#posting about them/@-ing them or trying to get them to stop promoting beards or to support liam in the specific way(s) you feel they should

[yaz-the-spaz]

rant time

so i’m seeing quite a few ppl bash liam’s stylist for supposedly forcing him to dress a certain way and i’m sorry but i just have to say something because it seems like there’s a startling lack of understanding of what a stylist’s job actually entails...

SO!

ready? ok!

first off, pretty much all (or most) major celebrities have stylists. the main point of their job is to help a celeb present an image that’s “on brand” with whatever that celebrity is trying to sell/promote at the time. case in point, to use the example i saw her and some in the fandom bring up, if liam’s constantly going around dressing like a rapper but trying to sell romantic/happy pop songs (esp as a british white boy) there’s a high chance it’s gonna ring disingenuous and *turn ppl off who might be less likely to wanna pay more attention to him/follow him/become fans of him, etc. - particularly if you’re trying to break the american market (where race tends to be highly associated with certain styles of dress and image/how you're perceived).

it doesn’t mean she thinks liam can’t dress himself or that she’s trying to control him/what he wears or keep him from wearing what he wants, she’s just trying to keep him on brand so that the way he looks fits what he’s trying to sell (and therefore actually helps sell the thing he’s trying to sell). he can wear whatever he wants in his free time or for other events and things she may not necessarily be involved in, but it’s her job to make sure that when he’s in front of cameras, whether that’s for pap pics, major events, performances or whatever the case may be, he looks on brand.

caroline watson literally did the same thing for 1d back in the active band days and the fandom still loves her. you can probably still find the video where she talks about what brand she was going for for each of the boys when she picked their outfits for tours and things - i don’t remember specifically what she said for the others boys but i do remember her making a comment about niall being the “sporty boy.” and given what niall has said more recently about how much he’s always loved to dress up (and that we often see him in more dressy things like slacks and button downs these days), i think it’s pretty safe to say that niall did not necessarily wanna be in sporty things all the time and what he wore in the band was not always on par with what he necessarily always wanted to be wearing. but he had an image to sell while on tour/doing press events so that's what he did. this is the case for most celebrities, not just liam. 

and as for her promoting the beards - stylists are typically part of a pr team so that’s literally her job. it may be a shitty part of her job but that’s her livelihood and she still has bills to pay (and probably work contracts to adhere to) just like everyone else. and the same is true of the rest of liam’s team. i can’t speak to whether those things make her (or the others) a good or bad person since i obviously don’t know her (or any of them) personally and i/we can’t know all the ways they may or may not help or hurt liam behind the scenes, but ffs let ppl do their jobs without jumping down their throat all the time. sometimes other ppl have to promote the stunts or have to do or say certain things to help a celebrity sell something or stay in line with the contracts they may be beholden to and that’s just the (shitty) way the entertainment industry works. a job is a job is a job.

in conclusion, i’m just tired of seeing the fandom get mad at ppl for literally just doing their jobs. almost everyone has parts of their job they hate, but you probably still paste on a smile and do that thing anyway because you know if you don’t you’re likely gonna be out of a paycheck. the same is true of ppl who work in pr/entertainment. they’re still people, try not to forget that please.

(*speaking from personal experience this actually almost happened to me too when liam first started his solo debut in 2016 because as an american black girl watching this british white boy pop singer suddenly start dressing like a rapper it just felt kinda weird like he was putting on a front to seem “cool” or something and almost turned me off/made me not wanna pay attention to him even though I wanted to support his career, so I actually relate to/understand what his stylist was saying in that regard and I'm a little glad she/liam refined his style a little more because how he dresses now definitely feels like it's more fitting to his image and what he's selling, at least to me)

(oh and p.s. this little rant goes for connor and other folks on liam's pr team too)

ok, that will be all - thanks for coming to my tedtalk! ✌🏽

#liam #this is not meant to be a personal affront to anyone who was posting about her/saying negative things about her #i'm not saying you suddenly have to like her #(or connor) #or that everything she does is necessarily good #if you don't like her that's fine #i just think it's important to remember that not everything pr ppl do is a bad thing or a sign of them being controlling/abusive #posting about them/@-ing them or trying to get them to stop promoting beards or to support liam in the specific way(s) you feel they should #probably isn't going to change much of anything #pr images #public images #stylists #contracts #entertainment industry

[dibleopard-writes]

Training Montage

Ao3 (recommended)

Description: Anakin was the Chosen One and therefore the best padawan anyone could ask for, especially Master Obi-Wan. He was so good, in fact, that he had plenty of time for shenanigans or, as he privately referred to them, Shenanakins. Force, he was clever. Several snippets from the training of Anakin Skywalker. Author’s Note: Fanfiction, in 2020? It's more likely than you think. I'm working on several Star Wars projects right now, and here's one that is far less structured with far less need for in depth planning. Original Upload Date: 2020-08-27 Fandom: Star Wars Prequels (post TPM, pre AotC) Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, various side characters Rating: Gen (or T for language) Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical Violence Word Count: 6490

Chapter 1 of ??

Chapter 1: Moles? In My Mine? It's More Likely Than You Think.

At the age of five, Anakin resolved to never be the kind of moody teenager spacers complained about. At the age of twelve, he decided that not only was that naive of him, but that he would get a head start and be moody right that second.

This change of heart was mostly due to Obi-Wan, who was refusing to take any missions offworld with him even though Anakin got his own lightsaber a whole three weeks ago and was therefore completely qualified.

“Having a lightsaber doesn’t help diplomacy, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan, completely missing the point.

“So don’t choose diplomatic missions! I bet there are hundreds of pirates hanging around… I don’t know, Batuu.”

“Batuu has smugglers, not pirates, Anakin–”

“– And?! We can arrest smugglers–”

“– And anyway, it would be irresponsible of me to take a padawan as young as yourself into a confrontation like that.”

“I’m not nine anymore! I’m not some dumb initiate, I can handle pirates.” If he was the first in his classes to fight pirates, he’d be able to hold it over them for ages. Even Iepa would have to respect him, smug son of a–

“I was still an initiate when I was your age.”

“Well I’m sorry you sucked, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go on missions.”

By this point, Master Obi-Wan had his head in his hands, almost hiding the beard he was trying to grow in order to look more authoritative. Anakin didn’t think he’d respect him any more with a beard than without, but it did make him look less like a clueless teenager so maybe he could fool the senior padawans.

“Look, if I took you offworld, not only could you get hurt or cause a diplomatic incident, but Master Windu would be on my back about it.”

Anakin muttered, “I could take him.”

“What was that?”

“I said you wouldn’t be able to shake him.” Anakin believed both statements emphatically. Sure, Mace Windu was the Master of the Order and invented an entire lightsaber form, but Anakin was the Chosen One, which basically made him the best. That being said, if Master Windu put his mind to it, he could be annoyingly stubborn in his pursuit of wrong-doers.

“My point exactly, and if he decided I was irresponsible – which I would be – we’d both be Temple-bound for months.”

“Oh, so you get to leave and I don’t?”

“Yes, but I’m sure you noticed I haven’t left because I’ve been too busy looking after you.”

“And what an amazing job you’ve been doing.”

“Watch your tone, young one.”

“Tell me, Master, do you remember any of my allergies?”

“Allergies?” Obi-Wan stopped for a second, with a look of genuine concern and guilt working its way over his face as he failed to recall information that Anakin had never given him.

“Yeah, I’m allergic to you and your banthashit!”

“Language, Padawan!” There was something resembling anger in Obi-Wan’s glare, but to acknowledge that would be sacrilege and also a suggestion that Anakin cared, which he didn’t. To prove this, he stormed into his room and used the Force to slam the pneumatic door as pneumatic doors rarely do.

Force, Obi-Wan could be insufferable sometimes.

...

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Anakin came to the decision that the only real resolution to this conflict was running away and being a Jedi without Obi-Wan to bring him down. 

Fortunately, he had spent the last two years building his very own ship and had already put it through an entire test run without anything breaking. Between his technical expertise and thorough testing, the ship was probably the best in the entire Temple hangar.

First though, putting his stealth skills through their paces in order to get there. One doesn’t survive nine years of slavery without knowing how to move silently. The swoosh of the door may have been a bad start, but his slow navigation of the common room more than made up for it. Sure, Obi-Wan was in his own room, probably, like, crying over getting owned so hard, but if Anakin had made even the slightest mistake, he would have come running and demanded a ridiculous amount of meditation on respecting others. The stakes could not have been higher.

He crept out of their rooms and into the corridor, shushing the mouse droid that seemed to regard him judgmentally despite its lack of eyes. From there, it was a simple matter of carrying himself with unquestionable confidence along a convoluted path to the hangar. He passed a few senior padawans with dead eyes and piles of holopads in their arms without raising suspicion. Man, was he good at this.

The hangar was probably the best place in the Temple. Warm Temple stone met flame retarding durasteel in a way that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. Several decade-old speeders lined up against one wall next to a small fleet of cargo ships and fighters. All of them were horrendously out of date and well worn in the way that a lot of the Temple’s technology was. When Anakin asked why the Jedi insisted on having such terrible tech, Obi-Wan had said something vague about budget and not being materialistic. It was unconvincing at best and Anakin had really shown the whole Order up with his latest project.

After his no-doubt legendary podracer was left on Tatooine, Anakin had taken all of six months to set his sights on building a starfighter that could take him to every system in the galaxy. Obi-Wan, relieved to find a hobby that would promote focus, had pulled some strings and Anakin had aimed akk-dog eyes at the Temple mechanics that he had been tailing for months until they let him at the skeleton of an old Delta-7. Aethersprites never came with their own hyperspace engines, but he could work with that. Annoyingly, the sublight engines in the hangar were nothing like the ones on a podracer so he had to spend a humiliating few weeks with an old mechanic to get them installed and working. On the positive side, there was an astromech droid fitted directly into the ship that could give him diagnostics and occasionally a mechanically-themed joke. The jokes were hit-or-miss but the droid was good.

Two years of sterling work had made the Delta the best ship in the Temple, and it could far outpace any of the speeders in Coruscant’s skylanes. Now, as he made his way ever-so-innocently towards it, he couldn’t help but admire the way the smooth paint looked among the chipped facades of the rest.

R4-P3 chirped a greeting as he hopped in and prepped the starter engines.

“Hi, P3, fancy going on a trip?”

“THERE WERE TWENTY-SEVEN TRAFFIC CODE VIOLATIONS DURING THE PREVIOUS FLIGHT.”

“Me too, buddy. See if you can find one of those hyperspace rings lying around here.” Ignition was smooth. Vertical repulsors engaged. Landing gear retracted. So far, his plan was flawless. A blip appeared on his screen, indicating the nearest hyperspace ring. Latching onto the ring was not something he had ever practiced before, so he assumed the strange rattling noise was normal.

As he ascended, chatter buzzed into the comm system.

“What’s that P3?”

The chatter cleared into actual sentences as P3 adjusted the frequency.

“-ing is not fitted properly. Repeat, Aethersprite Delta-7 please identify yourself-” Anakin flicked it off. Trust traffic control to kill his flow.

“PLEASE KEEP TO DESIGNATED SKYLANES,” bleated P3, taking up the burden instead. Anakin dodged a passing CorSec speeder.

“Will do,” he lied, “While I find one, you wanna do the hyperspace calculations?”

“DESTINATION?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t thought that far. Tatooine was probably weeks away, Naboo had way too much water just lying about– Where else had he been? Oh, that’s right: nowhere, because Obi-Wan didn’t care about him. “Batuu?” He could probably beat up a few smugglers in the name of justice before the Jedi caught wind of it. Talk about selfless heroism.

He hit the upper flight levels and powered through into the mesosphere. Considering the thin air at this altitude, there was a lot of turbulence. The shaking was beginning to make his arm buzz and it became a disproportionate effort to keep the control-stick level.

“LIGHTSPEED CALCULATIONS COMPLETE,” announced P3.

“Great, just in time,” replied Anakin, flicking some switches, at least three of which were relevant, “I’ll just make the jump now.”

As he pulled the jump ignition, P3 began screaming and the rattling grew louder. The pinprick stars became needle-thin lines became the whirl of blue and white he hadn’t seen since the last journey from Naboo. On that trip, the pilots hadn’t let him in the cockpit during the initial jump, so this would probably have been way better if not for the awful clatter of the hyperdrive and the eventual tear of engines sputtering out of commission. Maybe that was why he had never seen anyone make jumps in-atmosphere. Or perhaps the issue was related to the ring’s latching mechanism. Really, it was anyone’s guess.

P3’s wails had become spluttering, staticky sobs, which was honestly a poor display in a droid with no fear subprogram. The ring flew off the Aethersprite, plunging it back into normal space with a roar.

“Well that sucked,” Anakin said indignantly. His flying had been flawless, too!

P3, between choked bleeps, lit up the speedometer – the hyperspace ring was no longer pushing them beyond the light limit but neither had any reverse-thrusters been engaged, leaving them at a healthy constant speed of only-just-slower-than-light, which was probably fine – and the scanner – there was a planet about thirty light-seconds in front of them, which was probably less fine at their current speed.

“Okay, so it still sucks,” Anakin amended.

He slammed on the brakes and almost blacked out as G-force slammed on him in return. Rude. His old pod-racer never had this issue. He tried easing their deceleration more slowly, which involved less blacking out but also made slowing to pedestrian speeds before hitting the planet somewhat less feasible.

No matter; Anakin was an expert pilot and even more skilled at having incredible luck. This would be easy.

Within twenty seconds, they hit nature’s drag chute: the atmosphere. P3 tried to draw Anakin’s attention to their steep angle and high speed as if these weren’t things that Anakin already knew. They did seem more relevant when the entire ship’s hull flew alight, however, so he attempted to shallow out their descent. 

The control-stick was uncooperative and everything began to shake as he tugged it as far back as he could. How was he supposed to pilot if the ship refused to do what he wanted it to do? 

After five long seconds, the heat died and they plunged into a cloud bank. Everything past the tips of the Aethersprite’s wings was obscured by a white thicker than Obi-Wan’s skull, which was impressive if disorienting. He felt the control-stick hit full lock and a few of the many warning indicators seemed appeased.

Another five seconds, and P3 stopped screaming about their speed and started screaming about their altitude. The clouds remained steadfast.

“I’ve made an executive decision,” declared Anakin, “As captain of this ship, I say we attempt what we in the industry call a ‘terrain-assisted braking maneuver’.”

P3 did not respond particularly coherently, which Anakin chose to interpret as a vote of confidence. It did wonders for his self-esteem.

In a blink, the clouds vanished and a deep green forest appeared. P3 squeaked. Anakin grimaced. His hand was losing all sensation from gripping the control-stick so tightly, still in full lock, but their downwards momentum still overpowered the thrusters even as the Delta’s nose finally rose above the horizon. He gunned the accelerator away from the surface and his body felt heavier than the ship itself.

The ship jolted as it made contact with the treetops. Anakin switched to reverse-thrusters as the nose once again pitched downwards. Slugshot snaps crackled around them as trees snapped against the ship. He scrunched his eyes closed and braced.

Soil and splinters erupted as they collided with the ground. Anakin lurched painfully into his safety straps. P3’s voice cut off. The grinding of earth against hull slowed them to a stop and Anakin fell back against his seat.

Smoldering wiring filled the cockpit with an awful acidic smell so he tugged his straps off and pushed his way out after only a second of shaky breathing. Anakin was nothing if not practical.

“Do you think it’s gonna blow up?” he asked P3 from a safe distance. P3 seemed not to appreciate the thought but ran cursory diagnostics anyway.

As he waited, Anakin looked behind the ship and saw the gaping furrow they had left in the ground. Further away, a clumsy cut ran through the trees and a couple of wisps of smoke trailed lazily into the milk-blue sky.

All in all, an impeccable landing. The forest had looked well dull before anyway, and now it had a sick scar. You’re welcome, forest.

P3 decided that nothing was about to explode, but that the ship was fully inoperational, even if Anakin just wanted to take it on a spin to the nearest mountain range. He acquiesced that the assessment seemed about right, but also loudly proclaimed that P3 was a killjoy and a coward. P3 didn’t seem to care. Anakin kicked a clod of earth in defiance.

The ground was covered in small, stiff leaves from the pointy-looking trees around them. They were waxy little spits that more resembled star stripes than anything useful for photosynthesis.  As he knelt to pick some up, he realised that the entire forest smelt like them – a fresh, emerald sort of smell. They were pretty incredible, for leaves; Anakin had certainly never seen anything like them. He shoved some in a belt pouch.

Now that he was looking at the ground, he noticed wooden, grenade-like things peppered amongst the leaf litter. This forest kept on getting more and more curious. Unfortunately, none of them would fit in his pouches. Jedi really needed some good pockets that could fit any important scientific discoveries in them. It was a severe oversight, in Anakin’s humble opinion.

Something rustled abruptly, snapping Anakin out of his Jedi-like contemplations, seed-pod still in hand. He scanned the surrounding thickets. Plants, plants, leaves, plants, thorny plants…

Claws!

A blur of red flew at his face and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a bush. Batting the wild beast away from his face, he felt himself fall further than anticipated through the undergrowth into empty air. For a suspended moment, all he could see was blue sky and grey rockface. Then his back collided with something that promptly gave way and let him fall onto solid stone.

Perfect.

...

Obi-Wan Kenobi was walking at an unpanicked pace through the halls of the Jedi Temple and casually inspecting child-sized nooks and crannies in a manner completely befitting of a master who knew exactly where his padawan was. He had been doing this for half an hour and wasn’t shaking in the slightest.

He was just doing a routine inspection of the gap between a bronzium statue and a wall when Master Windu walked past, stopped, watched Obi-Wan innocently test the screws on a ventilation covering, and said, “Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sprang upright. “Master Windu.”

“Have you lost your padawan?” Was he really that obvious? No, that couldn’t be it; Master Windu was just unusually perceptive. Perhaps shatter-points were giving him away – nowhere was it written that they didn’t highlight underperforming masters. Even so, it was probably wise not to confirm anything. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was a council member judging his guardianship skills.

“Oh no, not at all. I know exactly where he is.”

Master Windu’s expression was as flat as Anakin’s heart rate would be once this was over. Shatter-points were dirty snitches.

“Thank you for your concern, Master,” added Obi-Wan, respectfully.

Master Windu looked at him dead in the eye for a solid five seconds. Obi-Wan had seen him level a similar look at Qui-Gon several times in the past, and found it unnerving to now be the target. However, Qui-Gon’s experiences taught him that it was best to ride these looks out like a bad spice trip, i.e. with as little motion as possible. How either of them knew what a bad spice trip felt like was irrelevant.

The five seconds were up, only having been slightly uncomfortably stretched, and Master Windu blinked.

“Well,” he said, dryly, “Good luck with your endeavours, Knight Kenobi, whatever they may be.” With one spare glance to the ventilation covering, he continued down the corridor.

Obi-Wan was not naive enough to think himself completely free of suspicion but he was hopeful that nothing would come of it until he could thrust Anakin by the shoulders into Master Windu’s personal space and say ‘See? I have him right here!’ in a serene and Jedi-like manner as if he had nothing to prove. Of course, he would like to prove his capabilities anyway. Just as soon as Anakin was present…

He closed his eyes and fumbled for the Master-Padawan bond that connected him to Anakin. It wasn’t usually strong enough to get much other than vague impressions from, but now it seemed to be stretched thinner than usual, only telling him that Anakin was alive. That was a relief to know, to an extent, but also concerning since there was so little to point him in the right direction. He poked the bond and felt nothing.

Why had he taken on a padawan? Padawans get into fights and then run off and make you worry and then the Council finds out and then you have to try and justify it all and – 

Obi-Wan sighed. Running a hand over his beard, he peered down the hallway that Master Windu had taken. Empty. He could probably make it to the comms centre without any more councilmembers calling him out.

Probably. He was hopeful.

...

“Hilari? Is that you?” 

Anakin looked up from what appeared to be a now-dismantled porch tarp and saw an old man opening the door to its attached house, carved into rock. A tooka was watching him from behind the man’s legs. It meowed indignantly.

“I’ve told you, the awning isn’t designed for tookas.”

“Myaeeh,” complained Hilari.

Anakin, frazzled from both of his unplanned descents and shocked out of his irritation, opened his mouth to apologise because yes, Obi-Wan he is capable of apologising when a middle-aged twi’lek woman materialised.

“Wohrin, what– Oh! Who’s your young friend?”

“You’ve met Hilari before, Mahj–”

“No, the young man covered in your porch. Blond?” 

The man, Wohrin, gave Mahj’s left lek an exasperated look. His eyes were pale the same way Blind Man Mikah’s had been in the bookmaker’s in Mos Espa.

“Mahj,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what colour your hair is, let alone that of whoever it is you’re referring to.”

Mahj shook her head. “I don’t have hair, Wohrin.”

“What?!”

Another twi’lek, who could have been anywhere between fifteen and thirty years old by Anakin’s poor judgement, appeared in order to chip in:

“Yeah, she lost all of her hair when the sky turned red!”

Anakin squinted at the sky… no, it was definitely still blue. Wohrin looked equally confused, which was somewhat reassuring. Somewhat.

“Keht!” snapped Mahj, “Stop lying to people! And no, Wohrin, you know I’m twi’lek; of course I don’t have hair.”

“Twi’leks don’t… Why am I only just learning this? Was no one going to tell me–”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Anakin effectively drew the growing crowd’s attention back to himself. That felt better. Wohrin blinked, only now registering that the crash hadn’t been his tooka after all. “I was in the woods and something jumped out at me and I fell through your… thing.”

“Oh, well,” huffed Wohrin, “Easily done I suppose.”

Anakin clambered to his feet and hopped away from the mess, feeling only slightly guilty.

“Hey what’s with the weird rat-tail, kid?” came a voice from the crowd.

Anakin fixed the human who had asked with a patronising look. He found such looks were incredibly effective when used by children – especially those younglings he was stuck in aurebesh lessons with three years ago. Kriffing infuriating.

“It’s not a rat-tail, it’s a braid. And it shows that I’m a padawan.”

“A what-a-wan?”

“Oh, I know what they are,” chimed another bystander, “One of them beat up my cousin on Alsakan. They’re like really small Jedi.”

“You mean an apprentice?”

“Yeah, only I don’t think they do carving work.”

“Not all apprentices learn stonemasonry, genius.”

Another crowd member interrupted: “Hey, cadaban, have you come to help with the beast?”

That triggered a fervour in the onlookers, all snapping their attention back to him with loud expectation.

“... The what?” Anakin wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was going.

“The beast!” exclaimed the crowd.

“It’s massive–”

“–Taller than me–”

“–Big claws–”

“–In the quarry–”

“–The mine–”

“–Tentacles–”

“–Blue–”

“–Hang on, I thought it was red–”

“–It’s invisible–!”

“–No, it’s not, it’s–”

“–Firebreathing!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” shouted Anakin over the clamour, “Has anyone here actually seen it?” Everyone turned to a tall ovissian, who flinched. “What does it look like?”

“Uh, I didn’t see much of it, just– um, mostly heard crashes and saw– saw rocks falling from the ceiling in the mines. But when I caught a glimpse, it sort of looked all–” He made a vague and thoroughly unhelpful gesture which may have indicated size. Or maybe temperament. “–Y’know?”

Anakin definitely did not know, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the congregation. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said instead. The ovissian sighed with relief. “And what exactly do you need me to do about it?”

One exasperated person shouted from the back. “Kill it of course!” 

“Or at least move it out of the mines,” offered Mahj.

“Yeah, we need the mines or our economy will go to chisk!”

“The entire economy?” Anakin couldn’t imagine mines being quite that important when there was a massive forest right… Huh, it was higher up than he remembered. Right up a stone cliff, the one Wohrin’s home was carved out of.

“The entire economy! We’re a mining town, stone-masons and blacksmiths. Why else would build our houses in a quarry?”

This was the first Anakin had heard of ‘quarries’. Really, the whole trip so far had been quite the broadening of his horizons. He didn’t know why Obi-Wan didn’t take him off-world sooner, he was always promoting this kind of thing. Peculiar. 

That being said, this whole beast business was not what he had been anticipating and the idea of facing an invisible, firebreathing, tentacled monster on his own was suddenly way more terrifying than the plan of facing a horde of smugglers had been. What if it was like the krayt dragons of Tatooine, wild with impersonal ferocity and an appetite for small humans? That would be an incredibly anticlimactic end for the Chosen One; he was fully anticipating his death to be in a great ball of flame, Obi-Wan watching heartbroken as his awesome and flawless apprentice fulfils his destiny. That would be cool. Dying alone in a mine in the middle of nowhere would not be.

“Um… You know, beasts aren’t really my department. And… I don’t have my beast-removal equipment with me right now.” Airtight excuse. Foolproof.

“You’re just scared!” exclaimed someone who nobody asked.

“He’s not even a proper Jedi yet,” added someone else, “There’s no way he could take that thing on by himself, I bet he doesn’t even have a laser-sword!”

“Now, hold on–” All thoughts of avoiding the beast flew out of the metaphorical window. “I never said I wouldn’t do it! I have my lightsaber right here:”

The crowd stepped back as it ignited in his hand. Yeah, that’s right, he wasn’t some dumb initiate and this was his chance to prove it.

...

The comms centre had several private rooms for important calls and conferences. It also had better hardware than the commlinks Jedi took into the field.

Obi-Wan had plugged his own commlink into a rarely-used port in the console and tried to call Anakin. As he had expected, there was no answer. With the right tinkering of the console’s receiver, however, the target signal had been traced to a sparsely populated planet barely a minute up the Corellian Run. Kaidestal.

He fought the urge to slam his head against the console. If there was a licence for padawan ownership, his would be revoked any time now. Truly, he was having a fantastic day.

He wondered how Anakin had even got offplanet and then wondered why he was wondering. At this point, it was suffice to say, ‘Shit’s fucked’ and move on.

After a few moments of meditative breathing, he straightened up, unplugged his commlink, and whisked out of the comms centre. Knowing Anakin, there was little time before something disproportionately drastic happened. Force, what did he do to end up in this position?

Master Plo Koon was easy enough to locate, happening to be beside the bronzium statue Obi-Wan had been inspecting earlier. He watched as Obi-Wan covered the awkwardly long stretch of corridor in order to get within civil conversation range.

“Master Koon, I am taking a short trip to Kaidestal. I shall be back by nightfall.” He gave no reasons, the man of mystery that he was, and Plo didn’t seem to mind. Plo was one of the gentlest councilmembers and therefore the best one to inform of unannounced, unauthorised trips to obscure planets. Perhaps that was exploitative of him. Perhaps his padawan shouldn’t run away.

(Plo was one of the first to hear Mace’s gossip regarding Skywalker’s potential disappearance and therefore knew damn well what Obi-Wan was doing. Plo was not, however, a snitch. Besides, he liked Kenobi – the man had an excellent taste in drinks.)

Master Koon nodded slowly, “That seems reasonable. I’ve heard they do good stone carvings there.”

“Quite,” said Obi-Wan, impatiently – no, Jedi weren’t impatient. He was merely preoccupied.

“There’s a G8 light freighter in the hangar that you can use.” Plo shifted as if to move, but it was really more of an invitation to leave.

“Thank you, Master Koon.” Not at all in the headspace to overstay his welcome, Obi-Wan began to head towards the hangar.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, young one!” Plo called after him.

“Me too,” muttered Obi-Wan under his breath. He wasn’t that young; he was twenty-eight. He was, however, too young to be dealing with feral padawans that made him feel twice his age. Why did he ever pick up Anakin, anyway?

...

The mouth of the mine was carved into the wall at the bottom of the quarry. It was darker than a Tatooinian night and he was being pushed into it by a gaggle of villagers who didn’t seem to notice his apprehension. While this was ideal for the maintenance of his reputation, it also made things move far more quickly than he had wanted.

No matter. He was a Jedi and Jedi faced terrifying monsters head on.

“This beast is gonna wish he never saw me,” he said, bravely, “Coward. Absolute… kriffin’…  clown.”

“What are you doing?”

“Old Jedi trick, it’s called psychological warfare. That beast is no match for Anakin kriffing Skywalker.”

“Is the swearing necessary for psychological warfare?” asked one of the group. “It’s just I brought my daughter along…”

A roar emanated from the mine ahead, echoing terribly. The tall ovissian, now wearing his head miner’s helmet, was shaking more than the nine-year-old behind him. She was delighted by the mine monster and had spent much of the walk loudly exclaiming that she wanted it to eat the entire goddamn quarry. No one else appeared to share her enthusiasm.

“Well,” said the head miner, sounding awfully authoritative, “I think you’ll be able to find your way from here. We need to go. For… health and safety reasons. Yeah, this crowd, in this passageway? Major fire hazard. Need to clear it. I’ll take care of that, you take care of–” Another roar erupted, punctuated by a thud and the sound of rocks falling. “– That.”

Anakin was unimpressed. “Ugh, do you have to have such an aversion to being cool?” He turned to see the group’s response but found the passageway empty. He rolled his eyes. Teenagehood would suit him well, he decided.

Slowly, he took his new lightsaber off his belt. It kind of sucked that his excellent craftsmanship was impossible to see in the gloom. Alone, in the dark, with no eyes on him, he could admit that quite a few things were looking decidedly uncool right now, but Force if he didn’t want to prove Obi-Wan wrong.

He tracked the sporadic tremors to their source, which was conveniently down the single, unbranching passageway in this section of mine. Still, it required a great amount of skill and a lesser man would have walked into five support beams, which was way more than Anakin’s three. He was a credit to the Jedi Order, really, even if they couldn’t see it.

Speaking of, the mine had grown far darker the further he walked until he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. The Force was being unhelpful, merely suggesting ‘forward’, which was a no-brainer. His issue was all of the obstacles involved with ‘forwards’. If only he had packed a light.

Hang on.

Oh, Anakin Skywalker was a genius. Lateral thinking and creative problem-solving had always been his strong point, as currently being demonstrated.

His lightsaber ignited with a kzhhh. Its electric-blue glow lit his maniacal grin in harsh clarity. It also revealed the glinting eyes of something big. The grin dropped from his face as he took five steps backwards.

The passageway had opened into a small cavern without him noticing and the beast barely fit into it. Colours were difficult to make out in eerie saber-light, but its fur appeared as black as the mines, matte with dust. Large tentacles stretched out from its nose, blindly groping the walls and ceiling of the cavern as if trying to judge the environment. Massive, shovelling paws held claws almost as long as Anakin was tall. In short, it resembled a mole.

This meant that, theoretically, Anakin was at an advantage since he was decidedly not blind and had only been known to resemble a mole some of the time.

The beast was also more clumsy than Anakin, knocking support beams left and right. Luckily, none had completely shattered but, judging by their splintering fractures, it was only a matter of time. Time limits were very dramatic; this would be a worthy first mission.

Anakin waved his lightsaber in the vague direction of the mole. It was unbothered. He frowned, put out, and then poked one of its claws. Suddenly, the beast was very bothered. Its nose went from snuffling around to being thrust in Anakin’s face. Apparently it had his scent. Obi-Wan would have blamed it on Anakin’s infrequent use of the shower. Anakin would have responded that he grew up in the desert and then accused him of not caring about wasting water on trivial matters. This would put a glint of annoyance in Obi-Wan’s eyes and Anakin would count it as a victory.

The mole exploited his distraction, dishonourable as it was, yanking him off the ground with a thick face-tentacle and shaking him irritably. He tried hitting the disgustingly writhing mass with the hilt of his lightsaber – ineffective. Then he slashed it with the blade and got catapulted into a wall. His vision failed and the back of his head killed, but he was quickly grabbed by the ankle and dragged across the floor. Massive, sharp claws came swinging at him. This was not good.

Quick, what would Obi-Wan do?

“Hey, you suck!” he shouted, voice wobbling as he dove out of the way of another slash, “No one likes you! You should just stop and go away!”

The mole monster may also have been deaf since it only continued its previous level of violence despite the scathing insults. He dodged a claw, jumping into a swinging tentacle which smashed him into a support beam. Splinters pierced his robes, digging into his right arm as it collided with the beam. His lightsaber flew from his hand and he fell to the ground, spinning to narrowly avoid landing on the hurt arm. All light in the cavern vanished as his saber-blade extinguished.

All of a sudden, the lightsaber argument from that morning felt like a moot point. A lot of things were looking very moot now, in the dark. 

He could hear the shuffle of tentacles searching the floor and the scratching of claws against stone. The mole was snuffling loudly around for him. His arm hurt.

Fighting the urge to curl up by the wall, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked the monster dead where he thought its eye could be. Warm air huffed in his face, blowing his braid back. Everything was still for a moment and then a tentacle whipped around his knees and flipped him upside down into the air. He definitely did not yelp.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting came from the tunnel, then pounding footsteps and then Obi-Wan ran in, illuminating the cavern walls around him. Something intangible yanked Anakin out of the mole’s grasp and into Obi-Wan’s arms. 

Anakin struggled to escape the strong left arm that wrapped across his torso, efficiently immobilising him. “Hey, I had it under control, you know.” He gave up, reaching his good hand out and calling his lightsaber back to it. “Still do, actually.”

“Sure,” replied Obi-Wan, not letting go even as a tentacle lunged at him. He jumped backwards, slashing the support beam that Anakin had dented. They dove into the tunnel as the cavern rumbled. The mole roared back. There was a terrible creaking of splintering wood and then the cavern ceiling fell in. Dust and rock made the air thick.

Quiet.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan from where he was pressed against his chest and saw a strangled sort of sorrow.

“Poor thing,” croaked Obi-Wan. Then he looked at Anakin with a clenched jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those. I could have studied it.”

It was almost enough to make Anakin apologise.

...

Obi-Wan dragged his padawan by his collar until they reached the mine’s entrance. The villagers who had pointed him inside were crowded around and erupted into cheers as soon as they stepped into the light.

One elbowed the head miner playfully. “Told you he was the madawan’s Jedi.”

“Shut up,” said the ovissian, who then raised his voice above the chattering. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your assistance. Uh, what exactly is the status of the, uh…”

“It’s dead,” Obi-Wan replied, bluntly, “And I’m afraid you may also need to reinforce the tunnel’s structural integrity. I apologise on behalf of my padawan –”

“Hey!”

“Of course, he will also apologise himself.”

Their eyes met in a match of wills. Anakin sighed, just loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear, and acquiesced.

“My sincere apologies,” he muttered, bowing shallowly. Obi-Wan had definitely taught him better manners than this; the child was just showing him up. Ungrateful womp-rat.

Fortunately, the villagers weren’t versed in bows and didn’t seem invested in apologies. Most were preoccupied by the mine and the new lack of angry mole. Small blessings, perhaps.

...

After manhandling the still-hot wreck of Anakin’s Aethersprite into the freighter Obi-Wan had brought and flying the brief trip back to the Temple, Obi-Wan was reaching the end of his patience. He left the ships with the hangar’s mechanics and dragged Anakin away from any chance of helping them. Their trip to the Halls of Healing were brief – the healers were efficient in removing the splinters and wrapping Anakin’s arm in bacta-soaked bandages. He only complained about half as much as he usually did.

They marched double-time to their rooms and Obi-Wan locked the door behind him; he could not cope with Anakin sneaking out at night.

“Master?” The voice was small. Obi-Wan tried not to let his ire show in his look. Perhaps if Anakin was squinting it would work. He was not. Instead he was holding out a hand full of pine needles and another with several small pinecones. “While I was on that planet, I found these for you to study. I’ve never seen them before; they could be revolutionary.”

Obi-Wan sighed, not having the heart to tell him that pine trees were fairly common throughout the galaxy. Anakin dropped his revolutionary finds into his hands, having to scrape off some of the pine needles that stuck.

“Thank you, Padawan. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“There were some bigger ones of these,” he added, pointing to the pinecones, “but I couldn’t fit them in my belt and some of the wildlife tried to fight me for them.”

“A squirrel?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see it very well. It was kinda fast. Reminded me of you, a bit.”

“How so?”

“Red,” said Anakin, nodding to Obi-Wan’s head, “And it didn’t like me picking up things off the floor.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “As long as you weren’t trying to eat pinecones.”

“Is that what they’re called?”

“Yes. Although I suppose I’d have to… study them. To make sure.”

Anakin’s face lit up. “Wizard.”

Obi-Wan’s annoyance was almost forgotten. Not quite. He was still a responsible Jedi master, no matter what the Council speculated.

There was a knock on the door. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, who grimaced back. He opened it with very little hesitation.

“Knight Kenobi.” Speak of a Sith…

“Master Windu,” said Obi-Wan, far more brightly than he was feeling.

“Have you located your padawan?”

“Of course; he’s right here, Master.” He pulled Anakin out from behind his legs. Anakin attempted a winning smile, but nerves appeared to crumple it slightly. He had always been intimidated by Master Windu – first impressions were a force to be reckoned with. “I knew exactly where he was.” It was technically true, if you were selective about your timeframe.

Master Windu gave Anakin one of his signature piercing gazes, the kind that seems to expose one’s every weakness and warn against them. Anakin seemed to get the message. Hopefully he would keep it for at least a week before he inevitably threw it out.

“If that’s the case, I won’t need to launch a search party. Good night, Kenobi.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Windu.”

After Master Windu had left and Anakin had gone to bed still shaken from the encounter, Obi-Wan contemplated ditching the Temple and his wayward padawan for Bail Organa’s whiskey collection. Alderaan always made the best whiskey…

...

Art by me, @dib-leo-pard​

#star wars fanfiction #star wars prequels #ao3 fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars

[secretgamergirl]

“What shouldn’t I do to avoid making things worse?”

Just a day or two after I wrote this post, I happened to find myself in a position that did quite the job of reminding me I need to write this one. Someone randomly decided to say something positive about a person I know, and encourage people to check out their creative output. Almost immediately, someone else chimed in to inform them that the person they were giving that plug to is A Bad Person Who You Should Not Promote. When confronted about this, this was of course followed up with That One Link that people always give out when people speak positively about this person, and after a bit of back and forth, the whole post saying the person I know was cool and promoting their stuff was removed.

It's pretty typical for people, particular the farther they are from being a cis allistic abled straight white dude, to have That One Link that "proves" they are A Bad Person Who You Should Not Promote, and they basically all follow the same pattern. It's either a blog post or a dedicated forum thread, it's the length of a novella, it has roughly 200 links to or embedded screenshots of random posts from forums and social media, all of which are old and lacking context, and whenever it’s linked to, there is an unspoken assertion that it is the work of a detective so thorough in their research and uncompromised in their ethics that only a complete monster would question the legitimacy of anything contained within. Also being the sort who routinely does double check, I’ve found the actual contents of such to more or less invariably be a mix of misinformation and petty grievances nobody should care about. The best known example of one of these is probably “The Zoe Post,” and I’m really not the frst person to talk about this sort of crap.

In this particular bit of recent context, the person I know essentially stands accused of getting... into a nasty fight with someone marginalized along significantly fewer axes and far more established in their shared field, using something like a dozen different user names. Setting aside the incredibly skewed power dynamic there and the lack of verification on whether all of those names belong to the same person, and just taking the whole accusation at face value... I don’t particularly understand why I should care. Mind you, when this person first began interacting with me and I immediately got the all the warnings and That One Link, I took a very cautious approach, did a lot of independent research, and really did not at all see the person described in the person talking to me. Not particularly relevant whether that’s due to the whole thing being BS or personal growth happening in the... decade or so that elapsed since That One Post was written.

For some reason though, people consistently get their wires crossed about this sort of thing. Even the people you’d really think would have their heads on straight. I can’t count the number of people I know who constantly sit around pontificating about white supremacy and the patriarchy and the way marginalized people can never make a single mistake or be perceived to, who then constantly play purity police, actively and vocally making sure anyone who gets That One Post written about them is completely cut out of life to the maximum possible extent, until the end of time.

Now mind you, there are totally situations where advocating that everyone shun someone is totally called for. Nazis exist, nazis should totally be exposed as such and treated like garbage. I’d explain who George Zimmerman is if I saw someone pal-ing around with him. Monsters like these. These are pretty good examples of people to badmouth. But you don’t spread the word to everyone you can not to even mention someone just because you don’t like them/had an argument, or have a friend whose behalf you’re acting on, or a celebrity.

All that said, my original plan was to list all the crap like this I personally have to deal with, so let me get to that. Presented here is a partial list, roughly in chronological order, of the many absurd lies people have come up with to rationalize doing everything they can to keep me from ever interacting with anyone. Not one item on this list has ever blown over, nor been too ridiculous to be believed by people I was very close to before they started shunning me over it:

- All the standard smears against trans women are a given. I’m an evil seductrice, I want to sneak into women’s restrooms, turn all the children in the world trans, and am of course a big ugly bearded man in a dress.

- My opposition to murderous nazis and pedophiles is the result of me being paid vast sums of money by George Soros.

- I am a wealthy heiress.

- I have some completely irrational, possibly racially motivated hatred for some random woman I have never interacted with, have no mutual point of contact with, and have never seen anything written or spoken by of any sort.

- I am a dangerous terrorist ringleader trying to murder a long-time friend I constantly speak positively about and defend from various attacks.

- I am not actually a trans woman but in fact a man whose entire life is a vast web of lies.

- I am not actually trans but in fact a cis woman.

- I am secretly a nazi.

- I am an undercover cop from Brazil trying to bring down comumnist revolutionaries by blocking people who send me violent threats on Twitter (and have long conversations with said people despite neither party being able to see the other’s messages).

- I am part of some sort of elite club of pretty popular girls who all eat lunch together at the Cool Kids table or something.

- I am a horrible scolding prude.

- I am a huge slut.

- I am straight.

- Any woman I have ever been friends with I am actually trying to seduce.

- I used to be and maybe still am a member of Something Awful’s forums, and probably also an oldschool 4chan poster.

- I am attempting to destroy Patreon.

- I am running some sort of elaborate scam through Patreon.

- I have longstanding vendettas against an additional 30 or so people whose first names I am supposed to recognize, absolutely no other context apparently needed.

- Name a cause, I’m vocally against it.

- I run a vast media empire.

- I slept with a famous bigot.

- I refused to sleep with a famous bigot.

- I paid a king’s ransom to a famous bigot in exchange for something or other.

- I’m friends with untold numbers of people I’ve never heard of but have been assured are all quite vile and repugnant.

- I am a “pedophile defender,” shouted with no explanation as to what that even means.

Again, there is not an item on that list which, when randomly shouted and blindly repeated, did not cause at least one person I care quite a lot about to cut off all contact with me, without a word of explanation, forever. And there are people who actively scour for anyone ever interacting with me in any way, even as minor as liking a post on twitter, making sure to hit them with as much of this as it takes to keep them from ever having the slightest thing to do with me.

This has, in fact, driven away every friend I ever had (though people let me know if there’s any exceptions who just haven’t checked in in a while), destroyed all my career prospects, has me constantly dealing with dangerous stalkers, violent threats, and violent actions and if I’m really quite honest, when buying a new stopper for my bathtub recently the thought was definitely going through my head that apparently slitting one’s wrists when submerged in warm water is the most painless way to stop being alive.

It’s entirely possible it’s too late for me, but again, people attack people with this sort of garbage constantly, and people who should really know better constantly perpetuate it. So just try to internalize this, and in the future whenever you see someone talking about how someone is A Bad Person Who You Should Not Promote, loudly confront them about it. Make a scene. Everyone should be feeling really awkward when you’re done, and whoever’s giving out the “warning” should be reconsidering their approach to life.

[migleefulmoments]

Holy shit that abbyism you just posted... I can't. Maybe let's ask Darren then? Would Abby be ok with that? Since she's so sure he wants them to be saying he's gay and closeted and that he reads their blogs for support. (Why all the secrecy and /ing then?? Why not @ him and tag him and use his full name????)

Makes you wonder doesn’t it? I also just ran across a post about “DON’T TAG THE PLAYERS”. Obviously they know that letting Darren in on how much they “love and support” him won’t go down well. Abby has to squelch uprisings every so often -usually whenever new meet&greets are announced and ccers think they should whisper cc tropes in Darren’s ear. And I mean why wouldn’t they think that it’s a good idea to offer support and encouragement- a little “we got your back”? Abby goes on and on about how Darren reads every word that is written about him on Tumblr, followers her blog-in fact she has claimed he reads it every day, blah blah blah Yabba Dabba Doo. Listening to her go on and on about the inhumanity of Darren’s life, the loneliness and the manipulation by everyone in his inner circle- including his brother- the only compassionate thing to do is to whisper “We know, we hate PBB as much as you do. We love you and we’ve got your back....Wakanda CC forever”. if for no other reason than to let him knowhe isn’t alone. Darren has pushed back in no uncertain terms against ccers who were rude to Mia and Abby knows he will do it again. The cc house of card will go tumbling after. 

Anonymous asked:

Two things- first, I appreciate you commenting about the negative TSG tweets. I've been avoiding negative commentary on this relationshit in general on my socials because I'm aware enough to realize that D is not in control right now. Publicly dragging him on Twitter and Instagram does nothing. At least in this space it's confined to a specific group of like-minded people. Second- it REALLY irks me that these 2 are out every night. D looks on the verge of collapsing. They NEED to give him rest.

ajw720 answered:

Anon, the FIRST rule of fandom. DO NOT TAG OR CONTACT the players. I get it, people are upset, angry, confused, But frankly it is an asshole move to tag him or the organization on tweeter because you don’t like the bar or that he “married” his beard.  They have a license for entertainment, they can do what they want. I will scream about it regularly here but D should not be known as the proprietor of a sex club and they are slandering his character. But he is clearly not in control.  as I said, NO ONE WOULD CHOOSE THIS NIGHTMARE.  They are making him look so bad, but JFC his team does not need our help in making him look worse. They are doing a stand up job on their own.

Every picture is worse.  I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest every time i see him. This is supposed to be some of the greatest days one one’s life, the afterglow of being newly married and totally indulging in your partner before real life starts to take precedence again.  That man looks like the living dead and fucking exhausted.  

Every person who is responsible for this is guilty of a crime, every damn one of them.  And why they are thinking ruining a person that has worked his ass off for a career for that selfish brat is beyond me. I keep thinking whatever she has threatened is bigger than D, because seriously, who cares if he did drugs or slept with someone to get ahead?  It is NOTHING and would be talked about for one day (please know, I am not saying he has done any of these things, i am just trying to think of what she has on him). A sex tape?  he is consenting adult, release it and get it over with.  Not worth his life (yes i know his partner is a children’s author, but this is D’s LIFE). I could be wrong, but i think it involves someone more powerful than D and something precious was threatened.

I am so damn frustrated and so angry and it is breaking my heart.  I just want to see him get out of this and I want to scream at every person who thinks she is cute or their love is goals. Open your fucking eyes, there is nothing to admire about this horror show and i don’t care whose mother’s daughter’s friend knows him.  She is a BEARD and a malicious one at that who is grievously hurting him.  And not one photo or video made for public consumption is going to change that fact. Look at him, he is dying inside.

cassie1022

I can’t even begin to express how angry I am at the person that thought it was okay to tweet someone in the industry about D owning that bar and thereby sanctioning what happens there. First, he’s made it quite clear when he’s allowed to speak for himself that he doesn’t own it, he’s just the piano man and he didn’t invest his money (smart boy). And, as you said, you NEVER tweet the players directly.

Please God, that this be her last entitlement. He deserves to be free. I hope that he has something work related that will keep him busy for a long while soon. The sad excuse for a team needs to open their eyes and recognize that he’s on the verge of collapse. He’s no good to them if they push him to the breaking point and then tip him over. If famous is what her goal is, let them pick something they want to make her famous for and push it. I’ll support it so long as it’s not fame for being his beard wifey.

flowersintheattic254

Hear hear!! I dislike the tagging and I’m not comfortable with it. I understand the anger. Tbh I’ve gone through it myself, but I don’t condone constantly tagging him. I’m sure he sees it all anyway.

Problem is D is stuck between a rock and a hard place. Forced to promote that place without the control of the direction it took. So he’s stuck with being associated with it. Fake married. I’m not surprised he’s tired and stressed.

I feel like his team spent a year taking his professional reputation and ruining it. They were always pretty bad, but this year has been wrecking ball proportions. They congratulate themselves when he wins awards and then create an inarticulate frat boycaricature of a frat boi and limit the roles he can take.

I don’t understand why people can’t see his team’s mismanagement and M’s selfishness here. He’s being paraded like a trophy. Nothing about this is loving.

God I’m this close to a full on rant.

chrisdarebashfulsmiles

I swear people should totally stop using internet…or at least thinking before acting.

[viralhottopics]

19 Reasons Your Obsession With Dev Patel Is Justified

We need to talk about Dev Patel.

The 26-year-old British Indian actor could walk away with the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his rolein Lion.In the film, Dev plays Saroo Brierley, a man desperately searching for his family in India after being separated from them at the age of 5.

Its a great, fiery performance that deserves recognition in and of itself, but theres another reason were rooting for him. Just read this tweet:

That is a huge deal.On-screen representation matters, and its especially important for Asian actors. According to a 2016 diversity study,Asian actors nabbed only 3.9 percent of speaking roles in film a stark contrast from the 73.7 percent white actors receive.

Thats not the only reason werepulling for Dev to win an Oscar, though. Below, a few reasons why were obsessed with the Oscar-nominated actor:

Before receiving all this Oscar buzz for Lion, Dev was in 2008s massive hit Slumdog Millionaire and was equally amazing in that. Remember when he danced like this and low-key stole your heart?

He was also great on HBOs The Newsroom, playing a blogger and the offices resident computer geek.

He was super cute back then, of course.

AFP via Getty Images

But right around the time of The Newsroom, something began to change. Our nerdy-cute pretend boyfriend started to grow into his looks in a major way. Its like one day the hair gods smiled down at Dev and said, Hey, Slumdog guy, its time to grow out that hair and drive everyone crazy with lust for your locks.

Jason LaVeris via Getty Images

And grow it out he did. The swooshy-hair era began and nothing has been the same since. Dev has pretty much blossomed into full babe mode now.

Then and now: Dev Patel shot by BAFTA in 2009 and 2017 . (L) @ellisparrinder (R) @gregwilliamsphotography . #DevPatel #tbt #throwbackthursday #BAFTAs

A post shared by BAFTA (@bafta) on Feb 23, 2017 at 4:42am PST

Woah, right?

Those curls.

Barcroft Media via Getty Images

Seriously, THOSE CURLS.

And dat smile.

Vera Anderson via Getty Images

He also has a beautiful, classical profile. And the beard is good, too. (Lets give credit where credit is due, guys.)

Hes so good at posing for photo shoots,his side hustle should be modeling. (But please dont stop acting, Dev.)

Then theres his accent. Dev pulls off a pretty convincing Aussie accent in Lion, but his real-life British lilt will melt your heart.

Sigh. Please never stop touching your hair.

All awards season long, Dev has been a big booster of Sunny Pawar, the adorable 8-year-old who plays the younger version of his character in Lion.

Like, he literally boosts him up:

George Pimentel via Getty Images

Sunny very impressively carries the first half of Lion all by himself and Dev gives him credit for that every chance he gets.

Hes so incredible in this film, and I share this nomination with him in a big way, Dev told the Los Angeles Times recently.

Sean Zanni via Getty Images

Dont pretend you werent deeply affected by the cuteness of their introduction ofLion at the Golden Globes.

Same, girl, same.

Whos he taking to the Oscars? Apparently, his mom, Anita. Thats her moment, he told the LA Times.Im her guest.

Daww. Here they are at a 2009 British awards party.

Dave M. Benett via Getty Images

Gotta love a man who respects his mama.

We also want him to win because were positive hed be so humble and bashful during his acceptance speech. Just look at how he reacted to his name being called for his SAG award nomination.

And in spite of all the Oscar buzz surrounding him, Dev realizes were living in politically tumultuous times and theres weightier things happening in the world right now. Heres whathe told the LA Timeson the SAG Awards red carpet:

At times like this, youre constantly questioning what youre doing at awards like this or promoting a movie. It feels so pointless. I look to the people around me and they remind me the message of this film, of the art were trying to inject into the world right now. Its about unification, he added.When I think about that, it makes me have a little bit more strength.

Oh, and another thing: Hes an animal lover. (Dev + doggo = happy us. And loud squee-ing noises,to be honest.)

On another shallow note,boy fills out a suit quite well.

Desiree Navarro via Getty Images

And in case you were wondering, he has a mean street-style game, too.

Brian Ach via Getty Images

Were in good company in our Dev devotion. Ellen DeGeneres gave himthe title ofSexiest Man Alivewhen he visited the show back in January. So well deserved, even if Dev was like, Aw, shucks, me?

And his Lion co-star Nicole Kidmanrecognizes his swag as well.

Dave J Hogan via Getty Images

Watch out, Keith Urban.

Heck, even his ex-girlfriend and Slumdog Millionaire co-star Freida Pinto gave him props on Instagram for his Best Supporting Actor Oscar nom.

So proud of you, Dev! A fine example of what hardwork, focus, humility and crazy amazing talent rewards one with .Long time coming, so well deserved! @lionmov @theacademy #Oscars2017 #OscarNominations2017 #bestactorinasupportingrole

A post shared by Freida Pinto (@freidapinto) on Jan 24, 2017 at 9:39am PST

So clearly, hes best supporting ex-boyfriend, too.

Now would be a good time to mention what a ridiculously good-looking couple they were a few years back.

Jason LaVeris via Getty Images

So pretty.

Lastly, Devs work on Lion didnt end when he was done filming.Hes been busy promoting#LionHeart, a social impact campaign which will provide financial support to the over 11 million children who live on the streets of India. Heres our boy asking people to contribute:

In conclusion, Dev Patel is a super talented actor and a stand-up guy with amazing hair.

Cheers to you,Dev. Were pulling for you and your epic curls Sunday night!

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#19 Reasons Your Obsession With Dev Patel Is Justified