I’ve never been a real star wars fan but the phantom menace came out when I was 6 and my older brother was 8 so we were absolutely among the target audience and we had toy light sabers & we spent a lot of time playing star wars but my brothers were anakin and obi wan etc. and my best friend was padmé which meant i had to come up with a star wars oc and since my brother was anakin i decided okay. i would be anakin’s sister.
i made up a backstory that i was his twin sister who also lived on tatooine and i also had latent force potential but qui gon and obi wan didn’t even try to meet me even when anakin mentioned me and they left me behind.
this was an utter betrayal to me obviously, like my brother got rescued and i got abandoned and i could have been him and i should have been him. i should’ve been at his side. i should have gotten training and all else. i should have been a jedi too.
but they didn’t even care to meet me. so i had this intense grudge against the jedi and i ended up developing my skills myself and then i grew up and got myself off tattooine and set out on a mission as a rogue force user to kill obi wan.
and 6 year old me really embodied that role. she felt that. so when I was like 25 & rewatched the original star wars trilogy for the first time since childhood, when obi wan came on I was like ugh. I hate that guy. and my friend was like “WHY?”
and I thought about it and realized it wasn’t actually his character. I was remembering my childhood self insert oc beef.
Like, sorry you wouldn’t get it but obi wan and I have history.
why don't people in zombie apocalypse stories ever just wear suits of armor? you think any zombie is gonna get their shitty rotting jaws through this?
I'm gonna rip and tear my way through the zombie apocalypse completely unharmed because none of the undead hoards will be able to get through my plate mail
You can only wish you could be so succulent and delicious as a ripe ear of corn. You wish you had the depth of flavor, that you had so many glistening, perfect kernels of yourself. You want to be shucked. No. You need to be shucked. Say it. Yet you have no delicate, silky husk to shed, no vegetal armor to be ripped vigorously from your body, and were I to humor you and taste your insipid flesh, it would go down smooth, like green beans boiled to bland mush. Oh, but you fancy yourself a force of nature, a quarrelsome sparring partner, a thorny stalk standing high in the blistering sun. You imagine you would stick between my teeth, pierce my flesh, linger in my memory and at my gumline for days after the fact. Ha! You have no backbone, no conviction, no cob. I would not need even to chew, let alone cut. A brace-toothed juvenile could swallow you whole, for you present nothing to brace for. You are unfit to be boiled down for syrup. You are not corn. You will never be corn. You will never know half of what it takes to be even baby corn. If you must call yourself corn, then let it be known you are the soft shell in the bottom of a days old microwavable paper bag, too timid and vacuous to to make a sound. You have nothing to express, and no amount of salt or butter can hide it. Motherfucker
I want to already Be at the social event with zero intervening time or effort u_u
Sitting on my bed before every single social event like I want to go but I don’t want to go but I do want to go but I don’t want to go but I do want to but I don’t want to— for like an hour and then I’m late