MEME   ||   @stardies 

in truth, it’s perhaps a little hypocritical for obi-wan to lecture anakin about his recklessness as often as he does. obi-wan is not above admitting so much to himself, even if he knows all too well that he would never hear the end of it if he were to say it out loud. 

this time around, it’s yet another plan gone awry and yet another escape necessitated --- obi-wan grimaces at anakin, and then grimaces again for the way it pulls at the wounds their not-so-gracious host has left him. he feels, if he is to be honest with himself, as though he’s been pulled through hyperspace without a ship; obi-wan can only imagine just how he looks.  

( at least now, he and anakin have more or less worked out a system for such problems --- although he’s been made clearly aware of just how worrisome it is that they need to have a system at all. it’s not the first thing master windu has disapproved of; obi-wan suspects it will not be the last. truthfully, he doesn’t mind. )  

anakin’s exasperation sparks something warm and fond in him, and obi-wan waves a dismissive hand at the wreckage they’ve left behind them in their escape. anakin has proven himself more than capable over the years, and the time when obi-wan worried about anakin accompanying him on missions seems to be barely a memory. indeed, it seems now the tables have turned and anakin is the one worrying; there is something a little amusing to that. in something like a mockery of cheer, obi-wan says, “really, anakin, i think this was a perfectly successful rescue.” 

i have a friend who had a needle stuck in his arm from the doctor once. if it doesn’t start getting better within like a day or two then it’s cause for concern but otherwise you’ll probably be ok

i get why thats frustrating BUT it leaves you room for creative freedom

black bird. || no longer accepting!

           to most, gunshots are a rarity, a sound often confused with fireworks or a car backfiring, but to ella hall, the sound is unmistakeable.  the bark of gunfire is all too familiar, and she’s already running when it starts, making a mad dash for her car.  shooting at her is just a fancy way of saying she’s in deep shit, and her first instinct is always to cut and run.  not like she could reason with a bullet.

           while the sound is familiar, the feeling is not – she stumbles as a bullet rips through her back, white hot pain spreading through her abdomen, and falls flat on her face.

                                   ❛ – – – shit! ❜

           but now they’re gaining on her, and she’s got to keep moving, even though every breath hurts like a bitch –

           one hand over the exit wound, she manages to pull herself to her feet and bolt the last few feet to her vehicle, scrambling over the passenger’s seat to get to the wheel.  in seconds, she’s driving away, ducking under more bullets as they shatter their way through her back window.  the car squeals onto the road and tears down the empty street, leaving the footmen in the dust.