There's Just Some Things That Come With Dating Izuku. He'd Kiss Your Moles. Whenever You're Both Sleeping

𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐃 ;; wednesday addams

Pairing ;; Wednesday Addams x fem!Reader

Summary: Wednesday is the most affectionate when it's time to sleep, much to your dismay.

Warnings: one of Wednesday's death threats.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Maybe a bit OOC but I love that headcannon that Wednesday shows a bit of her soft side whenever she's sleepy, though to very certain people. Enjoy :)

You’ve been pestering Wednesday a healthy amount. Even avoiding your own friends to spend time with her, though, you seemed to have regretted that decision, just a little bit. 

In the bed of your girlfriend’s, you laid on your wing to the side, listening to the loud tune of Pathetique outside, as Enid chats with Ajax through the phone. The wing in which you laid on stayed motionless, asleep, that when you reached your hand to feel it, it didn’t feel like your own body, but instead someone else's'. 

Wednesday is doing her nightly cello playing, as she did when she first got here. You admired her passion, consistency, and dedication to her schedule. You admired her writing. You admired her creativity. You admired everything about her, flaws and all. You admired her. 

“You just don’t know how to show it,” Enid says loudly, probably referring to you more than she refers to Ajax. It made you grimace, seeing as your friend looked out for your emotions that weren’t shown much on display. “But, you know, I’ll notice anyway.” She continued. The feathers on top of your head, that certainly will get you a scolding from Mrs. Davidson, the second normie teacher to teach in Nevermore after the accident with Lauren Gates, felt as if they had melted and left two side-eyeing holes. 

“He doesn’t even know you notice.” You looked up, adjusting your position on Wednesday’s bed. It had been a couple of months ever since you were back in Nevermore. Ophelia Hall’s stayed the same, the sense of nostalgia hit your vision, making your wings flutter in response. 

Enid stood up from her bed, grabbing her pink snood from the end of her bed. Her hair, unlike before, was much longer now, reaching past her shoulders. Blue and pink are still evident at the ends of it. Her face is more developed yet keeping the innocent Enid Sinclair charm (as Eugene would call it). 

“I’m going to Ajax’s dorm,” She secured her phone in her pocket, rummaging through her closet as she pulled out a blue snood. You couldn’t protest with what she said, since the werewolf always deserts you every time, she pries you about something. She left a bunch of clothes on her bed, making it look like gnomes vomited rainbows. “Talk to her,” Enid motioned her head to the window, referring to Wednesday. “And call me when you both are done making out.” 

You stood up from your position swiftly, almost making you black out. “You mean making up!” You half-yelled, vision still blurred though enough to see that Enid has gone with the door closed. 

As if on cue, Wednesday walked through the spider-like glass, a squeak of noise echoing in the dorms. Her hair still tightly kept in her signature braids, one on each side, both equally parted. Her small, scattered, and cute freckles were much, much visible – probably due to the lack of makeup she wore today. 

Speaking of wearing, the clothes she wore are always black. This time she wore a comfortable black tee shirt (she learned her lesson to never wear white shirts over black bras years ago, not that she was going to wear the color white again) and parachute-like pajama, black pants. “Stare at me like that again and I’ll poke your eyes out.” She threatened, papers held in her hand, though from your perspective, they were weapons. 

“Sorry… you’re just-” You stopped mid-sentence, a grimace forming in your lips, a small one so as to not drift the conversation apart quickly. “I haven’t been this near you in a while.” 

Wednesday’s eyes bore into yours. “I’m 2 meters apart from you.” She didn’t waste any time walking closer, not to you though. She placed her musical sheets in a category of folders, each one of them either being black or transparent. 

“Wednesday,” You called, not to test her emotions or lack of eye contact, to simply call your girlfriend. “You say you’re allergic to colors… how does that work?” You asked cautiously, as she dipped down the bed next to you. Your wings fluttered, wrapping around her side subconsciously. She didn’t pull back, leaning in against the soft feathers. 

Wednesday began undoing her braid. “I’m not allergic to it.” She answered in a soft tone, yawning under her hands right after. “Just have a different reaction to it than everybody else.” She explained, she stood up to place the hair tie on her desk. She dipped back down her bed, pushing your wing aside carefully as you stood up. She laid on her side, not staring at you. 

You didn’t want to pester her any further, although you remembered Enid’s words; talk to her.

In response to her answer, you questioned. The thick air was choking back your questions. At the simplest and shortest eye contact from Wednesday, you wanted to continue. “Why?” was all you could ask, short and curios were your tone. Interested filled your smile.

“Don’t,” She started, gazing down her lap. “Smile like that.” Wednesday stood up from her lying position, crossing her legs. Her eyes locked down her pants, minding their own business. 

Wednesday Addams, nothing like her sweet mother from what you’ve witnessed during vacation, she wasn’t exactly like her father too. She is Wednesday. She did not inherit after her parents’, but, as her own personality. The girl who was prophesied to kill an entire school, the girl who changed that said prophecy. 

She is brilliant. And you remembered yourself, following after Lauren Gates through the cave. You remember yourself freezing when she was stabbed, not knowing exactly what to do. And a ghost, much like Wednesday herself, healed her every wound. Seeping in through her. 

You could still feel Goody Addams in Wednesday Addams. You felt the stronger push and pull through her heart. And it felt even more promising as you are talking to her right now. Wednesday’s energy is strong and complex. Right now, it’s at ease. And it was evident in her body language, shoulders relaxed, legs crossed with one another. 

If it didn’t seem like she’s relaxed. Her heavy eyelids were about to shut though she kept it awake, certainly spoke for themselves. “You should sleep,” You whispered, pulling yourself up from the bed, sighing. You could talk to her tomorrow. And you could call Enid tomorrow, as well. If she isn’t in the detention office already. 

“Must you go?” Wednesday pulled you lightly from the wrist, showing the frailty in her tone. Sleep caught on with her looks now. 

You shook your head, sitting down on the bed, facing her this time. “I can stay…” Your voice trailed, then, you remembered you were talking to an Addams. “If you want me to.” 

Wednesday looked conflicted but gave a sharp nod. Her eyes drifted to your wings, leaning in before giving them a light touch. “It’s so soft.” She whispered; voice sleepy. Her body weight leaned in against you. “Why is it so soft?” 

You laid down to your side, tapping on your wings for room. Wednesday stared down at you, before she laid down. “They’re called down feathers, y’know like the clouds.” You answered, softly kissing her hair, the bridge your nose tickled. 

Your hands were wrapped around her. She kissed your palms lightly. “Sleep.” She commanded and you could not help but oblige. Your wings wrapped around your body and Wednesday's, like a blanket. 

The personal warmth cuddled around the room. Before closing off into your dreams, Thing sat on the table. “G’night, bud.” You say, smiling as he formed a small heart with his fingers.

The next day, Enid was in the detention office, smiling as you passed by.

Have I reblogged this before and expressed my undying, unconditional love for this fic? No? Well, now I'm here.

I love this idea so much and the characterization for Anakin(s). AND THE READER BEING A JEDI CONSULAR !! I don't see a lot of those out there, so, reading it is just refreshing. I absolutely adore the interactions between the characters (i.e: the sky's Anakin getting annoyed by long-haired Anakin, Sky's banter with her Anakin, Poor Obi-Wan being a professional Jedi, literally Sky's cluelessness, curiosity, and infatuation with long-haired Anakin).

I love, love this fanfiction so much; the amount of thought put to this? HELLO?? I especially love the writing style too! It's the perfect amount of action and emotions crafted together. I have something to enjoy and go to throughout the day, I'm smiling like a dog. Thank you for writing this! ♥

Another You (1)

an anakin skywalker/jedi consular!reader fic set during the clone wars

the pitch: best friends with anakin since he had joined the jedi order, you hadn’t expected to catch feelings for him, not that hard, at least. his intentions were clear — his heart already enraptured by the nubian senator, leaving you to ruminate about the prospect of letting go of not just him, but maybe everything. until another anakin shows up, and your — your universe’s anakin starts behaving strangely.

A/N: this is a gift for my padawan, @kaizsche! happy birthday, kai! i hope you enjoy this fic! i return from an unexpectedly long hiatus with a three-part fic and i hope that all my other readers enjoy this short-fic too! a note to all readers — there’s no y/n here, the reader’s nickname for the fic is sky. that’s all from my end! happy reading!

part one — and you are?

word count: 3, 380

part one | ... | ....

As a Consular, you were trained to study the deepest abyss of the Living and the shrouded myths of the Cosmic. Albeit well-trained with a lightsaber, being a Jedi meant forsaking weapons for words. Diplomacy over bloodshed. Knowledge, insights, and lessons instead of learning the different ways of besting war-mongering droids and bureaucrats.

You look back at the looming hallways of the Temple, letting out a sigh as you turn around to watch the warships meander above the setting skies through the windows. The sun used to shine brighter, you think, but perhaps it’s the shadows that don’t let the light reach the galaxy anymore.

A Nubian ship soars between where the indigo darkens the pale orange in the sky and another wave of longing and sorrow digs deeper into your heart.

It had been almost a standard week since the Five Hundred and First Legion had arrived for their monthly rotation to protect Coruscant.

“Let’s hope we make it a week and not get called back to bust some Seppies since the 501st seems to be the only competent one to get some wins.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that had tugged at your lips.

“Don’t let Obi-Wan hear you say that.”

A deep rumble of laughter had echoed through Anakin’s chest and he’d pulled you into his embrace. It hadn’t taken a Force-sensitive to sense the happiness spread through your body, or that the same happiness had made him glow in the sea of shadows drowning the Force. He smelled just like he always did — fuel, probably the one from Malastare, since the scent always tingled your skin, and kyber, his bond with the second crystal coursing through his year-old arm. The spark of the Force, you called it, the crystal accepting the machine as a part of him.

But there was something more. You stiffened, the soft, sweet scent making you sneeze, making you draw back and—

“Since when in the name of Maker did you start wearing nlorna fruit-scented perfume?”

His cheekbones immediately stained red, shock dripping from every inch of his face until the charm and delight took over for the damage control.

“Some reporter tried to get up too close while I was on my way to the Temple.”

You laughed it off, knowing very well the Chancellor had banned journalists to enter the Temple after an incident involving three women, two men, and a food fight in the barracks had ended with Commander Cody coming off with a sprained neck and handing nearly half of the 212th two days’ worth of time of cleaning the trooper barracks on Coruscant. There were admirers of General Kenobi and on the other hand, well, admirers even Kenobi couldn’t negotiate with.

Obviously, it wouldn’t take an idiot to know. Anakin had always confided everything to you. He’d considered you as the best of his friends — the point which had exactly been the problem for the past two years. But you knew he was keeping something. You knew it, and the realization of it had cracked through whatever strength you always mustered whenever he smiled at you with those blue eyes — always so tired. Ones that had come to no one else to you for caf, for stories about your mind-blowing inventions, always teasing you about the time you had created such a fluffy pillow for Master Yoda’s backaches that it had taken him the collective efforts of the Council to wake him up from his slumber. You had never known what had happened in Master Yoda’s chambers, but the Council had learned not to disturb the centuries-old master from his sleep ever since then.

Anakin would continue on and on, narrating the tales of his adventures across the galaxy, while you kept on wondering when he’d slip like he usually did and confirm your worst fears.

But you never got the chance. The war grew on, spreading its tentacles to the corners of the Outer Rim to the point where the once full hallways of the Temple had never been so desolate, so hollow and abandoned. Every attempt of studying the Force your meditation had ended up just easing the mighty power as it writhed under the screams of terror, of the losses of life and the constant blasts and booms of missiles and bombs.

Just when you wished for some peace in the Temple, word had spread of spies in the Senate. You had joined Anakin and Obi-Wan to watch another one of the Senate’s heated sessions. The Chancellor’s bony fingers extended across the air, his steel voice commanding Senator Orn Free-Taa to shut down his baseless arguing against Senator Organa. But the senator from Ryloth simply refused to back down, until another pod smoothly drifted to join the three, the air ringing with the determination and tranquility brought forth by none other than Padmé Amidala.

The bond between you and Anakin flared up, something so bright and looming, such beauty and danger filling your soul till it vanished with a spark. You looked at Anakin, who had been clapping with the surrounding senators, his radiant smile only and only for no one but the occupant of the Nubian pod.

For so long, you had wondered who it was he’d found, had been so desperate for an opportunity to see, maybe echo some made-up protest or remark that’d dull his interest and make him come back to you no matter how selfish it sounded. But it was hard for you to ignore the goodness in Padmé’s heart, her resilience easing the Force in a way you never could, no matter how much time you spent studying it, meditating to repair its cracks and tear apart the veins of darkness shrouding its light.

Anakin Skywalker had fallen in love, and it wasn’t you. It was someone else and you… you were simply too late.

You let out a sigh, watching the Nubian ship disappear between the tall skyscrapers of the ecumenopolis. The scrolls on your table rustle for your attention, and you heavy-heartedly oblige, going back to once again analyze another countermeasure against the Separatists, who were now rumored to have created some sort of machine that could decimate entire civilizations — a planet-killer, the informant had said, before being poisoned to death.

You set down the scrolls with a heavy thump. Ever since Padmé, Anakin hardly ever came to visit. Ever since this stupid rumor of the Separatists’ planet-killer, the governing body of the entire galaxy looked up to you for solutions, for answers. They had offered you a chunk of kyber crystal retrieved from Ilum stolen by the Separatists and then recovered by Master Yoda himself. They demanded a weapon, sharply silencing your idea of diplomacy.

You wished for Anakin to maybe visit you, to just… just forget the karking war for five freaking minutes and let his childhood lullabies lull you to a restful slumber. Instead, you were drilling your gaze on the kyber crystal covering under a massive rug, the strength of the Force humming within a wonder for your meditation, the crystal’s deathly blue glow the bane of your sleep.

But that was the point. Maybe just forget the war. It did seem never-ending; one day the Republic won, the Separatists in the other. There was simply no end in sight. The number of lives to save was steeply increasing, missing civilians and dead soldiers bruising the Republic’s morale. Your master had been one of the unfortunate Jedi to pass into the Cosmic Force on Geonosis. Some of the padawans you had formed friendships with were now soldiers scattered across the galaxy. The Council was too busy arguing about matters behind closed doors, matters in half of which you were indirectly involved in. Anakin was away most of the time, the Hero With No Fear too busy to worry about his best friend who had so foolishly violated her morals and had fallen in love with him.

Isn’t that what you had exactly trained yourself to avoid?

“It’ll pass.”

You scoff at your Master’s words ringing in your head. The anger simmering in your bones builds up to a crescendo, and makes its presence known with the shatter of your sensor arrays on the opposite wall. Glass shards litter your laboratory, blood trickling down the lines of your palms, your exhausted tears joining the red dripping on the floor.

A soft twang bends the air in the room and echoes through the Force. The hair on the back of the neck rises sharply, and you watch the kyber in bewilderment. The deathly blue behind the rug hums stronger. Your equipment breathes to life, and your teary eyes squint in confusion, rushing toward the kyber as an invisible force possesses your machinery to run diagnostics on its own.

The deathly blue turns as bright as the Coruscanti sun shining at the Core, lighting up the edges of the galaxy with a power rivaling the one you and so many others before you control. You shield your eyes, stumbling over boxes and books detailing advancements of the past. Your equipment spits electric sparks, and you cower behind your arms.

“Stop it—STOP!”

The glow dies, the light in your laboratory returning to just as it was before. You launch into a fit of coughs, waving your hands to disperse the smoke filling the lab. You tune your senses and reach out into the Force.

The wave of a horrifying scream slams into you, knocking you off your feet. You summon the Force again, hoping the mystical power can help you steady yourself. But you freefall toward the table of sharp-edged screws and bolts until you’re pulled forward headlong towards a figure.

You regain your balance, fingernails digging into a smooth fabric covering a rock-hard chest. A tendril of warmth and concern wraps around your Force signature, and you look up at your savior.

“Anakin!”

You wrap your arms around his neck, breathing him in, all of him— wait, was that cabbage and banthaweed? Oh, who in the maker gave a shit — was he alright? Was he—

Your train of thought crashed to a halt as you draw back, gazing at Anakin before you. Your heart rate accelerates to a speed you can’t bring yourself to control, and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t hear it.

He’d done something to his hair. It was longer now, falling just below his shoulder and partly tied back, streaks of light brown and grey near his temples. Loose shirts and trousers and softer tones of beige and brown had replaced his dark, billowing robes. Most of all, you’re aware of his stormy blue eyes roving over you, wide-eyed in absolute shock.

“Hi.”

There’s a strange breath in the greeting that escapes him, one that makes you gulp; his throat visibly bobs as he clenches his jaw. The movement makes you realize there are two feet between you and him. Two feet away from the thunderous storm that is always Anakin Skywalker.

To your surprise, there’s no storm raging before you, nothing but a serene sun shining bright, its warm tranquillity reminding you of the one time you and Anakin had snuck off-world to Naboo as padawans. He’d promised the summers there at the time were delightful, and true to his words, they really were.

You reach out, intertwining your fingers with his, and meet flesh instead of cold metal.

You yelp, harshly flinching backwards. Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up in concern and he raises both his hands in an attempt to placate you. You’re horrified as you see his right arm, no longer a prosthetic but actual flesh.

“Sky!”

A sharp voice rings through the dimly-lit hallways, footsteps running their way towards you, and Anakin Skywalker skids to a stop at the threshold of your laboratory.

“Sky, are you—”

He halts his question mid-way, acknowledging the presence of the man standing right beside you.

There’s a moment of silence that passes between the two stunned men, before the Jedi-clad Anakin ignites his lightsaber, pointing the laser tip toward his long-haired double.

“Sky, get behind me.”

“Wha—” You whirl toward him with an indignant expression and your hands on your hips. “Do you think I’m incapable of defending myself?”

“No, I don’t—”

“On the contrary,” the long-haired Anakin speaks, his voice mellifluous and silvery, “I think not.”

You and Anakin pause in beginning another one of your bickering sessions, Anakin’s lightsaber still leveled against his double.

“Who in the hell are you?”

“Anakin Skywalker?” the long-haired Anakin answers again in the same tone, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “And you must be…”

“Anakin Skywalker,” says your Anakin, the height of his lightsaber inching slowly to the ground, utterly confused.

Shit.

“Well, this is interesting.”

The three of you swerve toward Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, arms crossed as he strokes his beard while Cody’s eyes are going to pop right off of his skull, witnessing one Anakin standing on each of your sides. Captain Rex, on the other hand, just aged a standard decade more with the lines appearing on his forehead.

“Stand down, Anakin. There’s no need for… that,” Obi-Wan ends rather admonishingly, though stunningly failing, still roiling from his possible lack of sleep — or the shock of seeing a copy of his former padawan.

Anakin’s lightsaber retracts into its hilt, and Obi-Wan turns to you.

“Consular Sky.”

Double shit.

“Are you alright?”

Oh, thank Maker—“Yes, Master Kenobi,” you nod fervently, not knowing whether you’re doing a good job of convincing Obi-Wan or yourself. “I’m completely fine, all thanks to Anakin.”

“It’s no problem, Sky.”

“You’re welcome.”

Anakin shoots a glare at, well, the long-haired Anakin, who shrugs with a relaxed raise of his eyebrows.

Obi-Wan looks like he’s about to faint right then and there, but the negotiator that he’s always been, he schools his expression just in time before anyone else can comment on it.

“Could you tell us what happened here, Sky?”

You look around your laboratory, trying to find an answer to the same question evidently ringing loud in everyone else’s minds.

Something along the lines of your nighttime reading pops up in your mind, and you cringe inwardly.

Double shit.

Obi-Wan’s expression settles into the one he’s always worn whenever he’s attending another one of the Council’s meetings.

Triple shit.

“Well, I don’t think I need to tell you where we’re going next, are we?”

“Which is the point here—”

The room’s attention turns back to the long-haired Anakin, eyes twinkling bright with the same softness as the time of his appearance.

“Where exactly are we going?”

Maker, he had to ask.

“From another universe, this version of Skywalker is?”

You grit your teeth and find the courage to nod.

Master Yoda grips his cane even tighter. Honestly, you really want to pity the old master, but Master Windu sits right next to him, clearly grouchy at being disturbed from the sleep he probably got after weeks and weeks of leading attack and rescue campaigns.

“How is this even possible?” Master Koon’s voice rumbles through his mask, sharp and alert despite the drowsiness emanating from a majority of the Jedi Council.

“Well, Master Koon, there’s the multiverse theory,” you speak, voice slightly quivering. “It’s clear our universe isn’t the only one that exists. There are thousands of worlds out there with billions and trillions of lifeforms. But they’re distantly separated from ours, just like all others. For all we know, they might have their own laws of physics, their own collections of stars and galaxies — that is, if stars and galaxies can exist in those universes,” you stop a nervous hiccup and continue. “—and maybe even their own intelligent civilizations.”

“Is this true, then?” Master Windu leans forward with his signature soul-scanning glare. “Are you truly from another universe? Or just another shapeshifter?”

All other Council members swerve their heads toward the long-haired Anakin standing on your right.

“I assure you, Master Windu,” the other Anakin shrugs lightly. “I am not from here. I—”

He takes a second to look around, his gaze turning distant.

“I will admit I have been here before, in the Temple, though this one does look incredibly different from the one I was raised and trained in.”

Several pairs of eyebrows shoot up in surprise, even Anakin’s, who stands just in the corner behind where Obi-Wan has himself perched on another one of the Council chairs.

Master Windu recovers from his internal heart attack and focuses his line of sight on you.

“How did this happen?”

“Honestly, even I’m not sure, Master Windu,” you admit. “I did nothing of any sort to the crystal, it just started to glow, and the next thing I know—”

“I’m here,” the other Anakin finishes, eyes twinkling in some sort of amused annoyance.

Master Yoda taps his cane, and the Council’s incoming deliberations surrender to silence.

“Will of the Force, it seems, that this Skywalker has been sent here. Aid us, harm us, know that, I do not.”

He flutters his eyes close for a brief second, tendrils of his power hesitantly coiling around you and the other — long-haired — Anakin before refocusing them on you.

“Consular—” you stiffen as Master Yoda blurts out your name. “—find a way to send this Skywalker to his home, your task it is. Help you, our Skywalker will. Lead Captain Rex and the Five-Oh-First, Master Kenobi will—”

Behind Obi-Wan, Anakin steps forward to protest.

“—Temporarily, till resolved, the situation is.”

Anakin stops to stand on your left, the slight touch from his elbow a sign of comfort and reassurance.

“Important I feel, it is, to send this Skywalker home. Stay longer, he must not. At war, we already are. Already upon us, the shadows of the Sith are.”

The long-haired Anakin’s eyebrows raise.

You sigh inwardly. I’ll explain it to you later.

He relaxes, and you turn toward your Anakin, who gazes at his counterpart with a strange mixture of suspicion and something along the lines of annoyance.

“Send him home quickly, you must, Consular,” Master Yoda speaks with an inspired urgency. “Terrible it will be, I sense if the Sith find him. Not just for Jedi, but for the Galaxy, also.”

Your Anakin moves closer, his fingertips brushing yours, a tingling sensation itching yours to touch his.

You focus your gaze on the masters before you and bow down with both Anakins, nodding towards Yoda and Windu.

“Master Kenobi will show our guest to his new quarters.”

Obi-Wan seems relieved at finally being allowed to stretch his legs as he strides over to the long-haired Anakin.

“Come along,” the master pauses before smiling in his wise and incredibly tired ways. “Anakin.”

The other Anakin offers a cordial nod and turns to you.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you later.”

He poses it as a question of sorts. You don’t take time to dissect his intentions, having no energy to do so with the day’s certainly turbulent events and give him a nod.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes slightly twitch in alertness as he offers you a bright, albeit tired smile. Before you can respond or react, he’s already followed Obi-Wan to his quarters, having long disappeared around the nearby corner.

“Sky?”

Your Anakin puts his hand — the metal hand — on your shoulder.

You can practically feel the gears of his joints creaking to ensure his touch stays gentle, despite knowing very well he could easily crush your lung right now with the frustration nagging at his veins.

“It’s nothing, Anakin,” you answer before he can voice his worries out loud. “I’ll be fine—we better get some sleep, lots of work to do.”

Anakin nods, letting go of you with a soft smile. With a sweep of his robes, he walks out of the Council chambers.

You finally let out the breath you’d been holding; the image of both of their smiles filling your vision much clearer than they were supposed to.

Quadruple shit.

to be continued...

thank you so so much for reading! if you'd like to be added to the tag list, comment below! <33

gif credits to @nowadayz

cross-posted on AO3 <33

part one | ... | ....

"Who Remembers the Armenians?" by Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish / "Who Remembers the Palestinians?" by Armenian writer Sophia Armen

Early choreography rehearsal of Anakin vs Ahsoka fight⚔️

Mon Mothma shares her dreams with ghosts too.

She looks into the mirror and sees Padme, the one that manged to convince her to do this whole thing to begin with. Everyone says she died during childbirth, but Mon Mothma knows better, and she knows Bail knows better too.

Sometimes she confuses the stormtrooper helmets for clones’ but after she hears their near robotic voices she snaps out of it.

After Luthen dies, she hears his voice nagging her to start the war, to not hold back anymore. She fights that voice every day for the months/days leading up to Scariff.

Then Saw dies. She never agreed with his methods, but as two people who had survived the Clone Wars and now were nearing another war, she couldn’t help but have some respect for him and feel sad at his passing. A true fighter until the very end.

Then Cassian dies. She knew Cassian for a while personally, mostly through Luthen, but she remembers their small, late-night talks, pondering what would happen if the Empire fell, she remembers her sending him on the most classified missions because he was the most loyal, trustworthy rebel she knew, she remembers the anger, hatred, and fear that created wrinkles on his young face but the kindness and light behind his eyes. That light is now gone from the galaxy.

Then Bail dies. Bail Organa was the closest thing the senator had to a brother, the man who would give his life to make sure the sun rose on a better galaxy for his daughter, the man that was the mastermind behind the entire alliance. Everything that was here, the galaxy wouldn’t have without him.

After Endor, Mon Mothma looks back at it, back at everything, back at all the people and places she had to sacrifice for this sun to rise again, and she asks herself: “was it worth it?”

And every voice, in unison, answers:

Yes.

THIS!!!!!!!!!! most of us feel like we aren't doing enough because we can't physically stop a genocide but speaking helps!! pressuring helps!! boycotting helps and protesting helps!! please don't give up on Palestinians not when the entire world has turned their backs on them

here is how YOU can help Palestine

Is the heir to the throne bothering you, Lord Tyland? HOUSE OF THE DRAGON — 2x01: A Son for a Son

Today, Dr. Hani Al-Haitham, head of the Shifa Hospital's emergency department, was murdered, along with his wife, Dr. Sameera Ghifari, & their 5 children: Shireen, Tia, Sameer, Wafa & Sara.

In the video, he is holding a week old baby that was not yet named and was the only one saved from an airstrike.