#in this snippet

[padme-amitabha]

Anidala Week 2025: Day 3 (Everything Goes Sideways/Role Reversal AU)

A Star Meant for the Sky

Padmé Amidala Naberrie had always believed in stars. She believed in stories too - tales spun by her mother in the dusky kitchens of their modest estate on Naboo. Stories of queens and warrior-priestesses, of lost Jedi temples and forgotten prophecies, of girls born under ill-fated moons who defied the storm.

She was no queen then. Just a senator’s daughter, all wide eyes and restless heart. Even as a child, Padmé was the sort to slip from elaborate dinners and courtly lectures, vanishing into the city streets to help patch storm-torn roofs or bring water to homes when the rivers ran too high. The palace called her reckless. Her father called her headstrong. Her mother, long before she passed, had called her brave.

And so she served. At thirteen she volunteered with Naboo’s relief corps during a season of floods, tending the sick with hands far too small to hold so much grief. At fourteen she delivered speeches before the Assembly, calling for reparations for the Outer Rim settlers no one else cared to remember. She threw herself at every battle she was allowed, dreaming not of ballrooms but of stars and of the war-torn, impossible galaxy beyond them.

She would have stayed on Naboo forever, had it not been for the Jedi.

Qui-Gon Jinn came to Theed for a matter of trade - or at least that was what he told the Council. There were stirrings in the Force, strange fractures in fate’s tapestry and he followed them like a wolf chasing smoke.

He found her in the palace’s south atrium, speaking to a group of healers about transport routes for the northern sick.

And he felt it.

A hum. A shiver in the Force, ancient and aching.

When Padmé turned toward him, it felt like the stars themselves shifted in their cradle.

“You feel it too,” she murmured, though she did not know what she meant.

Qui-Gon’s throat worked. “Who are you?”

“Padmé Naberrie,” she said. “Daughter of Ruwee. I’m nobody.”

But she wasn’t.

Within days, he’d convinced her family, an impossible task by all rights. The Naberries were protective, bound by tradition. No child of theirs had ever become a Jedi. The Council itself refused at first, citing her age, her attachment to her homeworld, the unorthodox method.

But Qui-Gon was not a man who bent easily. He brought them an artifact. An ancient, weathered sketch rendered by the Jedi seers of old. The child of prophecy, the one who would bring balance to the Force. The face in the drawing was soft, feminine, marked by eyes like twin stars and a necklace shaped like a crescent moon.

It was Padmé.

“She was born for the stars,” Qui-Gon told them. “The Force speaks through her.”

And in the end, in fear or in hope, they let her go.

She trained on the move, because the Council never fully approved. It was unorthodox. Dangerous, even. But Qui-Gon would have it no other way. She learned saber stances in the cargo bays of old freighters, Force meditation in open fields beneath alien moons.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon’s senior apprentice, grumbled at first. He thought her too reckless, too headstrong, too willing to chase the impossible. But in time, she charmed even him.

“Maker help me,” he’d sigh when she talked her way into yet another diplomatic squabble or leapt without thinking. “She’s worse than you, Master.”

And Qui-Gon would smile, weary but proud. “She’s better.”

Their little mismatched family - a tired, stubborn Master, an exasperated older brother figure and a teenage girl made of starlight and ruin - drifted through the galaxy, chasing skirmishes and lost artifacts, bringing peace where they could.

Padmé loved them fiercely.

And then there was Alderaan.

It was a routine mission, escorting a prince to Tatooine to negotiate with the Hutts. Padmé didn’t care for nobility but the war made for strange alliances and this child was apparently important enough for the Jedi to intervene.

She found him in the palace gardens.

Nine years old. Blond curls mussed from the wind. A face too solemn for his years. He was sitting cross-legged beneath a tree, staring at the stars beyond the dusky sky.

“You’re not from here,” he said, without looking up.

Padmé raised a brow. “Neither are you, technically.”

He glanced at her then. And the world cracked a little.

“I saw you,” the boy said softly. “In a dream. You had a crown made of light and the stars listened to you.”

She should have laughed. Should have brushed it off as a child’s fancy.

But something in his gaze - a storm, a knowing - made her chest ache.

“I’m Padmé,” she offered, crouching beside him. “And you must be the Prince.”

He smiled, crooked and shy. “I’m Anakin.”

“Prince Anakin of Alderaan,” she teased.

“I’m just Ani,” he said. “And I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Padmé laughed then, a startled, real thing. The boy’s cheeks flushed crimson but he grinned anyway.

She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Careful, Ani. The galaxy’s a dangerous place for princes with big hearts.”

He beamed up at her. “It’s okay. You’ll protect me.”

And stars help her, she already wanted to.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And there you go: a little snippet of my Role Reversal Anidala AU! I’ve always loved the concept of Jedi!Padmé trained by Qui-Gon so I had to write it with Padmé as the main character at the heart of the story. In this AU, Anakin is the prince of Alderaan and Breha’s step-brother. I’ll be expanding this into full scenes and posting the whole thing properly on my AO3 sometime soon (along with prompts from the whole week) but for now, here’s a tiny tease because the prompts this year are too interesting not to join in. Hope you enjoy this dreamy little start!

@anidalaweeks

[writersbloxx]

Body Language

When someone is...

Sad

Face/Body:

Avoidant/reduced eye contact

Drooping eyelids

Downcast eyes

Frowning

Raised inner ends of eyebrows

Dropped or furrowed eyebrows

Quivering lip/biting lip

Wrinkled nose

Voice:

Soft pitch

Low lone

Pauses/hesitant speech

Quiet/breathy

Slow speech

Voice cracks/breaking voice

Gestures/Posture:

Slouching/lowered head

Rigid/tense posture

Half formed/slow movement

Fidgeting or clasped hands

Sniffing or heavy swallows

Self soothing gestures (running hands over the arms, hand over heart, holding face in palms, etc)

[aiweirdness]

“Slopsquatting” in a nutshell:

1. LLM-generated code tries to run code from online software packages. Which is normal, that’s how you get math packages and stuff but

2. The packages don’t exist. Which would normally cause an error but

3. Nefarious people have made malware under the package names that LLMs make up most often. So

4. Now the LLM code points to malware.

https://www.theregister.com/2025/04/12/ai_code_suggestions_sabotage_supply_chain/

[pangur-and-grim]

Belphie got to join me on an important business call today

[eggwishing]

I ONCE TRIED TO WASH THAT SCUFFED OLD THING WHILE HE WAS TAKING ONE OF HIS NAPS, BUT WHEN I TOOK IT OFF HE WAS WEARING ANOTHER IDENTICAL ONE UNDERNEATH! AND ANOTHER! I GOT THROUGH TEN MORE LAYERS OF THE SAME THING BEFORE HE WOKE UP. I WAS SO FRUSTRATED! WHERE DID HE EVEN GET THOSE FROM? THEY ALL EVEN HAD THE SAME STAINS!!

[paperlit]

We as a fandom moved way too fast past this:

And this:

[maiko-coy]

I think they'll get along quite well, actually...

[akindplace]

I hope you get all the rest you need. Even if you spent a quieter day and didn’t feel productive, please allow yourself to rest without guilt or shame for not “earning” it. You don’t have to burn yourself out to prove that you need rest. It’s a very human thing to need sleep, to need a break, to need nourishing, to want to take some personal quiet time. Please allow yourself to rest. Even if it’s “too early” to go to bed, even if you spent all day in bed trying to recover from anything. If your body needs sleep, please allow yourself to have it, there should be no rules as to earning sleep.

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

CW: Aphrodisiacs, Dubcon, Cervix Penetration

Imagine dating a monster whose saliva acts a potent aphrodisiac. Cumming endlessly on their thick tongue as it rams your cunt and twists within your womb. The flood of slick pouring out of your cunt mixing deliciously with their saliva.

They can’t fit their cock inside you but they’ll be damned if they don’t stuff your womb.

The worse is the aftermath. Their aphrodisiac saliva now covers your cunt inside and out. Creating an itch of throbbing arousal that can’t be abated. Your monster boyfriend watches amusedly as you spend the rest of the day trying to be productive. Catching you rutting against pillows and table corner.

You beg for their tongue once more and it smiles. You will be stuck in this lewd cycle for as long as you’re addicted to its tongue. 

[afloweroutofstone]

Hannah Arendt, who fled Germany in 1933, later wrote that long before Jews, Roma, gays, Communists and others could be herded into death camps, they had to be “denationalized” — excluded from the society that guaranteed their legal rights. Enlightenment thinkers had posited that just by virtue of existing, each person has inalienable rights. Arendt, however, observed that the “right to have rights” could be guaranteed only by a political community. Without a state to claim them as their own, people have no laws, no courts and no political mechanisms for protecting rights.

Arendt once said that “the generally political became a personal fate when one emigrated.” As a stateless person, she experienced that loss of rights — unable to get papers, hiding from the police, interned as an enemy alien in France — before making it to the United States. She was lucky. Her friend Walter Benjamin committed suicide in his eighth year of exile, when the French authorities blocked him from crossing the border ahead of advancing German troops...

A country that has pushed one group out of its political community will eventually push out others. The Trump administration’s barrage of attacks on trans people can seem haphazard, but as elements of a denationalization project, they fall into place...

The message, consistent and unrelenting, is that trans people are a threat to the nation. The subtext is that we are not of this nation...

The rights the Trump administration is taking away from trans people are relatively new. Only in the past few decades, for example, have clear legal procedures existed for changing the gender marker on identity documents, and only in the past few years have federal and some state authorities made the process fairly easy. But before transgender, gender-nonconforming and intersex people were recognized as a group — or groups — of people who had rights, many could blend in, fly below the radar. Now, in their new rightlessness, they are exposed...

Living with documents that are inconsistent or at odds with your public identity is no small thing. It can keep you from opening a bank account, applying for financial aid, securing a loan, obtaining a driver’s license and traveling freely and safely inside a country or across borders. I was once detained in Russia after a routine road check because an officer thought I was a teenage boy using his mother’s driver’s license.

It’s not just American identity documents that are being scrambled. Like all things American, Trump’s denationalization campaign affects people far beyond the United States. In late February, Secretary of State Marco Rubio issued visa guidelines, ostensibly designed to keep foreign trans athletes from competing in the United States, that seem to direct consular officers to deny entry to anyone whose gender markers appear different from their sex assigned at birth.

The new regulations require visitors, when filling out the paperwork to cross the border into the United States, to indicate the sex they were assigned at birth. Lucien Lambertz, a German curator who is trans and was planning a professional trip to the United States, told me they worried that they would be denied entry if they complied, indicating a birth sex different from the gender marker in their passport, but also if they didn’t comply.

Lambertz emailed the Foreign Ministry in their country to ask for guidance. “The issue is the subject of tense discussions here at the ministry, and your concerns are absolutely understandable,” the response read, in part. Ordinarily, the Foreign Ministry would suggest asking the U.S. Embassy, but by doing so, as the letter noted, Lambertz “would then ‘out’ yourself to them.”

Trans and nonbinary Germans fear that their country’s incoming conservative government may take its cues from the Trump administration. Far-right parties, ascendant in Germany and other European countries, have made the specter of “gender ideology” a centerpiece of their politics.

“Something has changed,” Heinrich Horwitz, a German choreographer, told me. Horwitz, who is nonbinary, was recently assaulted at the main train station in Vienna. The attacker was demanding to know whether Horwitz was “a girl or a boy.” Before they could make out what the attacker was saying, Horwitz instinctively tucked the Star of David they wear around their neck inside their shirt. “I thought that would be safer.” Horwitz, who was born in Munich in 1984, is the child of a Holocaust survivor. “I grew up with this idea that I could always go to the U.S. if the Nazis came back,” they told me. That no longer seems like an option.

You know how this column is supposed to end. I rehearse all the similarities between Jews in Germany in 1933 and trans people in the United States in 2025: the tiny fraction of the population, the barrage of bureaucratic measures that strip away rights, the vilifying rhetoric. The silence on the part of ostensible allies. (Trump spent about five minutes of his recent address to Congress specifically attacking trans people and 10 minutes attacking immigrants; the Democratic rebuttal mentioned immigrants once and trans people not at all.) Then I finish with the standard exhortation: The attacks won’t stop here. If you don’t stand up for trans people or immigrants, there won’t be anyone left when they come for you.

But I find that line of argument both distasteful and disingenuous. It is undoubtedly true that the Trump administration won’t stop at denationalizing trans people, but it is also true that a majority of Americans are safe from these kinds of attacks, just as a majority of Germans were. The reason you should care about this is not that it could happen to you but that it is already happening to others. It is happening to people who, we claim, have rights just because we are human. It is happening to me, personally.

[the-modern-typewriter]

"Please."

The villain raised an eyebrow, but didn't otherwise look up from their desk. "You can walk out of that door any time, darling. I'm not stopping you."

"I'd come back. It wouldn't - I don't want to break our deal."

"You don't want the consequences of breaking our deal. You absolutely want to break it."

"People are dying," the hero snapped. "I can help."

"Mm, of course you can. You're a miracle on legs."

"I'm just suggesting a pause," the hero said. "A temporary change of terms. That's all."

"And I'm just saying no."

The hero stopped on the other side of the table, fingers digging into the fine wood in an effort to control their temper. They took a deep breath. Released. Another.

"I'm still yours," the hero said. "I'd still be yours."

"Always. But N-O spells no."

"I'm begging," the hero said, through gritted teeth.

"Is that what that is?" The villain finally deigned to glance up. Their eyes - a dark and stormy night for all bad things to happen in - did not match their light tone. The amused curve of their slight smile. "Gosh. Your standards are slipping. You're not even kneeling or anything."

"Would you say yes if I knelt?"

The villain's head tipped to one side. "No," they said, after a long moment. "But I'd sincerely appreciate the view. Perhaps it might even distract you from this latest bout of self-loathing."

"Screw you."

"But it's so much more fun when you do it, dear."

"This is serious!"

The villain scoffed and merely pointed a finger at the door, expectant and waiting.

The hero's jaw clenched hard enough to hurt but they didn't move.

"Mm," the villain said. "Are you kneeling or are we done here?"

The villain could have lied, they knew that. They could have pretended there was a chance that they'd say yes. They could have offered false hope, only to rip it away again once they'd had their fun.

In the grand terms of their arrangement, the villain had done absolutely nothing wrong. They were even, in their own particular way, being kind.

There was a bitter taste in the hero's mouth.

"It's bad out there," they said, voice cracking. "People need me. They could - maybe it could be fun. You've never played at saving the world, have you? We could do it together. Go together. It could be an experiment. A game."

"Perhaps," the villain shrugged. "But I don't think that would be very good for your mental health."

"This isn't very good for my mental health!"

The villain simply looked at them.

The hero could leave. They could end the deal at any time.

But, then, the villain would simply leave too. An apocalypse slipping free of its gilded cage. The horrors on the TV would seem mild compared to the fight to come.

"I could be back in an hour," the hero said. "You wouldn't even notice I was gone."

"And I could end the world by lunch time," the villain said. "You'd be dead before you had time to be too distressed. What's your point?"

"You really don't care what's happening out there?"

"No."

"You have to care."

"I don't."

"If you're worried I'd get hurt-"

"-I'm not. I'd slaughter anyone who tried to hurt you before they got the chance."

The hero's mouth dried. Their fingers flexed on the table. They wanted to scream. Fight. Throw things.

The villain leaned back in their chair and sighed, at whatever they read on the hero's face.

"You are saving the world, love," they said. "You're here. With me. Do I need to prove that I still have teeth?"

"No," the hero said. "I - no. Thank you."

The villain nodded, just once. "Good. Come here."

"It's okay. I - I'm okay."

"You're not. Come here."

Feeling foolish, and furious, and raw, the hero rounded the desk. The villain's arm wrapped around them, pulling them close. The grip was painfully tight, mercifully impossible to wriggle free from, and so the hero had to settle against them. They could hide the prickle of tears against the deceptively vulnerable line of the villain's neck.

They stayed like that until the hero could no longer hear the screaming beyond the window.

[writersbloxx]

Body Language

When someone is…

Nervous/Anxious

Face:

Darting eyes/avoiding eye contact

Rapid blinking

Tense jaw

Looking upwards when talking or fixing eyes on a more distant point

Furrowed (or raised) brows

Frowning

Blushing 

Micro-expressions- quick/short facial expressions like suddenly widening their eyes or a brief grimace

Voice:

Shaky or trembling

Higher pitch or thin

Breathy

Wavering

Raspy or slightly cracked

Hesitant

Speaking quickly or stuttering

Choppy (many pauses in speech)

Shorter, clipped words (staccato)

Gestures/Posture:

Tense, closed off stance

Hunched shoulders

Body is stiffened

Crossed arms

Fidgeting

Touching clothes

Cracking knuckles

Bouncing knee

Subtly covering their mouth

[anbaisai]

idol au 2.0 jamimayu starts with jamil wondering who is this pathetic wet cat here to waste his time (more AU details under the cut)

Mayu: Member of an up-and-coming fresh new girl group, voluntold to be the rapper because nobody volunteered and management decided to just Pick Someone 💀 (they also refused to let her decline)

Jamil: Solo artist under the same management company. Talented singer, rapper, and dancer. Left home to pursue his career because he wasn’t happy with the life his parents had planned for him. Refused to join any group because he either makes it on his own, or not at all. Writes & produces his own songs and is extremely perfectionistic. Later on has help assigned to him by management, but is known to be difficult to work with because of his strict standards. On a bit of a break right now.

Has a Vil-Neige like situation with Kalim, who is also from the same company but more popular and well-liked despite being less skilled than him and Jamil hates it. (Also because Kalim’s kind of a nepo baby that the company often allocates more resources to.)

(Credit to @/ninatheshopkeeper for helping me come up with the solo artist Jamil concept!)

Overall premise

Mayu gets voluntold to be the rapper but, unfortunately, has very little experience and urgently needs to be trained before her group releases more music.

Management calls on Jamil to assign him as Mayu’s mentor (to humble him), which he very much declines immediately, but some way or another they pressure him into doing it. Probably holds something in his contract over his head. To say he's displeased would be an understatement.

Not the best impression of each other at their first meeting. Mayu very awkwardly politely bows to her senpai while Jamil lifts his sunglasses to stare/half glare at her before responding, thinking she looks like such a pathetic wet cat. Mayu thinks this guy absolutely hates that he needs to help her (she would be correct). Management refuses to pick someone else for the job so they're essentially stuck together.

Jamil deliberately puts her through Merciless Training From Hell as an attempt to pressure her so hard that she asks for someone else or gives up, because he genuinely didn't want this job, he has other better stuff to do.

Somehow, however, she manages to keep up with his demands and does all the assigned homework, and is overall very diligent and hardworking. She's trying so hard under the assumption that he’s being tough on her for her own sake, but in reality he uh... literally just hates “babysitting duty" 💀

After a while he feels kinda guilty about it. And maybe a teensy bit impressed that she’s been keeping up with demands. (And later unfortunately just a bit proud to watch her improve under his instruction). But he’s too prideful to back down now so he just… keeps doing the same thing. 

Mayu has like a mini sulking episode at some point bc she thinks it’s her problem that she's slow and can't do everything he asks and he’s like 🧍‍♂️

He ends up making her something as like "reward for the hard work" (bro feels bad but can't admit it) and she sniffles and says “This is surprisingly good, I didn’t know you could cook” to which he responds "What, you thought I had no life skills just because I’m an idol?"

The mentorship continues, but interspersed between training sessions are more moments where he’s actually… kinda nice to her and gives encouraging feedback, and also some treats here and there. It’s actually kind of nice to work with each other now. Jamil Viper, have you gotten soft 🤨

[elizaisdunn]

anakin on clone wars deployment :

[orpheeeeus]

Arthur: So what. You're not going to help my sister, your friend, because some dragon told you that she might turn evil one day, in a far away future?

Merlin: No, he told me that she will kill you, or that she will be responsible of your death. Morgana will betray you. I can't let her do that. I have to protect you

Arthur: *worry evident* A dragon told you that. A dragon… And… Are you sure you can trust it, this dragon?

Merlin: He's a him, not an it. *not looking at arthur* And… who else could I trust?

Arthur: *tears in his eyes. Take a deep breath, trying but failing to keep his mouth from curling downward* Me? *voice breaks* You could trust me?