#needlessly dramatic

When I hear the word dramatic, I think of gross overreactions, mascara tears, and people who instigate problems on purpose.

And honestly, I hate myself, but I dont do that stuff. I hold back tears until I burst. Im conflict AVOIDANT. I hate for anyone to see me cry, and I certainly dont pretend to be upset when im not. I pretend im not upset when I am!

But my friends and acquaintances all use 'dramatic' to describe me.

And, Im an ex-theater kid. I AM dramatic if you take it to mean theatrical. And I dont feel 'theatrical' is a bad thing.

But my brain chooses to purposefully misunderstand when people use that term to describe me. Im choosing, even doing mental gymnastics to believe they think I make my feelings everyone else's problem. In reality, they are talking about how I could wear a literal cape to Super 1 and make it look natural. (Which i could) ((and may have done)). I hear it most about my dance style. I still think of the bad meaning even when the good meaning makes so much more sense.

But that's what I'm gonna do. I can't let this consume me.

um, how would Anakin react to Obi finding him in the sunniest place sparkling like a disco ball instead of burning up lol

also... maybe more plotty on this au?

Thank you so much for the usual obikin silly ideas lol

lolllll omg I’m taking this ask as a big question mark of “How does Anakin find out obi-wan is a vampire” and the answer is probably anakin pulls enough threads together because all of them are bad at being vampires and pretty obvious (I mean, how many blood jokes can obi-wan make in a ficlet)

I feel steel drip down my spine and straighten, stiffen.

My teeth seem sharper, my eyes go flat.

Every line and curve of my body goes gaunt or bloated. 

My lips part and peel back and breath comes out boiling.

Something deeper than thought whirls like a gyroscope, and the storm is embodied by calm.

I rise to my full height and my vertebrae ache to keep going.

Every cell burns with rage, and the heat relaxes me.

I believe in that moment that my back could crack open and release something great and terrible into the world. Some fairytale monster of fire and leather and mettle that could find and kill just the right people to make the world inherently better. 

But the world is more broken than that. 

This is no way to begin fixing it. 

So I swallow and press and will it into submission. 

It will serve, not possess. 

I’ll need every scrap, once I find the right angle of attack.

But I never do. 

It’s exhausting.

And lo, the people saith unto me, "What's the big deal, dude?"