer through PTSD, trying his best to help him cope and not repress what he feels, crying with Belle when he ultimately fails.
Bonding with his step mother while they awkwardly try to figure out their dynamic, are they supposed to act like a child and a mother, two friends, or something they can’t think of?
Helping his son grow into his own, especially when he becomes the Author, teaching him to be responsible and never stop fighting for his loved ones, to succeed where all the men in his family have failed.
Watching in pain as the Darkness is torn out of his father and forced into the love of his life, agonizing over whether it would twist her as terribly, wondering who she would become.
Suffering the same curse as his father and True Love, gaining a greater understanding of them both because of it, fighting demons and death itself to hold onto his humanity.
Reuniting with his birth mother in the Underworld, finding peace and closure with her, a little spark of hope as their renewed love helps her move on.
Fighting tooth and nail when he realizes he has a younger sibling on the way, promising himself this one wouldn’t have the childhood he had, helping his parents reconcile and work towards protecting the baby.
Raging at yet another cruel relative that tears his family apart, seeking every possible way to save his baby brother, breaking down with grief when he realizes Gideon had just as bad of a childhood, uniting both his family and Emma’s to defeat his grandmother, rejoicing when he can finally hug the newest member of his family.
what she means:
Does Yuri Plisetsky go to school? Does he get bullied for being a figure skater? Does he get bullied for the way he looks, especially after he begins growing his hair out as he trains to become like a prima ballerina? How much time does he spend in the principal's office for getting into fights or cursing at teachers? We know he's never been asked to become someone's friend before Otabek - has he been pushing potential friends away since he was a small child? How has his family's financial situation and his need to help provide for them impacted his school life? Does he get decent grades? Is he good at any particular subject? Or does he just not care at all because he knows where his future lies? Maybe he's had a private tutor for several years now instead of attending regular school? Someone please assure me that Yurio is getting some kind of education, whether he likes it or not, and that no one picks on him.
so after a lot of torment from these pictures I did a thing and i’m not even sorry about it. here’s a fucking drabble about blond Tyler
You sigh as you walk into the house your boyfriend shares with his best friend, exhausted after a long day of work. You can hear them laughing and talking, along with the radio playing somewhere in the house, and once you toss your bag on the couch, you follow the sound in search of them. When you realize they are in the bathroom, you laugh to yourself, thinking of something crass to say.
“I swear, you guys better not be doing anything ungodly in there,” you call out as you round the corner and see them in the bathroom with the door wide open. You stop dead in your tracks when you see Tyler sitting down in a chair, with Josh standing behind him, helping him color his hair.
“Hey, baby,” Tyler says, grinning up at you. “I know it looks weird, that we’re shirtless right now, but we didn’t wanna get anything on our shirts when Josh tried to bleach all the color out.” You stare at them, no words coming to mind, just anger raging through you. “Baby?” Tyler asks, noticing the look on your face.
“What…” you trail off, trying to breathe before you spoke. “What the fuck are you doing?” Both men stare back at you, wide eyed at your response; you pinch the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes as you try to continue to speak but have nothing.
“Are you okay?” Josh asks, quietly.
“No, Joshua, I’m not fucking okay,” you spit, dropping your hand from your face. “Why, exactly, are you bleaching my boyfriend’s hair? Don’t you think this is something that I should have been privy to before it happened?”
“Um, I guess…” Tyler replies slowly.
“You guess,” you echo, nodding your head. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe you.” You turn around and storm towards Tyler’s bedroom, ignoring them calling out after you. “Un-fucking-believable,” you mutter to yourself, as you begin to remove your clothes. “Bleaching his fucking hair.”
Once you change into a pair of shorts and a tank top, you lay in the bed and scroll through the apps on your phone, keeping your mind occupied. After a while, the door to the room opens, and Tyler slowly enters the room. You don’t acknowledge him, still too angry to look at him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I wanted to color my hair,” he begins, quietly. “I didn’t think it was–”
“That’s the problem, Tyler, you didn’t think,” you interrupt, still not looking up at him. “You never think before you do things, you just fucking do them.”
“Baby, I’m missing the part where this is a problem,” he replies. “It’s just hair, who cares about what color it is?”
“I care,” you say. “Of course you don’t care, it’s just your head. But I’m the one who has to look at you, so I care quite a bit.” You drop your phone in your lap and cover your face with your hands, trying desperately to reel back on your anger. “I liked your cute, fluffy, brown hair,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “Not whatever this…” You trail off as your drop your hands from your face, finally looking up at him. He’s standing at the foot of the bed with his hands in his pockets, shirt still off, hair a bleached blond mess on top his head. “Holy shit,” you mumble.
“What?” he asks, running his hand through his hair. “Does it really look that bad? Fuck, maybe you’re right, I should just shave it off and start over.” You sit up on your knees and crawl across the bed, kneeling in front of him at the foot of the mattress. “What is it?” he asks, biting his lip.
Once again, you don’t respond, but reach up and run your fingers through his hair. Tyler keeps his eyes on your face, watching how you were studying his hair as you touched it. Finally, you drag your eyes back to his, letting out a slow breath as you set your hands on his chest.
“What is it, baby?” he asks, softly, rubbing his hands up and down your biceps. When he sees the look in your eyes, his mouth twists up into an amused smirk; his fingers tighten around your arms, yanking your body closer to his. “You like it, don’t you?” he whispers.
“Don’t be so smug,” you respond.
“Mmm,” he hums. “I know what it is you’re thinking about right now. You want to know how it’s gonna look when my head is buried between your thighs, isn’t that right?”
“Tyler,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks redden.
“You wanna look down and tangle your fingers in my blond hair,” he begins, kissing along your jaw. “Pushing my face closer to you, so I can suck on your clit…and tongue fuck your wet cunt until you’re a stuttering mess.”
“Yeah, that’s…what I’m thinking about,” you respond. “No one has ever known how to take care of me like you do, Tyler.”
“Mhmm, that’s right,” he replies, taking hold of your arms and setting your hands on his shoulders. “I know how my girl likes to get her pussy eaten…you love the feeling of my tongue teasing that clit.” Tyler drags his hands down your sides, his thumbs catching the elastic of your shorts. “And you know I love the way you writhe around when I push my tongue into you,” he continues, leaving small bites along your neck. “You love it when I tongue fuck you, don’t you, baby?”
“You know I do, Ty,” you reply.
“Stand up, baby,” he instructs. Bracing yourself on Tyler’s shoulders, you stand on the foot of the bed and look down at him. You watch as he yanks your shorts and panties down your legs, and he helps you kick them off. “Hold on tight,” he mutters, winking at you.
He steadies you by holding onto your hip, and your grip on his shoulders tightens; you watch as his free hand brushes up your inner thigh. His touch sends a shiver through your body, and when his fingertips come in contact with your folds, you inhale sharply. Tyler’s eyes cut up to your face, studying the way you shake from such a simple action.
“You gonna be okay, sweetheart?” he teases.
“Fuck, just stop teasing, and eat me.”
Tyler chuckles softly, parting your folds and pressing his fingers inside of you. You groan softly, one of your hands grabbing a handful of Tyler’s hair so you can guide his mouth where you need him the most. You hear him chuckle once again before his tongue darts out and laps at your clit.
“Oh, God, Ty,” you whisper, taking your hand from his shoulder and pressing it to the ceiling to keep your balance. His fingers pump slowly, in time with the gentle, teasing flicks of his tongue, and it’s driving you crazy already. “Fuck, you’re seriously such a tease,” you whine.
“You fucking love it,” Tyler whispers, pulling back for a moment to peer up at you with an amused, childish grin. He tips his head back into place, resuming the same slow movements of his tongue just to make your head reel.
His fingers begin to pump faster, curling inside of you, desperate to find that spot he loved to hit. You’re too focused on the feeling of his tongue, flicking over your clit every few seconds that the moment he finds your spot, you yank on the fistful of his hair, and let out a loud moan. Tyler groans, his teeth coming down hard on the thick of your thigh in retaliation.
“Right there, baby,” you mutter, closing your eyes.
“Fuck, I can’t get to you the way I need to,” he responds, pulling back, and retracting his hand.
You are about to complain at the loss of contact, but he grabs hold of your legs and sweeps them out from under you, sending you tumbling backwards to bounce on the mattress on your back. You yelp loudly in surprise, prepared to chastise him for being so forceful, but the moment you see the predatory gaze in his eyes, as he crawls between your legs, it all slips from your mind.
His hands take hold of your inner thighs, easing them apart so he could settle between them. You hear him let out a soft growl, making eye contact with you as he begins to bite up your inner thigh.
“I swear, this blond hair has made you turn into an animal,” you groan, your fingers playing with his hair as he makes his way up your body. Once he’s face-to-face with you, he smirks, letting out a deep sigh.
“And this is only the beginning,” Tyler responds. “I haven’t even made you come yet.” He kisses you forcefully, his tongue delving into your mouth as you can’t help but moan. He pulls away too quickly for your liking, but immediately begins to kiss his way back down your body.
He’s in between your thighs again, his fingers slipping into you once more, searching for your spot once again. This time, he finds it with ease, making certain to hit it with each hard, slow stroke of his fingers. Tipping his head forward, he begins teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue again, and your fingers tighten around strands of his hair.
“Tyler, please,” you moan.
“I’ve got to teach you patience, baby,” he retorts, his eyes flicking up to your face as he continues to finger you. “If I build it up…and play with this pussy just right, I’ll have you squirting on my face before the night is over.”
“I know you’ve never done that before,” he interrupts. “But, like you said, I’m an animal…and I’m fucking ravenous.” He buries his face between your legs again, tongue working over your clit even faster now. You spread your legs wider, both of your hands now twisting in his hair to keep his head in place. Tyler takes hold of one of your thighs with his free hand, propping your leg over his back. “Mmm, do you hear that?” he asks, eyes on you again. “So sloppy and wet.”
“You love how wet I get for you, don’t you? You’re the only one who gets me like this, baby.”
“That’s right,” he mutters. “My baby.” His face is between your legs again, this time sucking on your clit.
You’re watching him, still not used to the sight of his blond hair between your fingers as you force his face against your core. You’re grinding against his face, rolling your hips against each of the rough and forceful thrusts of his fingers.
You shut your eyes tight, feeling your climax creeping up in your stomach. Tyler is panting against you, letting out a groan at the at you’re tugging his hair. His eyes are on you from between your thighs, grunting as he works you hard, to get you to your climax. You hook your other leg around his back, tightening your thighs around his head.
“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come!” you moan out, your back arching up from the bed.
Tyler hums against you, moving faster and sloppier, desperate to get you off. The twisting in the pit of your stomach resonates through your whole body, your skin on fire as your orgasm hits. You’re white knuckled, pulling so tightly at his hair; you’re certain you drew blood from how hard you were biting down on your lip.
You hear Tyler moaning, panting as he slows his actions. He sits back enough to let you watch him suck your juices from his fingers. You can see the glistening dampness on his face and you realize that he had actually managed to make you squirt.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, lowering his face back to lick you clean. You’re still trembling softly as he makes his way up your body, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you to lay beside him. “That feel good?” he asks.
“It was phenomenal,” you whisper, wiping what was left of your juices from Tyler’s chin.
“You’re not mad about the hair anymore, are you?” Tyler asks, as you run your fingers through his hair.
In a shocking turn of events (considering I’m not a big fan of Mandalorians) I would like more Gar Saxon and Imperial White Dude with a Jetpack as opposed to Imperial White Dude on Hoth.
I HAVE TO TRAIN SHIPS AND THEIR PILOTS NOW??? YOU MEAN I HAVE TO WASTE TRAINING DROIDS ON THAT STUPID BUG THAT COULD GO TO RAGE BABY OR PRECIOUS SPACE DAUGHTER???
I swear that if I do not get Artoo after all the effort I’ve put into this stupid imperial team I may take it out on a character in an angsty fic. I’m looking at you, Vaderkin.
CODY’S AT-TE MASS DRIVER CANON IS A REANIMATION OF CODY GETTING AND EXECUTING ORDER 66. WTF GAME??????!!!! Does Obi-Wan get a super special limb amputation animation when he kills a Jedi Knight Anakin?
I have a list of people to farm for that I do not want. Like Biggs Darklighter and Boba freaking Fett. I did not care for Boba before and I do not care for him now but I need scoundrels *eye roll* and so off to farm him I go. And that stupid bug because the bug has a ship. ¬____¬
Ship battles take too long.
No. Seriously. Cody’s attack is Order 66. Like. WHAT??! Why? Why would you do that??? If the blessed day ever comes and I have a General Kenobi and a Cody does that to him I may fling my phone across the room.
I’m leveling up Fives so that he, Ahsoka and Anakin can have a Clone Wars Party in the future with Luminara.
I get mods but they are complicated and stupid.
Be that as it may, Anakin is lit up like a new saloon with mods.
I need more money.
Kark Cody and his Order 66 attack. He keeps killing Leia and I’m not cool with that.
After witnessing the violent rage shown by babies whenever deprived of an item they considered their own, Jean Piaget, a founding father of child psychology, observed something profound about human nature. Our sense of ownership emerges incredibly early. Why are we so clingy?
There’s a well-established phenomenon in psychology known as the endowment effect where we value items much more highly just as soon as we own them. In fact, in one experiment, neuroscientists scanned participants’ brains while they allocated various objects either to a basket labeled “mine,” or another labeled, “Alex’s.” When participants subsequently looked at their new things, their brains showed more activity in a region that usually flickers into life whenever we think about ourselves.
Another reason we’re so fond of our possessions is that from a young age we believe they have a unique essence. Psychologists showed us this by using an illusion to convince three to six-year-olds they built a copying machine, a device that could create perfect replicas of any item. When offered a choice between their favorite toy or an apparently exact copy, the majority of the children favored the original. In fact, they were often horrified at the prospect of taking home a copy.
This magical thinking about objects isn’t something we grow out of. Rather it persists into adulthood while becoming ever more elaborate. For example, consider the huge value placed on items that have been owned by celebrities. It’s as if the buyers believed the objects they’d purchased were somehow imbued with the essence of their former celebrity owners. For similar reasons, many of us are reluctant to part with family heirlooms which help us feel connected to lost loved ones. But, sometimes our attachment to our things can go too far. Part of the cause of hoarding disorder is an exaggerated sense of responsibility and protectiveness toward one’s belongings. That’s why people with this condition find it so difficult to throw anything away.
Perhaps there will always be something uniquely satisfying about holding an object in our hands and calling it our own.
I love how Rey is such a tomboy. She’d be into fixing up sleek hod rods and drag racing like a fuckin’ boss in RL.
Could you imagine Kylo? He’d be all over that shit! Imagine Rey greeting him with a big wrench slung over her should like, ‘Don’t tempt me. I’ll fucking do it, Kylo.’ And Kylo wouldn’t even be mad because rage Rey is cute.