Selenesparis - Selene's Paris

Shall we talk about Ahsoka’s Major Regret for a minute?

Her first mistake was thinking that the two of them had the luxury of another time.

She rather abruptly brushes off her excited friend, but it’s okay, because they can always talk later, when all of this is over. There’ll be another time for conversation. They part ways on good terms, but they still have a lot to talk about.

But then- Dooku is dead, Anakin is spying on the Chancellor. Okay, things are getting pretty serious. Better get Obi-Wan to relay a message.

(he won’t.)

A day or two passes. Yoda offers to deliver a message to Anakin, and Ahsoka really wants to talk to him- but maybe not through Yoda. He isn’t Obi-Wan, he doesn’t understand Anakin like they do. She can tell Anakin later.

And then less than an hour later, the galaxy changes forever. “Another time” becomes “Never”. Ahsoka will never see Anakin Skywalker again and she lives with the guilt of not being there for him for sixteen entire years.

 That vision in the temple on lothal? That’s not actually Anakin. That’s a manifestation of what Ahsoka has been subconsciously telling herself for a decade and a half.

And then- Malachor. She strikes Vader’s mask to reveal Anakin’s eye, Anakin’s voice, and she does not judge him, she does not ask him any questions, because she finally, finally has a chance to tell him-

not this time.

 “another time” is now.

Just thinking about Will, in this exact moment, hearing and feeling Hannibal's heart pounding and finally knowing the answer to his question, "Is he in love with me?"—that raw certainty hitting him firsthand. Like damn.

Eboshi: THIS IS NOT A GAME!

Ashitaka: No, it most certainly is not.

San: Why are you doing this?

Eboshi: Yes, I’d quite like to know that as well. Why risk putting your life in further jeopardy?

Ashitaka: (*pissed off at this point*) BECAUSE IT’S NOT A GAME, EBOSHI! This is a scale model of war. Every war, ever fought, right here in front of you. Because it’s always the same. The moment you lay a hand on your sword, no matter how right you feel, you have no idea who’s going to die! You don’t know whose children are going to scream and suffer! How many hearts will be broken? How many lives shattered? How much blood will spill until everybody does, what they’re always going to have to do from the very beginning? SIT! DOWN! AND! TALK!

I like catholic imagery so much because I have sexual guilt and repressed trauma about my existence. Next

the lover’s song, the song of death.

Carol Ann Duffy, The Bees; from ‘The Woman in the Moon’

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a letter a day from “Letters to Milena” by Franz Kafka every single day starting from January 1. alongside the letter, i’ll also send a poem and an artwork recommendation inspired by the letter of that day.

weekly~ poetry and book recommendations

weekly~ art recommendations

thank youuu 🌼

Kinkai Central Park⁡ // ラムミ

Music: wadakaoru - Futari no kimochi

my new year’s resolution is to become even more cryptic, eldritch, monstrous, blood-sucking and unholy. and maybe tidy my room.

eventually you realize you don’t want to die. you just don’t want to live the life you’re living. and slowly you try to create a life you want to live. just gotta start there.

I believe authors should be cryptic and unhelpful in the interpretation of their own work or even act like they’re dead and never comment on it ever