Tumgik
#finding aid
dragonretirement · 8 months
Text
hello gay people in my phone, there's this 2-player letter-writing rpg that i've been DYING to play with someone. it's called "finding aid" and you play as a researcher and an archival subject, communicating with each other imperfectly through historical records. just reading the rules makes me feel absolutely insane... like look at the first part of the game!!
Tumblr media
let me know if you're interested in playing! it's an asynchronous game so it would work great over email or discord or even tumblr DMs!
13 notes · View notes
travsd · 2 months
Text
The Travalanche Finding Aid for Posts About Jerry Lewis
Be prepared, readers! The Jerry Lewis centennial approaches; there will be many more posts about the divisive comedian over the next couple of years. I have even been telling friends that I’ve been learning French SPECIFICALLY so I can talk to his biggest fans about our shared enthusiasm come 2026, and I mean it! In anticipation, I present this finding aid that lays out the existing posts related…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
3 notes · View notes
mcgiggers · 1 month
Text
London, Paris - March 2024
Just back from a fantastic art viewing adventure in the old world which featured stops at the Tate Modern and Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Art in London, and the Musée d’Orsay, the Foundation Louis Vuitton and the Bourse de Commerce in Paris. The four-day trip was on the back end of a stay in the 13th century hilltop village of Petritoli, located in Le Marche, where local churches and those in the neighboring towns displayed marvelous medieval and renaissance style treasures. In the big cities, however, the focus was more on contemporary offerings. The whole made for a fascinating journey through an exciting part of art history.
London
An attempt to see the Yoko Ono exhibit at the Tate Modern was stymied by sold out crowds. The serendipity in poor planning however resulted in an opportunistic visit to the museum’s permanent collection, more specifically the magical second floor featuring modern masters and post war stalwarts. With entire rooms dedicated to the likes of Joan Mitchell and Gerhard Richter, among others, the walk-through played out like a greatest hits tour where around every corner an even more marvelous sensory treat was served up. Highlights of the visit included: Georges Braque’s early cubist masterpiece “Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on Mantlepiece”, 1911, oil on canvas (31.9 x 23.6 in.); Giorgio Griffa’s painterly “Tre linee con arabesco n.111”, 1991, acrylic on unstretched and unbleached canvas (114.4 x 76.4 in.); and Agnes Martin’s contemplative grid patterned renderings “On a Clear Day”, 1973, thirty screenprints on paper (each 12 x 12 in.), edition 32 of 50.
On the other side of town on the campus of one of the world’s most renowned art schools, a Matt Connors exhibit, Finding Aid, opened its doors at the Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Art. Featuring new and older works by the American abstract artist, the expansive grouping of paintings, sculptures and drawings cleverly paired Connors’ soft geometric abstraction and minimalist marking styles.  Showstoppers included: the large-scale bold vertical diptychs “Mural for a Gay Household I” and “Mural for a Gay Household II”, 2018-2020, acrylic on canvas; the vibrant “Red Top (deployed hatch)”, 2015, acrylic on canvas; and the sparse “Echo Implies Room (Orange/unprimed)”, 2012, acrylic and colored pencil on canvas.
Paris
Forty-eight hours later, the Eurostar abetted transition to Paris was speedy and eventless. Even under cloudy skies, the City of Light was totally sublime and uniquely picturesque. The art stops along the way were knockout shows in beautiful venues which in and of themselves were artistic and architectural marvels. At the Musée d’Orsay, the magnificently repurposed train station was the setting for the Paris 1874: Inventing Impressionism exhibit. The show celebrates the 150th anniversary of the inaugural exhibit of the then avant-garde movement and chronicles the transition from staid and traditional realism to hazier and freer interpretations of subject matter capturing a moment in time, an impression, so to speak. The cast of characters that led the way included MVPs in the annals of art history - Monet, Renoir, Degas and Cézanne, among others, all of whom figure prominently in the exhibit. The highlights included: Auguste Renoir’s “La Loge”, 1874, oil on canvas (31.5 x 24.8 in.); Claude Monet’s “Impression, soliel levant”, 1872, oil on canvas (19.63 x 25.63 in.); and Edgar Degas’ “Classe de danse”, circa 1870, oil on wood (7.75 x 10.63 in.).
The next visit on the journey was the futuristic Frank Gehry-designed Foundation Louis Vuitton and the Mark Rothko retrospective. The comprehensive exhibit brought together 115 or so works of the powerhouse American abstract artist and presented a chronology of the evolution of his early figurative renderings to mystical and surreal style paintings and finally, to his entrancing iconic floating forms. The highlights included: the early representational scene “Contemplation”, 1937-1938, oil on canvas; the surrealist masterpiece “Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea”,1944, oil on canvas; and dozens upon dozens of mesmerizing large format colour abstractions, including, “Orange and Red on Red”, 1957, oil on canvas (68.8 x 66 in.) and “No. 14”, 1960, oil on canvas (114 x 105 in.).
The last planned stop in Paris was the Pinault Collection at the impressively remodelled Bourse de Commerce. Spiralling up the majestic rotunda, works by contemporary art rockstars were prominently displayed. Among these were: Peter Doig’s haunting “Pelican (Stag)”, 2003-2004, oil on canvas; Maurizio Cattelan’s poignant “Him”, 2001, wax, human hair, suit, polyester resin and pigment; and a monumental installation by Sturtevant replicating the mythical room staged by Marcel Duchamp at the 1938 International Surrealist Exhibition in Paris.
Closing off the trip and reaching back in the art history timeline, a truly memorable work was discovered by happenstance during an unplanned visit to Eglise Saint-Séverin. Dating back to the 13th century, the gothic style place of worship housed numerous elaborate chapels which were all built around altars and adored by art of the time. A particular work stood out as it was presented alone hung high on a huge wall under a circular stained-glass window surrounded by nothing else but the serenity of the immediate environment. It totally radiated under the spotlight that illuminated a depicted religious figure sitting at a table who perhaps was Saint Séverin, a devout 6th century hermit and the church’s namesake.
Meanwhile, in the new world, there was a lot more commotion as Hogtown’s Jurassic Park was hit with an asteroid of epic proportions that essentially wiped out all remnants of a recent championship team.  The Dinos were dissected and dismantled. Gone are Crazy Eyes and OG-Won Kenobi, and team leader Scottie B and the much-maligned Austrian Big succumbed to season ending injuries. All the while, the newly minted Raptors including RJ the Prodigal Son Barrett and Immanuel La Squig Quickley struggled to stay healthy and make their mark. The result has been a team that is nowhere near relevant in the standings nor the hearts of fans. With the prospect of a lengthy and bumpy rebuilding process ahead, Dino fans can perhaps take some solace in rooting for the success of Raptor expats applying their trade elsewhere or maybe even Canadian hoopsters playing for true championship contenders. It’s all a lot rosier than the current state of affairs in Jurassic Park.
For more information on any of the venues, artists or works mentioned, or the sad sack Dinos, “Just Google It”.
There you have it sportsfans,
MC Giggers
(Https://mcgiggers.tumblr.com) Reporter’s Certification
I, MC Giggers, hereby certify that the views expressed in this report accurately reflect my personal views and that no part of my compensation was or will be, directly or indirectly, related to the specific views expressed herein.
I also certify that I may or may not own, directly or indirectly, works of artists mentioned in this report and that I may or may not have a strong bias for such artists and, more generally, for “Pictures of Nothing”.
1 note · View note
astrolavas · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media
thinking about the... potential clawthorne woodcarving mentorship.
+ bonus cuz also thinking abt how if hunter ever met dell's palisman and got reminded of flapjack, he'd probably feel bad abt making that association cuz he knows what it's like to be seen only as someone's different version (even though the bird wouldn't mind much so lol)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
#eda having that palistrom seed.. hunter saying he wants to learn how to carve palisman... his relation to clawthornes. it HAS to mean STH js#the owl house#toh#hunter toh#toh hunter#hahaa always thinking abt hunter growing a soft spot for palismen and loving creating and bringing them to life#but never being able to replace flapjack no matter how many palismen for other ppl he carves. I'M GONNA-#:((((( :///#like he's not going to want to replace flapjack just like that rn. cuz he LOVES that bird. it's gonna be so hard for him to just.. Move On#and flapjack's a PART of him.. so very curious where they'll go with this because..... HM. HM like he serves as his disability aid almost#and he can't just REMAKE him. but he cannot also just.... ignore what happened straight away. but it's also important to heal#but whatever he decides to do i feel like he'd love to just............ create. whether it be for himself or others#BUT GAH. ANYWAY XKJSJSK wrote an essay abt this already don't need to write one in the tags TOO. so uh .. yea#little guy.. pls find happiness#my art#fanart#hunter#hunter noceda#hunter wittebane#eda#eda clawthorne#dell#dell clawthorne#dell's palisman#toh art#edalyn clawthorne#also like...... if flapjack and dell's palisman were caleb's and evelyn's palismen...... and knew each other........#and while flapjack was waiting for his new person at the bat queen's cave dell's palisman was being passed down clawthorne generations#OUUHGHHHHGHHHH they were probably friends..... they Knew each other#what's up with you you mysterious yellow bird with eyebrows...... what's your story
19K notes · View notes
autismserenity · 17 days
Text
A Chabad synagogue in Pomona, New York, burned to the ground on April 17th, along with its three Torah scrolls.
Torah scrolls are hand-written, hand-made, and kept in elaborately decorated cases or wrappings.
Many of them have long histories; my synagogue has two, I think, that were smuggled out of villages being destroyed in pogroms or in Nazi attacks. One of them is the only remaining piece of that village on earth.
Sometimes, the Torah scroll doesn't even belong to the synagogue, but is on loan from a place like the Memorial Scrolls Trust:
There's an entire Jewish holiday just for taking them out and dancing with them: Simchat Torah, "The Joy of Torah."
In fact, that was the holiday on which Hamas's invasion took place.
instagram
So it's a particular tragedy when a Torah is destroyed.
Chabad itself has a page about what goes into making just one Torah scroll:
"An authentic Torah scroll is a mind-boggling masterpiece of labor and skill. Comprising between 62 and 84 sheets of parchment -- cured, tanned, scraped and prepared according to exacting Torah law specifications -- and containing exactly 304,805 letters, the resulting handwritten scroll takes many months to complete.
"An expert pious scribe carefully inks each letter with a feather quill, under the intricate calligraphic guidelines of Ktav Ashurit (Ashurite Script). The sheets of parchment are then sewn together with sinews to form one long scroll. While most Torah scrolls stand around two feet in height and weigh 20-25 pounds, some are huge and quite heavy, while others are doll-sized and lightweight."
I learned all of this on Tumblr.
Once upon time, in people's "punch Nazis" days, I would've been able to find some mention on Tumblr of this synagogue burning.
There is none, so I'm posting about it.
And I'm going to quote Daniel Weiner, Rabbi of Temple de Hirsch Sinai in Bellevue, Washington, when his own synagogue was vandalized last November:
"It’s horrific and heartbreaking.... [Taking out your feelings about] what's going on in the Middle East by defacing a sacred space of a synagogue -- that’s the very definition of antisemitism."
I'm also posting about the Kehillat Shaarei Torah Synagogue in Toronto, whose windows were broken on Friday, April 19th, by someone who also tried to break the front door down.
And the April 15 graffiti outside a Bangor, Maine synagogue that said, "Nazi Israel 30K murdered," next to a crossed-out Star of David. The same synagogue faced pro-Hamas flyers plastered around it in November.
I was going to include all the synagogues vandalized over the past six months. But there are way too many. Several every week. Lots are swastikas.
I'll go back to just doing attacks on and near synagogues.
Someone has to talk about the 1-year-old who was stabbed outside Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel (BZBI) synagogue, in Philadelphia, on April 13th.
The foiled terrorist attack on a Moscow synagogue on April 11th.
The man who, on April 9th, screamed at the rabbi at Moldova's Great Synagogue, "What are you doing here? How come no one has finished you off for everything you are doing to the Palestinians?" Just one week after people had vandalized a Holocaust memorial in nearby Soroka, and sprayed "Free Palestine" on it.
The Oldenburg, Germany synagogue that was firebombed on April 5th.
The Florida Las Olas Chabad Jewish Center, which on March 16 burned, but not to the ground. The Torah scrolls were safe, and no one was hurt, but the back of the building was severely damaged.
The planned-but-thwarted-on-March-7th ISIS massacre in a Moscow synagogue.
The stabbing of an Orthodox Jew in Switzerland on March 5th. (He was badly injured, but expected to survive.)
A man leaving a synagogue in Paris was beaten on March 3rd.
People set the courtyard of a synagogue in Sfax, Tunisia on fire on February 27th. Firefighters managed to put the fire out before it consumed the inside of the building.
The synagogue is no longer used; there are no Jews left in its area, and fewer than 1,000 Jews left in Tunisia overall.
(Thousands of Tunisian Jews were sent to work camps during the Holocaust. Antisemitism across the Middle East continued to increase rapidly for decades. By the 1970s, 90% of Tunisian Jews had fled to France or Israel.)
On February 18, an Orthodox Jew leaving Synagogue of Inverrary-Chabad in Lauderhill, Florida, was beaten by an attacker yelling racial slurs.
Someone deliberately chose International Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, to smash all the windows in the front of Sgoolai Israel Synagogue in downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick.
On December 29, Turkey arrested 32 people linked to ISIS who were planning attacks on synagogues and churches.
On December 17, a man drove a U-Haul truck up onto the sidewalk between a barrier and the front door of the Kesher Israel Congregation in Washington D.C., got out, and started yelling "Gas the Jews." He also sprayed a foul-smelling substance on two people leaving the synagogue.
December 17 also saw 400 synagogues across the United States receive bomb threats.
On December 11, a man attacked an elderly couple on their way into a synagogue in Los Angeles, screaming, "Give me your earrings, Jew!!" and beating one of them bloody with a belt. (Happily, he chased the guy down the street, and caught him when his pants fell down.)
On December 10, a 16-year-old was arrested in Vienna for planning an attack on a synagogue.
On December 8, on the first night of Hanukkah, 15 synagogues in New York State received bomb threats. And someone screamed, "Free Palestine," and fired shots outside of Temple Israel in Albany, NY. Which has a preschool that was in session.
Meanwhile, the five Jews left in Egypt were canceling public Hanukkah candle-lighting at their synagogue out of fear of reprisals. Particularly after two Israelis in Alexandria had been gunned down by terrorists on October 8. (While Israel was still fighting Hamas in Israel.)
On November 15, a terrorist group set the only synagogue in Armenia on fire.
Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA) has a history of working with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP).
(PFLP is part of Hamas's network of groups. Samidoun is their nonprofit arm - which is why Germany banned Samidoun last year, although it's still active in many other countries.
PFLP is also actively supported by the Palestinian Youth Movement (PYM), a diaspora nonprofit group, and Within Our Lifetime (WOL), an SJP spinoff in NYC.)
On November 11, halfway through Shabbat services, police asked Central Shul in Melbourne, Australia to evacuate "as a precaution" due to a "pro-Palestinian" protest that had chosen the neighboring park as its gathering place. Australia has seen some very outspoken antisemitism at protests, including the march shortly after October 7 that chanted "Gas the Jews."
Also on November 11, protesters targeted a synagogue along a march route. They sat in their cars, spraying green smoke and shouting at people leaving the synagogue. The march itself featured a record number of horrifying signs and chants.
On November 7th, Congregation Beth Tikvah in Montreal was firebombed, and the back door of the Jewish organization across the street (Federation CJA) was set on fire.
On November 4, protesters chanted "Bomb Israel," and burned an Israeli flag outside the only synagogue in Malmo, Sweden.
During October, there were 501 antisemitic acts under investigation in France in just three weeks, including groups gathering in front of synagogues shouting threats, and graffiti such as the words “killing Jews is a duty” sprayed outside a stadium.
On October 18, people firebombed a synagogue in Berlin after homes all over the neighborhood were graffitied with stars of David.
And also on October 18, hundreds of "pro-Palestine" rioters attacked the Or Zaruah Synagogue, in the Spanish enclave of Melilla in North Africa, while worshippers were inside.
Based on the video, they seem to have blocked the synagogue entrance completely, while screaming "Murderous Israel" and waving Palestinian flags. (Melilla is an autonomous zone belonging to Spain. It borders Morocco.)
On October 17, during pro-Palestinian protests, hundreds of rioters set fire to Al Hammah synagogue, an abandoned house of prayer in central Tunisia. They hammered down the building’s walls and raised a Palestinian flag on the building. Police did not intervene.
The Facebook page "Tunigate", which has around 88 thousand followers, published a video of the assault. So did "Radio Bousalem”, with 83 thousand users. The vast majority of comments on these videos welcome these acts. The building was severely damaged and almost completely razed to the ground.
On October 15, bomb threats were sent to many East Coast synagogues. Attleboro synagogue Congregation Agudas-Achim received one of the emails, which read, "The bombs will blow up in a few hours. A lot of people will die. You all deserve to die."
On October 8 -- again, while Hamas was still in Israel -- Madrid’s main synagogue was defaced with graffiti that read “Free Palestine” next to a crossed-out Star of David.
And on October 7, an assailant in Rockland, NY fired a BB gun at two women entering a synagogue. Later in the month, a banner at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in the area was vandalized with the words, “Fuckin kikes."
686 notes · View notes
elviraaxen · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
What world has Donna just awoken to!? Where is she? Who is this "Richard?" and why is he so angry?
Another update to the little personal project that now has an official name; Felt World! I hope you like it, both the name and this update!
I'll link the first post I made down below so that they can be read in the correct order, as this one takes place before the previous upload.
NEXT
686 notes · View notes
vulpixhoney · 2 months
Text
the "aid" the US sent is 9 years expired food MREs that they can't cook because they don't have enough clean drinking water to make it edible. It's expired, by at least nine years. They stopped including the Tabasco sauces in MREs in 2015.
How are Gazans meant to make these? You need water to rehydrate the food. If they get food poisoning from eating nearly a decade old food, what do you think will happen to them? To the people who have been starving for months and are impoverished and malnourished? Who don't have the water and nutrients you need to heal yourself from sickness? And to top it all off, the food is Haram. They sent mostly pork and other haram meals. And halal MREs exist. They knew that most Gazans are Muslim and chose to not send the halal food. it's disgusting, it's horrid. The US and all of its leaders are evil and vile
321 notes · View notes
rudeboimonster · 8 months
Text
~help your local rat get stable housing~
edit post nov 2023: I GOT THE HELP I NEEDED THANK YOU SOSOOSO MUCH
dramatically sprawled out on the floor
so i gotta move for the third time in that many years. unfortunately between health problems and the General State of The Economy, I have been unable to find work to be able to save any money. i have no choice but to leave the entire state. i thankfully have somewhere to go, however I need help getting there. i've been trying to do the math to get what I need to its lowest amount possible, but even that is still at least $2.5k.
after this move, i should be able to get things more stable and I might even have a couple job prospects lined up in that area, but right now I'm really scraping the bottom of the barrel funds wise and desperately need help.
if you're able to spare anything, i've set up a goal through kofi so i can track it publicly. i have trouble asking for help but i really need what help i can get. thank you, so so so much.
650 notes · View notes
poorly-drawn-mdzs · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Gearing up for the stat boosts
MDZS Disco Elysium AU Part 3 (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4)
500 notes · View notes
onelungmcclung · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
- Wasn't my idea. Huglin recommended you. - Then you're both sons of bitches.
181 notes · View notes
Text
Miss Pauling she is my wife <3
Tumblr media
441 notes · View notes
tennessoui · 3 months
Note
Hey I hope you're having a good day! I'm sure you've already got a handful of prompts but how about *shakes magic 8-ball* number 17, meeting at a party whilst drunk au!
hello thank you for sending this in!! i'm still working down my list of prompts, and this one is: meeting at a party whilst drunk
i took some liberties with the prompt here though, so really this is meeting (again after a long time) at a party whilst drunk
(2.8k) (gffa, anakin leaves the order after the war au)
Usually, Obi-Wan is better about this sort of thing. It is, after all, a matter of utmost importance. It’s a matter of survival. 
Usually, when he receives an invitation to an event, he does not commit himself to going until he can complete some reconnaissance about the other guests invited. Until he knows beyond a reasonable doubt that Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi and current husband to Senator Amidala, will not be in attendance.
It is much better this way. For everyone involved, really, but especially for Obi-Wan and his poor fool’s heart. It is much better if they keep an entire planet between themselves these days—preferably multiple planets. Preferably half a galaxy.
But this is a retirement party for Bail, and Obi-Wan cannot miss it. His old friend deserves better than that, better than Obi-Wan’s cowardice getting in the way of a celebration of his decades-long career in the Senate.
So he accepts the invitation without researching the guest list. He thinks—he hopes—that in the past nine years, Anakin Skywalker’s intense dislike of Bail Organa has not waned. Anakin, when Obi-Wan knew him, when he was Obi-Wan’s—Obi-Wan’s padawan—had a tendency to make a snap judgement about someone and never change his opinion. 
His hatred had been like an impenetrable wall, unchanging and immovable.
His love had ebbed and flowed, drowned out by his anger or his irritation, coming in great waves when he was in a fine mood and resembling a desert’s drought when he was upset.
But his hatred had always been unshakable once assigned. The very first time Obi-Wan saw it in Anakin’s eyes when he looked at him, a year after he left the Order and the last time they'd seen each other, he’d known for a fact that he’d lost him. That the love had dried up and gone and that it would never return. It’d felt like watching Anakin leave the Temple all over again, like a hand clenched around his heart squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.
So he hopes that Anakin has chosen not to attend Bail’s retirement party. Oh, he knows that Anakin’s wife is here, and he has already downed two flutes of sparkling wine to prepare himself for the sight of her looking resplendent across the ballroom, but he hopes that Anakin has chosen to stay home instead of wasting an evening fawning over a man he never liked in the first place.
Besides, someone should look after the children. They’re nine now, Obi-Wan knows. If they are anything like Anakin was at that age, they must need constant supervision. And he has already seen Senator Amidala once tonight from afar, knows that she is here amongst the party-goers.
He tightens his grip on his fourth flute of wine and turns his attention back to his conversation partner. 
It is rather rude to be so preoccupied in the midst of a conversation with another, but Obi-Wan is an old man now and a war hero. He’s allowed to get away with much more these days than he could in the past.
“Yes, I admit the Jedi Order still has far to go in order to rebuild itself,” he says, mind torn between the small talk and the drink in his hand. These sorts of conversations are easy to have. Yes, the war took a lot out of the Jedi Order. Yes, we are still working through the damages and the trauma. Yes, it’s been ten years since, but sometimes it feels as if it was only yesterday. Yes, sometimes it feels as if I am still fighting.
And then—
Then the woman he is talking to grows bold. She rests her hand on his forearm, the one that is holding the flute of wine, and steps closer.
And in the Force, there is a rumbling of pure, visceral hatred, the sort Obi-Wan has only ever felt in the air a few times.
The sort that is achingly, distressingly familiar.
He turns his head, even though he knows he should not look. He knows looking will take him out at the knees. He knows he may never recover if he looks.
He turns his head and he looks anyway. There, across the room, standing to the left of a load bearing pillar is the drawn and furious face of Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi, ex-padawan.
Obi-Wan’s first thought is that he looks older, though he realizes a moment later how absolutely inane that is. Of course he looks older. It has been nine years since he really talked to him, eight years since he last saw him, and he has tried to avoid any news or photos about the man at all. In his mind, he is still as he was in those days and months following the end of the war. But logically, he knows that the time has passed, that not even the Chosen One is immune to aging.
Anakin’s hair is streaked with shoots of silver. It’s short now, cropped close to his head though still curling as much as he lets it. His face is worn, wrinkled in different, unfamiliar places. He is wearing finery befitting that of a senator’s husband, the color of a midnight sky.
It is strangely comforting to see him dressed in the same colors he has worn since he was a youngling in Obi-Wan’s care. If he were wearing white or, or green or pink, then Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’d be able to recognize him at all.
“Are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?” the woman asks, words filtering in through the static noise in Obi-Wan’s head. 
No. Of course he is not alright.
Yes. He is better than alright. He feels as if his head has broken the surface of the water he’s been trapped under for the past nine years. He feels as if the sight of Anakin Skywalker is a sip of water when he’s on the brink of dehydration.
“You know actually I am not sure,” he tells her, which is overly personal and not at all what he’d meant to say. But that is what the sight of Anakin Skywalker does these days. It throws him off, makes him loose-tongued and off-centered.
Fuck, he thinks once, viciously. 
“If you’ll excuse me,” he tells her, carefully separating himself from her touch and taking a step away. She looks disappointed almost immediately, and Obi-Wan should care about the image he’s making, how impolite he is being, but he has bigger concerns right now. 
Anakin Skywalker is here. 
“Enjoy your evening,” he adds as he raises his flute of wine to his lips and drains it in one go. “Unfortunately, I’m going to go get incredibly drunk.”
“Uh,” the woman says, but Obi-Wan is already gone. He can’t—he can’t stay. Not in this room, not under the weight of Anakin Skywalker’s stare.
Thank the Force he started the night by giving his congratulations and warm regard to Bail. If things turn sour, he’ll be able to slip away with only minimal rudeness.
And, if he’s being quite honest, things have already soured beyond the point of salvation.
But instead of leaving—instead of slipping out the room and running back to the Temple, tail between his legs, he stays. Inexplicably, he grabs another flute of wine from a passing server and retreats to a balcony.
Fresh air will sober him up, he thinks, even as he downs half the flute. 
He should leave, he thinks, even as he stays.
He should leave—but he cannot bring himself to. Anakin is here and it’s Obi-Wan’s worst nightmare and it’s the only thing he’s desired for the past nine years.
Barely a minute passes before the balcony door opens behind him. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes pinned to the city-scape around them.
“Occupied,” he says, even though he knows who it is. Even though he knows the word is useless. Anakin will not leave until he wants to.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says. Just his name, just three syllables.
Obi-Wan downs the rest of the flute. “Anakin,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself before he turns to look at him.
Oh, he wishes he could blame the alcohol for how beautiful he finds him, but he knows that’s just some dark and twisted part of himself, some sinful and perverted aspect of his soul he has never been able to scrub clean.
“How are you?” He says, because he cannot let Anakin speak first. If he lets Anakin speak first, there will be a diplomatic incident, surely. If he lets Anakin speak first, Anakin will control the conversation—Anakin will tear through all of his shields and land on his sorest, most vulnerable spots. “How are the children?” “Do you even know their names?” Anakin spits back, eyebrows drawn dark and heavy over his expression. His face is flushed. He must have been drinking as well. “How old they are? Do not ask after my children as if you care about them at all, Obi-Wan—I know you don’t!”
“Luke,” Obi-Wan says. “Leia.”
Oh, he wishes Anakin were right. He wishes he didn’t know a damn thing about them, about him, about the life he lives now. One completely separate and void of Obi-Wan. 
Anakin probably does not notice his absence. After all, he has a wife, two children. A part-time job, if Bail can be believed. He wonders if he still meditates facing the wrong way, back to the sun, and suddenly his heart feels so tight he can hardly breathe through the pain.
Anakin sneers. “Whatever,” he says and reaches into the folds of his robes to pull out a silver flask. He raises it to his lips and takes a swig, rubbing a hand over his mouth when he’s done, capping it and sliding back into his robes.
It is the alcohol that loosens his tongue, Obi-Wan knows it. Obi-Wan understands that he has had too much to drink tonight to be standing before Anakin Skywalker now, that anything that comes out of his mouth will be something he regrets in the morning.
But does it really matter? How could it matter? Anakin Skywalker was his whole life for a decade and a few years, and then he left. And now a decade has passed. In five years, he will have spent longer missing him than he spent loving him. What does a few words matter now?
Obi-Wan has already lost everything. He is already made of regret.
“I don’t know why you insist on acting so hatefully,” he says. “You left.”
He means, of course, that if anyone should hate anyone here, it is Obi-Wan’s right to hate Anakin.
Impossible, as it were, but his right. Anakin left.
Obi-Wan asked him to stay.
“You kissed me,” Anakin spits back.
And yes, alright. He kissed him as well.
His fingers itch for another flute of wine. Perhaps a swallow of the flask in Anakin’s robes. Anything. Anything to dull the white-hot ache of this conversation. Anything to escape these consequences.
“Nine years ago,” he says, quietly. “It’s been nine years, Anakin.”
Let it go.
He hadn’t—he really hadn’t meant to kiss him. It had been—a foolish mistake, something that had happened late at night, a few months after the end of the war, and they had been in Obi-Wan’s quarters, drinking and talking and Anakin had said something about leaving the Order, and Obi-Wan had said something about him staying, and Anakin had said, Padmé is pregnant, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan had kissed him.
A foolish mistake, made only survivable by the way that, for a handful of precious seconds, Anakin had kissed him back.
Before the yelling, the hatred, the anger. The leaving. Before all of that, Anakin had kissed him back.
“I have already apologized, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, exhausted, and his eyes cut away from Anakin, turn back to the city. “I have thought of that moment countless times–-and I cannot begin to explain what came over me, what I was thinking at the time.”
He just—he hadn’t wanted Anakin to leave. Had thought that perhaps if he could—if he could give Anakin himself in all the ways one person could devote themselves to another, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe he would stay.
A foolish hope, one that Obi-Wan should have known better than to entertain even for a moment.
“I have thought of it too,” Anakin says. He clears his throat. He lurches forward, unsteady on his feet. His hand comes into contact with Obi-Wan’s arm, glove on sleeve. Thank the Force for the layers still in between them.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and the truth is that he means it as much as he does not. He is sorry for taking the brotherhood and friendship between them and shattering it. He is sorry that he kissed Anakin, that he hastened his leave.
But he is not sorry for knowing how his lips felt against his own. How he tasted.
Obi-Wan is a lonely old man, despite the family he has surrounded himself with at the Temple. Despite his new padawan that he has been training for the past eight years. Despite the trips he takes to see his retired men, Cody and the 212th scattered across the galaxy. Despite all the ways he fills his days, all the people he meets and talks to and trains with, he is still lonely. There is still a hole in his heart, a space that Anakin used to occupy.
“I have thought of it every day since,” Anakin says, repeating himself in that way drunkards do when they have forgotten they already started the same sentence a moment before.
“I’m—”
“It has haunted me,” Anakin says. His voice is sharp and angry and Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes and shy away from it. Obi-Wan, who has faced down Separatists and sith lords and blaster fire, wants to turn tail and hide. Retreat. Retreat.
Anakin’s voice turns—darker, wilder. His hand tightens and he tugs, just hard enough that it overbalances Obi-Wan. “I am haunted by the kiss you never should have given me.”
“Had I known you were married, I never would have—”
“You ruined it,” Anakin snaps. “You ruined my marriage!”
“I…” Obi-Wan’s throat clicks, words drying out. “What?”
“We filed for separation months ago,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark; he is holding his arm so tightly that it hurts. “Joint custody of the children, but a formal divorce. Amicable.”
Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he can speak at all.
“It wouldn’t have been amicable if she knew though,” Anakin says. He takes a step forward. Obi-Wan gives ground. He does not know how else to fight Anakin. “If she knew what I thought about when I retreated from her touch. If she knew what—who—drove me from our bed every night to walk through our house like a ghost wandering the halls.”
“If your marriage ended over a kiss I gave you nine years ago, then it is hardly my fault,” Obi-Wan says, putting his hand on Anakin’s chest to keep distance between them. When did they become so close? This is much too close. Obi-Wan can smell Anakin’s soap, his sweat. The alcohol on his breath.
“But it is,” Anakin insists, unable still it seems to take his share of the blame and make his peace with it. “It is, because I spent half my life in love with you, then I finally commit to someone else—allow myself to look and love and appreciate someone else’s beauty—and then you kiss me, as if I have not already sworn loyalty to another! As if I could be yours to kiss! As if I still was!”
Obi-Wan shakes his head, unable to do more. “It was a kiss, Anakin, it was—I assure you, I am not such a good kisser that I can be blamed for your failed marriage when it was nine years ago!”
“Then you do not remember it as well as I do,” Anakin murmurs, and now—now the rage has turned darker, heady. His eyes catch and hold onto Obi-Wan’s lips. His eyes are more black than blue. His face is flushed. He is—so handsome. So beautiful still, after all of these years. “Let me refresh your memory,” he says, and Obi-Wan—
Obi-Wan is weak when it comes to Anakin. He always has been. He is so weak. And he needs—he needs so much. He makes a sound, something embarrassingly small and desperate, and then Anakin is kissing him and it feels like being sliced open and like coming home, all at the same time. 
Like how it felt when he returned to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon after his master had died—a homecoming, but at what cost? A death and a birth, all at the same time. He had lingered in the doorway that first time, unable to push himself across and into quarters that felt both strange and familiar. 
It had been Anakin, a small boy still, who had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.
Still now, even all these years later, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and allows himself to follow Anakin’s lead. 
108 notes · View notes
travsd · 2 months
Text
Ziegfeld, A-Z (And a New Tribute Show)
Today is the birthday of the great showman Flo Ziegfeld — seemed like the proper time to let you know about The Ziegfeld Girls Revue, playing at the The Green Room 42 (and livestreaming) on April 13. Presented by Nicole Nadine, the show promises to tell the Follies girls’ fascinating rags to riches stories, scandalous personal lives, which are heartbreaking, but often inspiring, through song,…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
0 notes
kaijuno · 8 months
Text
My car just broke down and I just got out of the hospital and I have no way of paying rent this month. Any help would be appreciated. I don’t even have a car to be evicted into so I’m panicking
228 notes · View notes
plaguedoctorgay · 1 month
Text
I'd love more disability aides that look cool. Cane/crutch/chair customisation is awesome, and I'd love if there were also options for that too, and also like. Leather-looking knee and leg braces. Or spiked or metallic-looking elbow and wrist braces. Stickers and patches that go over joint supports. Those weird over-the-leg hinged splints from the 1700s, remade such that they work as modern splints/supports. Those curled metal finger splints but larger and for wrists and ankles. Y'know?
96 notes · View notes
so-very-small · 7 months
Text
the tiny, inside the walls, hyping themself up: It’s totally fine. Everything I’ve seen from this human shows that they’re kind, level headed, and normal. There’s utterly nothing wrong with this human, and I can totally befriend them! I shouldn’t be scared at all!
the tiny: *peeks out hole in the bathroom wall, looking up at the giant before them*
the giant, in front of the bathroom sink, obliviously doing their nightly routine: *removes their dentures*
the tiny, has no concept of what dentures are, who just saw this behemoth remove all the bones and flesh from its own mouth in one swift pull, without a flinch of pain: what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck
181 notes · View notes