#blanked out

its the way that martyn is known for devoting himself to a single person and taking as much of the heat and horror off of them as possible at the cost of himself and his wellbeing. the watchers dont want the canary curse to be broken. jimmy is just following his normal schedule of dying and dying and dying except this time martyn is forcing his way in too soon and dying just seconds before.

im just. imagine if the same thing happens for permadeaths. imagine the reaction if martyn and jimmy died at basically the same time except martyn's death message was just before jimmy's. the canary curse is broken, not in some big way where jimmy wins the season or 5v1s an entire team, but through the angry clawing furious devotion of a friend. martyn cant just fight off the forces of the universe with ease but he can do the thing he has always been good at: fighting like an animal and edging his way in despite all odds. he can't make jimmy win, but he sure as hell can make sure he doesn't lose. and maybe things will get better for him after that.

I gave up on the bg's with transformation but can you guys see my vision??

this literally took 2 days, with the power or my uber autism and being absolute appalled by this song.

Looking back, there were so many signs that Obi-Wan had ignored.

Granted, he had been a 26-year-old who suddenly found himself a father in all ways but name, and then he was trying to live up to that fatherhood for the next ten years. Then came Naboo, the war, Mustafar, everything that came after, so sue him if he ignored the odd wayward nudge from the Force that came out of nowhere. Besides, there hadn’t been a recorded dyad in centuries.

So when Obi-Wan feels the Force suddenly tug at him as he’s leaving the Lars’ farm on Tatooine, he can only laugh when he immediately recognises the smell, the presence that has suddenly materialised in his chest. He laughs and laughs and laughs, even though there hasn’t been anything funny in his life for some time now.

+++++

Dyads, he finds, emerging out of a three-week research frenzy, are only realised at times of great need.

Seeing as the first time Obi-Wan and Anakin met had been in the middle of a political crisis turned full scale battle, not to mention everything that happened in the subsequent fifteen years, Obi-Wan finds it difficult to give this notion any credit, despite it being the only thing that all his admittedly sparce sources have agreed on. What could have happened to Anakin— Vader, Vader, Obi-Wan reminded himself— what could have possibly happened to Vader now that amounted to a greater time of need than on kriffing Mustafar?

                    These letters have begun to find him troubled.                     Signature should bedight these things, for certain expectations, certain feelings with them come comfortably; but, bereft of, come slews of thoughts and musings that thieve time from the tactician without his notice. Though beautiful, the script itself has taken an undergrowth of subtle change, or perhaps metamorphosis, if Mathias should let imaginations run too wild; As scenes and details leap more from the parchment than some prior letters, than more diminutive sentiments from before - confessions of a heart by far more richly full than any sea mentioned, or known, for that matter - that, at once, leaves Mathias to broodings of great difficulty; with acceptance of what’s been written, how many he requite? The Belmont connotes love with shadows, with mere fleeting glimpses that at once take him with grappling, demanding hands. Times as these paint reminders to an otherwise lulled state: never once should it be forgotten that this Knight unfurls his passions, free and lifted by gales. His script-styling speaks greater volumes than any performer, and, daresay, leaves impressions by far longer lasting.                     Though unacquainted with his skin, gallow’s humour reminds him much of being chained; thoughts collared, as it were, left off beneath the sun’s most glaring ire, with nothing to quench questions nor remotely satisfy any theories considered when the mind decides it appropriate. Momentarily comforted by streams of golds and yellows, sorts of ringlets left to waltz low in skylines, not realizing the fall of the evening - finally, Mathias breaks silences and drums laughter for all that has gone away with him. Like the glimpses seen through shadows, loved to spite the veil, there is nothing to do else than covet this man as defeat has coveted the tactician’s heart. 

                     This man, second to himself leading charge - pious, steadfast, holy. No excursion has seen him dwindled in spirit for all the life in his blue eyes, nor will, nor strength unsound when sleeplessness caught them for day’s dragging. Neither had he ever found the Belmont selfish, assisting those in need, even despite Mathias’ more disapproving mentions. And now here, displaying openly something guileless, sweet. An anomaly, to be certain, yet one now endearing himself to the tactician all the more. A very specific sort of wonderful, and one bringing joy to any otherwise dour day. The more this letter is simply allowed to be, allowed to entertain and enthrall, warm and make calm, the more Mathias finds himself softened by it’s presence. Made gentle, swaying thoughts and drumming laughter in a much more genuine manner. Yes, there is nothing to do else than covet he. As callow as he is alluring - and make certain no soul exists to bring harm to a singular hair on his head.