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hazelsmirrorball · 1 year

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Bad idea right? Jason Todd x Fem! reader

pairings: Ex! Jason Todd x Fem! Reader

Summary: Jason hits his ex girlfriend up

Warnings: suggested language, exes, english isn’t my main language

a/n: I’m back! Wrote this in my literature class bored as hell. Hope you guys like it.

[MASTERLIST]

Y/n pushed past the sweaty bodies as she attempted to keep herself steady after drinking everything people offered her on the bar. Ever since her single days started, everyday has been the same. Bing watching TV shows while eating ice cream. So when her friends came to her apartment and forced her to hang out, her routine was off the rails. She was really fucked up after she decided to have a shot. Because one became two and two became seven. She missed having fun. She missed hanging out with her friends. Y/n loved to hang out with them but being in a relationship made it pretty hard. She would usually spend her nights worrying if her boyfriend, well ex boyfriend, was going to come back alive.

But now, It’s been four months since she had ended things with Jason Todd and she could do whatever she wants. She didn’t have to spend those nights wide awake waiting for him. She didn’t have to clean his wounds. Things were different now, she was her top priority. If you asked her if she was over him, she would answer without a doubt no. But her actions would say otherwise.

Obviously she still cared for Jason. They had dated for four years and the thought of getting married would pass the couple's mind. But the last few months of their relationship, Jason got distant and Y/n couldn’t even recognize him anymore. So their little talk became a fight and ended up with them breaking up. She did miss Jason. His sweet smile, his supportive aura and just him. She still loved him and four months and alcohol won’t change that. So when her phone started ringing the ringtone she assigned him she found herself pushing past the people worrying something was wrong with him.

As Y/n headed to the other side of the bar she pulled out her phone from her back pocket noticing the number that was calling her. Her finger hovered over the answer button hesitating if it was a good idea to answer. This was supposed to be a girls night, Jason was not supposed to be in the picture. If she answered she wouldn’t hear the end of it. She was supposed to be over Jason. Jason should be blocked. Pictures should be deleted. But there she was debating on answering her ex-boyfriend's late night call. When Y/n looked back down she noticed that Jason had stopped calling and had opted to send her a text. Her face lit up from the light that was coming out of the phone. Four text messages.

Hey Y/n.

Just wanted to check up on you. I haven't heard anything about you in a minute.

I have a new apartment so if you want to pass by.

I’m all alone and needing company.

Y/n felt a shiver around her body as she reread the message. Was there something encrypted in those text messages? Jason hadn’t attempted to talk to her ever since they broke up. Why was trying to act like everything was fine? She was aware that they were done. Y/n knew they were through but reading those messages made her feel something. She shouldn’t be doing this. They were broken up and it was for a reason. Jason hadn’t made an effort before, why come around all of a sudden. It wasn’t one of her greatest ideas. She was having fun, here, with her friends. Without Jason. But part of her thought she could have a better time with him.

“Fuck. Seeing him tonight. Is a bad idea right?” Y/n said to herself as she reread the message once again. When Y/n finally pushed past the sea of people she pull the door to the outside of the bar open. Turning the phone off she let out a muffled scream pulling on her hair. She let out a sigh as she started pacing back and forth taking in her options.

“Should I go? Like yes, I know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect? I only see him as a friend. We are friends? Friends can hang out.There’s no tension. Okay that literally is the biggest lie I’ve ever said. This is literally a late night booty call. I can’t lie to myself and act like I don’t want to go. But after all the shit I’ve said if I go I would hate myself for it. But if I don’t go I’ll also hate myself for it. Seeing him tonight. Is a bad idea right? Yes, no, maybe? You know what. Fuck it, it’s fine” She yelled to herself as she called a cab and reading the address to the driver.

Y/n L/n has regretted doing a lot of things in her life. But sitting at the back of the taxi car wanting for her to be dropped off at Jason’s house, made her think. She couldn’t name the list of things she has regretted doing but she could name things she didn’t regret doing and that was standing outside of Jason Todd’s apartment.

There he was. Jason Todd, in all his glory. Smiling at her with the smile she had fallen deeply for. She could say she had seen hotter men but seeing him with some loose sweatpants laying on his hips made her feel things she couldn’t even explain. God, when she looked at him her brain just said nonsense and she couldn’t even read her thoughts. All she could think of was the things that were going to happen once she entered that room.

“It’s nice seeing you, Y/n. You look good” Jason replied, pulling her into a hug. Y/n happily hugged him back taking in his strong cologne making her fall into a deeper trance. She could feel Jason rub her lower back as she hid her face on his neck not wanting to let go. They stood like that for a few minutes but the cool breeze from the Gotham night made them pull away. Jason leaned back against the door letting her scoot past him. Y/n walked in looking around analyzing the apartment. Noticing the alcohol empty bottles all around the room made her think that Jason was in the same state as her. His apartment was small, if you were in the kitchen you could take two steps and you would be in his room. So there they were. Jason sat at the edge of the bed and Y/n sat closely next to him.

“So, how are things? How is the family?” Jason asked as he looked forward, not daring to look at her. Y/n blinked several times, getting annoyed. Regretting for an instant being here.

“Just kiss me already, Jay” Y/n replied, turning towards him. At the sound of the nickname that he missed hearing the past few months. Jason picked Y/n up by the waist with ease desperately kissing her lips. Hunger. That’s what it felt kissing each other after four months. None of them wanted to lose each other. Y/n bit his lips and Jason gripped on her waist probably leaving his mark there. She pushed him harshly against the bed letting his lips go. She looked down at him, noticing his unsteady breathing. Jason sent her a loopy smile her way and all she could think about was that she didn’t regret being here. She only saw him as a friend, tripping and falling into his bed.

No, it wasn’t a bad idea.

…

Y/n groaned as she turned to the side searching for her ringing phone. When she finally got a hold of it she noticed Jason's strong grip on her. She hid a smile as Jason parted lips let out little snores, his eye furrowed unintentionally. For a second Y/n forgot the rigging phone in her hand as her eyes wandered on Jason's bare chest. Her finger traced on top of Jason’s scars. Jason's eyes fluttered open glaring at her playfully. Y/n snapped back to reality moving her phone towards her eyes answering quickly.

“Finally! Where the hell are you, girl?” Y/n friend exclaimed loudly as Y/n pulled the phone away trying not to hear her that loudly.

“I decided to go to bed early. That’s all” Y/n responded while hearing her friend letting out a sigh of relief. As she did that Jason let out a chuckle gaining her friends attention.

“Wait, is there someone with you? Y/n” she exclaimed once again before Jason could say anything Y/n covered his mouth.

Even if it wasn’t a bad idea, her friends didn’t have to know she was under Jason Todd sheets.

[MASTERLIST]

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lilspacewolfie · 8 months

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would it be possible to do a cardinal copia x reader first date but the day of the date copia ends up forgetting due to a stressful day, and expects them to be mad but ends up telling copia its ok and ends with them cuddling copia and making sure he gets a good night sleep.

Thank you for being my first request! I really hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it! <3

Content: 1.6k words, gn!reader, very little description to keep it as gender-neutral as possible, soft copia, failed date, sweet ending, just all around very soft and fluffy, no beta we die like nihil!

The little Italian place in town is quaint and surprisingly busy given its midweek. It’s a small hole in the wall, cramped but lively, with beautifully arched windows and candles dotting each table that give off a warm, intimate ambience.

Arranging a date with Copia had proven to be tougher than expected with both of your busy schedules. But when you managed to figure out the time, Copia had insisted on this place.

You arrived early—about thirty minutes to be exact, not wanting to be late for your first date. You’ve gotten all dressed up and probably spent a little more on a new outfit than is warranted for a first date, but you want to make a good impression.

There’s faint music playing above you, slow and swaying. You try not to think about how long you’ve been sitting there, growing increasingly more awkward as the minutes tick by. When you finally do give in and pull out your phone to check the time, you can’t help but feel a bit troubled. It’s close to seven. Anxiety rolls through you like a storm cloud and you swallow, debating on sending him a message. You had agreed to meet at six so you could eat, and then have enough time to take a casual stroll to the Ministry together. You had hoped to enjoy the spring air, but now that's starting to feel like a dream that sadly won't come true.

You slip your phone back into your pocket and lean on a fist, drumming your fingers anxiously atop the red and white check tablecloth. It’s probably nothing, he’s a busy man, after all. Maybe he just got held up with some last-minute things. So then why hasn’t he texted?

Copia is the last man you would expect to stand anyone up without reason, and you know he would alert you if he was running late. He’s sweet and thoughtful—you’ve been with him for long enough to gather that he’s one to commit a bit of self-flagellation when he thinks he’s messed up.

Around you, couples cosy up and laugh, sip wine together and indulge in the restaurant's luscious food that smells divine. Your jealous stomach growls and you swallow thickly when the waitress approaches you for the second time that evening. You can see on her face that she’s hesitant to ask if you’re ready to order, and there’s something akin to pity in her eyes. Not that you need it.

You’re staring at the rose in the little red vase on the table when she asks: “Are you ready to order?”

Maybe he isn’t coming. Maybe he forgot? No, no, that's a stupid thought. Even Copia would tell you that himself. You’re a priority to him.

An idea hits you.

“Actually,” you say, turning over your laminated menu, “I think I am.”

She smiles, pulling out a little flip book and a pen.

—

The Ministry is quiet when you make it back, carrying hot, precious cargo in a white paper bag. Your footfalls echo on the marble floor as you traverse the old halls, passing preserved paintings, stone statues of your Dark Lord and stained glass windows that bathe the halls in colour even at night.

You know where Copia’s office is located, near Imperators just down the hall, and so you make your way over. When you get there the hallway is darkened, but you see exactly what you expected. His door is closed and there’s a thin slither of light spilling from beneath onto the oak flooring. So, he has been held up.

When you knock, loud enough to be heard but receive no response, worry sits heavy in your chest. You knock again and wait, but still, there’s no response. Your gaze falls to the brass doorknob which you grasp and turn, the door creaking a bit when it’s open.

Inside is warm, the light from the beautiful Tiffany-styled lamp bathing the room in a cosy orange. His desk is at the far end in front of a massive arched window and there’s a stack of papers on his desk. When you do finally see him, you’re suddenly not vexed or hurt anymore. In fact, you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

Copia is snoring softly, slumped over his old desk with his pen still balanced in hand. He looks so peaceful that you don’t want to wake him, but you know his back and shoulders won’t be thanking him tomorrow if you don’t.

Carefully you close the door, tiptoe over to the front of his desk and set the paper takeaway bag on the chair. When you round to his side and get a good look at him, you bite your lip again and something uncoils in your chest. The black paint around his eyes is a bit smudged and his handsome face is picturesque, the wrinkles across his forehead softened by the light.

You touch his arm first, squeezing and rubbing his bicep through his red cassock. You rest your other hand on his wild, mousy brown hair that's sticking up and stroke it down gently.

“Copia?” You whisper, shaking him a bit.

He stirs, inhaling and stiffening before his mismatched eyes blink open. He’s awake in an instant, flustered and a bit out of it, and you step back to let him get his bearings.

“Amore?” He blinks at you a few times, forcing himself to sit up in his leather desk chair. He glances at the clock above the door, then at you, then back at your clothes and his shoulders slump. You watch the horror and recognition play across his face.

“Oh, cazzo,” he swears quietly, scrubbing a hand over his face, as he looks back up at you with big, glossy eyes. “Amore, perdonami, ti prego… I… Sister wanted me to finish some last minute things and I must’ve fallen asleep and—merda…” he says, anguished.

“Copia, shh, it’s okay,” you soothe, taking his face in your hands and stroking your thumbs across the hair of his sideburns. He leans into your hold, wide-eyed. You shake your head, smiling and he deflates, pressing one of his leather-clad hands to yours on his face.

“But you got all dressed up and—“

“It’s okay,” you say again and you think he might actually start crying, but you’re not about to let him catch the self-flagellation train tonight.

“I’m so sorry, amore,” he whispers again, sadly.

“Don’t apologise,” you chide gently, “you’re tired. It’s okay. I figured something was wrong when you didn’t show. Don’t be sorry, I know Imperator has been hard on you lately.”

He winces a bit, but you lean in and kiss him tenderly, soothing his hurt like balm on a stinging wound. He relents, stroking his thumb over your knuckles, and when you pull away he sighs. You know he’ll feel awful about this for a while, but at least you might be able to help him feel less bad.

“I brought takeout,” you flick your eyes to the paper bag, pulling back. Copia follows, taking one of your hands and you help pull him to his feet.

He groans, and winces again, muttering a few choice swears that make you giggle. When he looks you up and down with a new form of clarity that isn’t veiled by torment, his expression relaxes.

“Sei bellissima, amore mio.”

You lean in and press your mouth to his, brief and chaste and Copia hums, wrapping you up in his arms for a proper hug.

You take dinner back to his room, letting the relaxed atmosphere carry you both into its sweet lull.

You borrow one of Copia’s shirts and his many tracksuit bottoms to change into while he freshens up and scrubs the paint from his face. When you’re both done, you pop Bram Stroker’s Dracula on low in the background. You lounge together on his bed, munching on the takeout pasta and drinking the wine Copia had intended to give you at the restaurant. Every time he attempts to apologise for missing your date, you silence him with another sweet kiss that tastes of wine and creamy pasta sauce, watching him blush sweetly.

By the time you’re both finished, bellies full and thoroughly warmed from the wine, you’re both too exhausted and comfortable to move.

Copia’s flush to your side curled around you with his head on your shoulder while you play with his soft hair. You press the occasional kiss to his temple, smelling his zesty shower cream and the heady wine on his breath. You watch, quietly amused, as he tries to focus on the movie, blinking hard and forcing his eyes to stay open. You love it when he’s like this, vulnerable and sleep-warm. You don’t need a fancy restaurant. This is perfect.

“Sleep if you want,” you tell him, trailing your fingers lazily up and down his bicep.

“Are you sure?” He mutters guiltily, lifting his eyes to yours. There's still small flecks of black around his eyes that never seem to leave. He looks adorable and exhausted. You gently wipe away the smudge of black on the tip of his freckled nose.

“Of course,” you smile at him. “You had a long day, Satan knows you need it.”

Copia turns his face and kisses the skin of your collarbone, adjusting again before he settles. You tug the blanket that’s haphazardly thrown over you both further up his body and make sure he’s tucked in.

He’s asleep in mere moments, body growing heavy against your side, and the sound of his slow, laboured breaths mixes with the buzz of the movie as it slowly plays out.

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

#ask red #ghost #the band ghost #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #ao3 #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia fanfiction #papa copia #papa copia x reader #x reader

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numinously-yours · 4 months

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Pick a Painting: Your Higher Purpose

Choose a painting above and read about your higher purpose in this life down below <3 If you feel inclined, reblog and tag which group you chose. If it resonates and you're interested in tipping, I have $1 and $5 tip options on my Etsy :) My Etsy Shop Here

Group 1

What is your higher purpose? The Sun reversed

You are here to be a silver lining of the dark clouds. Your spirit and energy bring optimism into spaces where things feel hopeless. You are here to remind people that, no matter how bad it seems, there is always something to look forward to and find beauty in. This comes from the things you actively do for people as well as the way you live your life. People cannot help but feel a little lighter with you in the room.

What can you start doing to get there? Six of Swords rev., Four of Cups, Queen of Pentacles rev.

You may be having your own internal conflicts at the moment. Maybe you feel stuck in a rut and are having a difficult time finding the light at the end of the tunnel even for yourself. How on Earth are you expected to do that for others? First, your mere existence is the light. You are not required to DO things for others if you don’t have the capacity. What you do have/should find the capacity for is finding the good in the every day. You may be going through some transitions in your life that has made this harder than usual. The chaos may feel overwhelming, but if you approach it with a different mindset and meditate on your worries, you’ll start feeling less heavy. The more you actively do this for YOURSELF, the more that positive energy is going to radiate from you.

Anything you should stop doing? Ace of Wands, Seven of Pentacles

Stop giving up on yourself! I think there are times where you start a project, or think about starting one, and you make a little progress, but then you stop. Maybe the progress isn’t happening as quickly as you want, so you don’t think it’s going to be successful at all. But that’s right when you need to keep going. The finish line is right over the hill. As you start projects, remember that things take time and THAT’S OKAY! Powering through these times is what brings long term results.

Other advice? The Fool, The Empress rev.

Keep an open mind and make self-care a priority. I think this really reiterates the things you can start doing. Find the good in your OWN life. As the saying goes, You cannot pour from an empty cup. It’s okay to prioritize yourself! Do some fun & creative things – even if you think you suck at them. Doodle, paint, sing karaoke in your living room, anything to bring a little inner child joy to your life. Don’t be afraid to be a little spontaneous, either. Some of the best experiences come from our spur of the moment experiences 😊

What is your higher purpose? Nine of Pentacles rev., The High Priestess

The higher purpose in your life is to become more in-tuned with yourself & the way of the world. Particularly, in the spiritual realm. How can you and the world create a give and take relationship? What will the world show you about yourself? How will you help the world? This lifetime is all about finding those answers.

What can you start doing to get there? Six of Cups, Death

I definitely think some of the people who pick this pile have had previous lifetimes. I was already thinking this with the high priestess but now with these two cards we have: reminiscing (6 of cups) and transformation (death). Even if you don’t remember your past lives, you will bring in some of your skills from those lives to start helping you find your answers. You’re going to feel some strong gut instincts when you are thinking about new paths to go down – trust those!

As a whole, though, whether you have past lives, are brand new, or have no idea: Start each new day with a blank canvas. Live in the NOW. Remember the things that once brought you joy and implement them into your life again. If you have kids in your life (your own children, nieces/nephews, students, etc), try to see life through their eyes when you’re around them. They will teach you how to just BE, to let go of the bullshit, and embrace the innocence you have subconsciously forgotten.

Anything you should stop doing? Strength rev.

Stop doubting yourself! You may have been on a journey to find your purpose for your whole life and you are never quite sure if you found it. There always seems to be something “missing”, but I truly think that’s just what life is like. It’s the opportunity for constant learning. It is your push to stay present and understand the now. When you don’t feel “productive” it doesn’t mean you’re lazy or failing. In times of doubt, remember the amazing things about yourself. Be kind to your mind.

Other advice? Ace of Pentacles

This is my favorite card in tarot <3 This is my “everything is, or will be, exactly how it’s supposed to be” card. If there is something specific that you are trying to manifest, the universe is telling you that you can do it. If you’ve been waiting for a sign to get started, this card is that sign! And regardless, the Ace wants you remind you to be consciously aware of your blessings and KNOW that you deserve every single one of them.

What is your higher purpose? The Magician

You are the one who shows people that anything is possible. You always seem to find a way to make something out of nothing. Manifestation is your middle name and people wish it was theirs. You tend to know your “why” whenever you go into any situation. “Why am I here? To make people happy, to get things done, to have fun?” You act according to this “why” and it seems seamless to those around you. You inspire them to take action in their own life.

What can you start doing to get there? Strength, Three of Wands

I think you might be doing everything you need to do – so this message is to keep it up! Continue to have patience and be calm in the storm. Continue to be determined to make your dreams come true. Continue overcoming fears and challenges. Every single step you take brings you a level of progress you didn’t have before. The only advice would just be to explore options you haven’t tried before. Otherwise, it sounds like what you HAVE tried is working really well 😊

Anything you should stop doing? Ten of Wands

Stop carrying the weight of others on your shoulders! I think you care about people a lot and you want to help them reach their full potential. This can be exhausting. Being exhausted from that doesn’t make you a bad person, it just makes you human. You can still be there for people in other ways, but you won’t be able to help them if you deplete yourself of all your energy.

Other advice? Judgement, The Fool

I’m not sure if this is correlated to this reading specifically, but the universe has a message about starting over. There may be something coming to end or you are considering ending a cycle. The universe wants you to know that this is going to open up soo many new opportunities. Allow the changes to happen, even if they make you nervous. A spiritual awakening may be on its way, too, which sparks this new beginning. You may realize something new and it brings a newfound energy to your life. Don’t over think think, let it happen.

What is your higher purpose? The Hanged Man, The Sun

Your higher purpose in this life is to be peaceful and happy <3 A lot of the time when we think about our purpose, we want to know what we can do for others while we’re here on earth. How can we make the world a better place? Your embracing of the warmth and different perspectives will do this, even if it seems like it’s only for you. Similarly to the other piles, others will observe your happiness and your ability to let go of the small things and feel inspired to do the same. Just by existing, you will bring light to the lives of those around you. If you have had past lives, they may have been difficult. This is your chance to enjoy all that life really has to offer you.

What can you start doing to get there? Ten of Wands rev., Seven of Pentacles

Look at the things that don’t add value to your life. Are there things in your life that disturb the peace you’re trying to create? Are there investments you want to make but something else is in the way? Explore that and determine if you really need it or if you can replace it with the thing you want to be investing in instead. It’s always okay to take a step back and make adjustments where needed. It doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate what you have, it just may not work for you anymore.

Anything you should stop doing? Judgement

Stop ignoring your intuition and stop resisting “moving on”. You’re ready for the next step in your life, whatever that may be! You probably are feeling comfortable, and the unknown is always scary, even for the most positive people. Let yourself step into new opportunities. What is great is that every step you’ve taken up to this point has given you the tools you need to keep stepping. You know the things you need to feel safe and secure, and those aren’t leaving. What they are doing is reminding you what is important and giving you something to keep your eyes open for.

Other advice? Page of Swords, Queen of Cups

The very first phrase I thought of when looking at these two cards were “Nurture your curiosity.” The Page is full of energy and is ready to explore. They want to see what is out there. They want to learn new perspectives, gain knowledge, and discover new ways of self-expression. Let this part of you feel the love! Encourage the Page’s creativity. Trust your institution and your heart as your curiosity decides where it wants to take you. When the Page’s plans don’t go as intended, be gentle with yourself, too. It is all about learning, and even the set backs teach us something.

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ducktracy · 2 years

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how do you start a storyboard? what’s the difference between thumbnail sketches and rough sketches? i wanna learn, but i’m so lost

GOOD QUESTION I AM HAPPY YOU ASKED!! as with all of my explanations, this’ll be long winded but i hope it helps!

so YES! thumbnails are usually first! it depends on how you’re approaching the board. are you working off of a script/written list of ideas? are you just starting completely blank?

i usually try to start with some form of writing down, just because i’m flighty and don’t want to miss any potential ideas in the rush of the process. i’m going to use a personal board i started for fun as an example (and as an incentive to pick it back up, because it said i last opened the file in August, so…)

usually if i’m doing a personal board, i’ll have an outline written of the basic actions i want. nothing too thorough, just “so and so does this” “action for this panel” “so and so does that” etc. this one is timed to music, which is a special case—i REALLY didn’t want to lose the ideas i had, and trying to recite those and keep the beat of the music at the same time got overwhelming and i didn’t think a sheet of thumbnail drawings would help maintain the authenticity in time, if that makes sense. so what i did was type very vague descriptions in each panel, with the panels timed to the music so i knew what to fill in later. i’ve rehearsed the actions enough in my head that i have an idea of what i want, so when i see “camera pans past Porky” i immediately know we’re going to follow Daffy out, i can see Porky encircling him as he catches up in perspective with the camera (enter foreground, exit foreground, Daffy tracks him the whole time while he walks), etc etc I CAN SEE IT. so i have a jumping off point for my thumbs

there were some actions more reliant on the music than usual, so i scribbled them out as crudely and quickly as possible to not only not lose the idea, but see if it works. the water splashes are “animated” in comparison to everything else, but that was mainly to see how the execution would work—is the overlap cluttered or natural? will i have enough time for each beat? i can already tell that i want to move the splashes back as the camera catches up so it doesn’t tangent off screen. that’ll be all fixed later during clean-up—right now i’m just focused on getting the ideas down and sketching out what i have a clearest idea of first. that’s also why there’s a jump of white before Porky and Daffy themselves—i know i’m going to have Daffy come up to Porky from behind, but not exactly sure how i want to stage it yet. fly down in a down shot? follow Daffy from an eye level view? those aren’t pressing matters right now, and i feel i’ll get more clarity with that later once i carve everything out. as such, i just skip it and go to what i have in mind. that’s also why Porky is missing for the last few frames; i needed to envision Daffy’s acting more and see if the staging allowed room for his broad actions. i’ll squeeze Porky in later. BUT. to answer your question more directly, thumbs are usually the blueprint of the blueprint. they’re meant to be crude, ugly, scribbly, NOT DETAILED. they’re meant purely to convey ideas and thoughts, which will be expanded upon later with the roughs. some people like to draw thumbs directly into their boards—i like to open a program like MS Paint (or even just the margins in SBPro) that is as simple as possible so i can focus purely on what i need to. much of it is acting, but sometimes staging is a priority, which i’ll indicate in a box. it is never perfect/completely accurate, but that’s again what the roughs are for. here are a few examples of how i thumbnail—there isn’t a right or wrong way to do it! i just like to have it all in one place so i can check back periodically, i get cold feet if i put my thumbnails directly in every panel. feels like jumping in too quick, i like to work my way up from there

and let me be clear that you can go straight to clean up if you’re comfortable! i know and work with people who go straight from thumbs to clean, and i envy them GREATLY. i’ll sometimes have two different versions of a rough if i’m having trouble getting an idea across—i need to ruminate with the drawings a bit more and generally feel more at ease through the general progression, but it’s all a matter of how you work

and really, it’s just clean up from there! cleaning up the characters, backgrounds, adding inbetweens if necessary for the demands of the board… and after i’m done cleaning, i’ll take care of any housekeeping such as adding white mattes to the characters so they don’t blend in with the BG and checking to make sure the sizes are consistent with each other. (i really only do the latter for professional work, as my personal storyboards are a bit looser and a little more lax) this is a bit of a crude explanation because storyboarding is so subjective of a practice and everyone does it differently. ideally, initial thumbnail drawings would just BE the storyboards, with all the fancy clean up left to layout! but that’s another story… and one that’s futile to bring up seeing as these are for personal use anyway HAHA. but i just like to work my way up and sort of see where the storyboard and the characters take me

#i ironically started that storyboard as a ‘i’m just going to doodle and submit whatever the finished product was i won’t even clean it’ but #got too ambitious and would like to clean it… with 95% of it blank HAHA #i think it’s good i’ve sat on it though because i’ve done a lot of ambitious storyboards in between that time and am much more seasoned than #i was and this wasn’t even 6 months ago yet! but for example i’ve been learning FX animation and so i know there will be needlessly #informative smoke trails from the gun and water droplets not needing to be spelled out HAHAHA i’m loving learning it #anonymous #asks

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gust-jar-simulator · 11 months

Text

Hmmm. I want to play with my Hot Girl Shit AU a bit.

Thing is, the Hero of Time is beset by visions.

Shadow gets clones, both because he can literally do that in game and as a Ganon reference, plus his hero. Nightmare gets transformations and immense magic reserves. But Dark? Dark is the Hero of Time’s fears and insecurities, and my god does he have a lot.

I think Time would be having a sustained identity crisis because his whole worldview got shattered when he was told he was Hylian, not Kokiri. The Kokiri don’t look kindly on adults, or the ability to age. It’s a death sentence, and also just a silly mortal thing. A reason to pity Hylians, if anything. Time’s already ostracized because he doesn’t have a fairy, and now he’s old too? He’s not Kokiri all the way down to his bones, not just through ostracization. It’s confirmation of everything every bully has ever told him, and this time it came from his dad.

The notable thing about Dark’s fight is that he becomes more real over the course of it. The flipping-off-your-sword thing is the closest we get to a hint of personality from him, especially because Time can’t do the same move. So what’s it mean? Why?

It feels mocking, obviously, but if Dark is meant to be Time conquering himself then I feel like it’s the equivalent of grabbing him by the collar and Making Him Look. Look at my age, look at my face, look at my abilities, look at what I am. Crucially this isn’t because he wants to be seen as a person, like Shadow. Shadow wants to be acknowledged as an individual. Dark doesn’t, or at least it’s not a priority. Dark wants Time to see himself and come to terms with it. He’s a reflection, the cruelty of the mirror.

Dark’s fight, in a way, is “get therapy or die”. Which is really tragic, actually, and could explain the whole Majora’s Mask adventure. Time literally has to go to a parallel world and go on a whole adventure to process his own regrets, dreams, and attachments. Dark wasn’t enough.

I’m going to have a lot of fun with the idea that Dark wasn’t enough. It would make sense for a kid to completely miss the abstract nuances and go straight for “ohmygod a monster stab it until it dies”. There’s a very real chance that Time may have won the duel and learned absolutely nothing.

Time has to confront the idea of his own mortality. He’s not Kokiri. He’ll age and die. Time itself will kill him, if the monsters don’t. He’s adopted. He’s part of a race he’s probably only met in the form of Stalfos. He thought he was alone before, until his quest punted him all across the country. He wants his dad. His dad’s dead. He wants to play and draw and be a kid, and the only person doing any of that with him is a mysterious Sheikah who’s teaching him songs to kill monsters with. People want things from him that he doesn’t understand, like engagement or pictures of women, and they never explain. He doesn’t understand So Much.

Dark, meanwhile, is Link as nothing but a Hero. The right age. The combat skills. The self-confidence, or at least apparently so (he’s just stoic). A weapon of the goddesses, silent and efficient and deadly. Like Sheik. Time is afraid of everything that he isn’t and should be, how he doesn’t match up, that he isn’t enough. But I think part of him is also afraid of what he’s becoming. The sword, the goddesses, forcibly made him the right age to kill Ganondorf. What else are they going to turn him into? He’s not Kokiri, and he’s not a kid, but he is culturally, he is mentally. Even when he switches ages though, it fits poorly. This is a kid absolutely riddled with multiple kinds of dysphoria.

There’s something about the idea that once you finally leave home, you can never go back. Not really. Sure you can go to the location, the people, but it’s never the same again. You’re not the person you were, and home isn’t what you remember anymore.

And Dark doesn’t have a home. He’s a weapon, a trial, a judgement. A tool. The sword and scales of the goddess of wisdom. He’s got a little island with a dead tree, and a couple of doorways, and endless water and sky. He’s not a person. Is he even really alive?

And then to wrap it all up, Time suffered the call to adventure via nightmares. Really encouraging formative experience, there. Other people have compared Dark’s arena to the Bodhi Tree before, and I like that imagery a lot, a tree that you have to meditate under to master yourself. Time is traumatized, and needs a chance to reflect on that, on his mind and his emotions and his sense of self. Of course the demon that comes for him is all of those things at once, something mimicking the identity that scares him the most: being the Hero.

Dark doesn’t have any fancy spells or blessings because he didn’t receive them, and he doesn’t need them. I don’t think Time at that age could comprehend the weight of the favor of the goddesses, what it means to have Nayru’s Love or Din’s Fury. It’s not the pressure of being a symbol that scares him. It’s being changed into something unrecognizable. He needs to become the perfect tool of destiny, he might even envy Sheik’s ease with the idea, but he’s just a scared little kid. But will he even be himself, if he isn’t scared anymore? What is he?

Dark’s answer is you’re me, and it’s hard to say if that’s a comfort or not.

But that’s why I want to keep him simple, in this AU. Dark is just… the hero. Because that’s the most terrifying thing he could be.

#hot girl shit au #hgs dark link #hgs shadow link #hgs nightmare link

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ciaossu-imagines · 1 year

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aww, i can’t believe it’s the last day already. the event was fun, and i’m looking forward to you doing something like this again one of these days! for my request, can you do admin prompt seventeen? 🎀

Aww, me either, honestly! This event has flown by and has been absolutely fantastic thanks to you gorgeous readers and all the interesting asks you guys send in! I’m super flattered you wanted to ask about me, too and I hope these aren’t too boring.

SEND AN ASK: get to know your author

Is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

Honestly, yes. With a new job and everything going on in my life, I do get busy and my writing time can get limited. I always prioritize asks and requests and this blog over any other writing, and anytime I’m not writing asks, I’m working on the two ficlet collections (the K AU! and the comfort/fluff fics) because I know those have audiences that do want to read the next chapters, so those become my next priorities. While I’m trying to be kinder to myself in terms of my writing, I do push aside my crossover and OC writing 99% of the time, even if I have all these ideas in my head because I just normally don’t have much time to write them and still be as active on here as I’d like to be. I did clear off a sideblog I never used to really use as a catchplace for that project and I probably will try to get around to it, but it’s just not something I give myself much time for because I know it doesn’t have the interest or audience that my other writing does.

What work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

Oh god, I’ve been writing a looooooooonnnnng time. I started on quizilla and it was cringe, but thankfully with that disappearing, all my earliest cringe writing disappeared. I know at least one person knows my old pen-name I wrote under on ff.net but seriously, I try to avoid looking at any of the writing on there either because it really is just so bad. Even some of my writing that still exists on polycanons, I look at with such embarrassment because I see so many mistakes or things I could have done better. So, in short…pretty much all of it, hahaha!!

What order do you write in? Front of book to back? Chronological? Favourite scenes first? Something else?

Where I write mostly requests, it’s actually really easy and straight-forward, most of my writing. When I write fics though, they tend to be drabbles, which is just straight scenes, or collections of scenes because I do write scene by scene and have a really hard time figuring out how best to connect them! I haven’t sat down and written an honest to god, beginning to end, in chronological order, fic in a really long time because I normally have a beginning and a general outline of how everything happens, along with an ending in mind, with strong scenes here and there, but no in-between parts.

Favourite character you’ve written?

That’s impossible!! I have written for over thirty fandoms to date, and while I might have favourite characters to write for from each fandom, I have no actual die-hard favourite overall!

Character you were most surprised to end up writing?

I’m still surprised at some of the requests I get, seeing which characters tend to be the most popular at any given time in the fandoms I write for. I was really surprised to have Bandou be a character I do get quite a few asks for, as he isn’t too many people’s favourite HOMRA boy, and was surprised to get that V request for Mystic Messenger, because I do know that, while I love him and find him such an intriguing character, he’s relatively strongly disliked within the fandom.

Something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now?

Part of the reason I don’t go back and look at my old writing too often (even old requests on here) is because I always see something I want to rewrite or change. I’ll be proof-reading for stuff I post and then the post will be delayed because my mind will go ‘nope, that isn’t right, you can word that better or you should change it to this’ and while that’s great while proofing and editing, going back and rewriting entire fics or previously answered requests isn’t quite as possible.

When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

I have honestly never had anyone ask if I write, so I just don’t bring it up. I’m not embarrassed, even though fanfiction can be looked down upon, because I love to write, but it’s just more so that nobody really asks and I honestly don’t talk a lot about myself in general.

Favourite genre to write?

I will write most things and enjoy it (though fluff really does not come naturally or easily, but that’s the fun challenge to it). I will say that, overall, a lot of what I write tends to become either smut or angst and I live for writing AU’s, especially AU’s that have paranormal, supernatural, or mystery elements.

What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

Music and exercise really helps me not only straighten out ideas I have and figure out new ones but gives me the right state of mind to really straighten out characterization and wording as well. If it’s too gross to get outside, I’ll throw on my earbuds and music and pace around and around my apartment. If’s it nice out, I throw on music and head out for long walks.

Write in silence or with background noise? With people or alone?

While music helps with brainstorming, it does have to be off for me to write. I need relative silence to write, without extra background noise, and I do write alone or at least tucked away in my own little corner where the screen won’t be visible to anyone else.

What aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

I started writing at 9. Just little baby me, writing fanfiction out on paper, with terrible Mary-Sues and atrocious plot lines and wooden dialogue. Every single aspect of my writing has improved since that point, and I’m always improving in some new area as I continue to write. Even now, I’ll find I’m answering a request and something that would have taken me hours to figure out properly in my head is now only taking me thirty or forty minutes, sometimes even less.

Your weaknesses as an author?

That being said…my fuck, my dialogue writing is still fucking HARD. I struggle so incredibly much with dialogue, which is why you all might notice that it doesn’t occur a lot in my writing. It’s one of those things where, if I can avoid making them talk by summarizing a conversation, I’m taking that route. I do find I struggle a little with fluff or soft, romantic stuff, as mentioned above, but that’s simply because I’m not an overly romantic person as a whole and what I find sweet or cute, other die-hard romantics might find overly practical or bland.

Your strengths as an author?

Nobody can ever accuse me of not giving it my all. I pour my heart and soul into making every request, every fic, every sentence the very best I can do.

Do you make playlists for your current WIPs?

I don’t tend to make playlists for the stories overall or for specific requests (unless the request is music related), but I make them for the individual characters. I have general playlists for characters, for characters when writing particular AU’s, etc. and that is what I throw on when walking out my ideas.

Why did you start writing?

Because if I didn’t, I felt I would go insane. The words, the stories, the ideas cluttered up my head, made me feel overwhelmed and anxious, to the point where I couldn’t sleep, and I just started writing them out, because it helped me get them out of my head.

Are there any characters who haunt you?

Nope. I actually don’t feel haunted by any characters. All the ones I do feel a connection for feel more like friends, former or present, rather than ghosts.

If you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

This one is really fucking personal and, honestly, the answer would not make anyone happy to hear, because it does touch on where I was in my life at that point, so honestly, let’s all skip this one.

Were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? What were they?

My style, my own unique writing voice, is more than likely the result of so many different authors, whose works I consumed voraciously as I grew. Stephen King, Douglas Adams, Jim Butcher, L.M. Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, J.K. Rowling…I am very sure that all of those authors helped play huge roles in me discovering my own writing style, because they were all mainstays of my bookshelves growing up and even now.

When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, etc.?

I honestly don’t know. I don’t really sit down and write out all these outlines and character profiles and all that. They’re just there, in my head, like what I ate for dinner or where I’ll be next Friday.

Do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

It’s a mixture of both. I tend to sit down to write, with plans to work on writing between this time and that time, and that’s what I do. However, if something isn’t coming naturally or I’m stuck on how to word something or I’m cramping up, I’ll get up and take a smoke break, grab a coffee, mindlessly grind a few levels on Blush Blush, or the like, which is why, on my writing days, you guys might notice it takes me a bit longer sometimes in between posts than normal.

What do you think when you read over your older work?

Kind of answered above, but I really try not to read my older works!

Are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

Yes. Yes, I really do, which is why the rules on this blog exist, so obviously the things that I ban there are uncomfortable for me to write about. But there’s also times, though I do my very best to never let it hint through in the writing, where I really am ripping open old trauma, old scars, old pain and insecurities when answering certain topics or when I’m writing out certain fics. With the requests, I generally can’t help it if the topic requested ends up hitting too close to home, but other times, I’ll be writing a story and my experiences will start to colour it or past experiences will creep into the narrative and while I don’t remove them, because they do often make the characters or story richer for the telling, more nuanced and fleshed out, it is still a very personal, very vulnerable area I’m writing from.

Any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

I have lived a very…colourful…life, with experiences that happen to, viewing them back now, have been very outside the norm. Add to that the fact that I’m a fat, mentally ill, woman who isn’t fully Caucasian (I have enough Native blood to qualify for a card and cheap res cigarettes) and you have someone with lived experiences that can definitely help when diving into characters, when fleshing them out, when coming up with storylines, when playing out situations that might not occur to others.

Have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or story?

Thanks to match-ups, I’ve become somewhat of an expert in MBTI results, despite my firm opinion of it of pseudoscience.

Copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of?

Oh god…this one was hard. I had to really dig deep for this one and went back to the only fic I’m still at all proud of my ff.net days, a kind of ‘what does death hold’ fic for the Vongola family, focusing on Lambo…

“…His hand stretched out to them and he was unsurprised to find it clad in a cow-printed suit, the hand of the five-year old boy he’d been when he had first become Vongola, became family. He went to climb the next stair, went to join his family when a bolt of lightning hit the stair in front of him, shattering the stone. For one terrifying second, Lambo thought he would die before he finished climbing, before he got to them but instead of pain, he felt himself gently held in a pair of strong arms.

“It’s okay, Lambo. You’re home now,” Tsuna whispered out, smiling down at the young cow.

“Took you long enough to come home, dumb cow,” Gokudera’s voice said, drifting on the wind.

Early the next morning, the workers of the Namimori Shrine got quite the surprise. The storm of the previous night, the worst one Namimori had gotten in nearly twenty years, had destroyed most of the area around the shrine. Trees had blown over; power-lines had been knocked down. But most surprising was the steps leading up to the shrine. The second to last and last step had been struck by lightning and were crumbling and burnt. And on those steps was a man, pronounced dead by the medics the workers had called. His wallet gave his name and his information.

At fifty-eight, the Decimo’s Guardian of Lightning was dead, struck by one last fatal bolt of lightning.”

#event ask #admin talks #about the admin

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w-ht-w · 2 years

Text

Hook-up culture, considerations

key takeaways:

Casual sex implies intent; hookup implies resignation/thoughtlessness.

Casual sex/hook-ups are not for everyone. But some people find it empowering/fun!

We’ve compartmentalized intimacy (into careless hook-ups) because we see love as a secondary priority that interferes with career-oriented “success.”

happiness as adults will be shaped as much as, if not more, by the quality of their intimate relationship than by their career success.

Young people wish they got more relationship education from parents

-----

Sasha, a bubbly and warm 20-year-old, who struggles with conflicting emotions around the hookup culture she’s immersed in. “This is what I always say about the hookup scene,” she tells me. “During the day I feel like a human being, and at night I feel like a sexual commodity. ...” (1)

“I was embarrassed that he chose to have sex with someone else when I know he liked having sex with me. But the worst part was that I felt so brokenhearted about it—and so dumb about feeling so brokenhearted.”

Kayla’s internal battle—feeling hurt, but believing she shouldn’t be—reflects her internalization of the hookup culture’s message that relationships should be “no fuss, no muss.” If she can’t be “chill” about a guy’s sexual roaming, she’s failed. I tell her that I’m glad she doesn’t know how to shut down her feelings, as they’re a vital data source for her. (1)

^Hookups are not for people who inextricably associate sex w/ emotional intimacy or exclusivity.

On the other hand, if you are able to compartmentalize your physical and emotional, casual sex might be fine for you.

Casual sex implies intent; hookup implies resignation/thoughtlessness.

a distinction between hooking up and casual sex. Casual sex is an intentionally created, sober (or mostly sober) erotic experience in a noncommitted relationship. A hookup is stumbled into, drunkenly, recklessly, and with a sense of resignation because one doesn’t believe that anything else is possible. While casual sex is cocreated between people who agree that this is just for fun, motives in a hookup are muddy: ... It’s a “decide-versus-slide” distinction. When entered into intentionally, casual sex can lead to relational self-awareness for some young adults, helping them discover more about who they are, what they desire, and what they value.

Mitch, a recent college graduate, is an example.

[In college] “I was really hard on myself, obsessed with this idea that I ought to be interested only in a serious intimate relationship. I thought that if I hooked up, I was fulfilling the stereotype of the promiscuous gay guy. But I struggled to find a guy to date, so I’d get drunk, make out with a guy, and then feel awful about it for weeks.”

Today, he feels clearer about the choices he makes. “It’s kind of ironic,” he says. “I’m more sexually promiscuous these days, but I feel way better about myself than I did in college. I can claim who I am sexually and create experiences that I desire.

Like the other day, I went on Grindr looking for a hookup and matched with this guy. We talked on the phone a little and said to each other that all we were interested in was sex. ... We were both sober. We talked for like five minutes and then we had sex. ... Afterward, I got in my car, called my best friend, and declared, ‘I’m in my sexual renaissance!’ This guy and I have actually seen each other again on a few occasions. We’re now ‘fuck buddies,’ which is fine by me.”

Mitch tells me that he’d like to be in a committed intimate relationship, but he feels clear that casual sex isn’t having a negative impact on him. On the contrary, he feels it’s increased his confidence and deepened his self-acceptance. Clearly, not everyone feels wounded or victimized by the hookup scene. (1)

We’ve compartmentalized intimacy (into careless hook-ups) because we see love as a secondary priority that interferes with career-oriented “success.”

Here’s the problem, though: today’s college students tend to be awfully compliant when it comes to hookup culture, and I find myself wondering why. Is it that as a culture we no longer encourage young people to question the status quo?

Much has been written about how adolescents today, especially in high-achieving families, no longer envision revolution—within themselves or the world around them. Instead, their voices are being drowned out by loving but driven parents, who view their children as long-term projects, tabulae rasae from which they can create overly successful human beings. And that definition of success is focused primarily on doing, not being.

While love, at least the kind therapists usually talk about, has more to do with being than doing, ... hookup culture reflects the belief that love is secondary to the pursuit of external success. So as not to disrupt the main project—preparing for a “successful” life—intimate relationships must be no fuss, no muss. Over and over, my undergraduates tell me they try hard not to fall in love during college, imagining that would mess up their plans. This strikes me as a joyless road to nowhere, given that their happiness as adults will be shaped as much as, if not more, by the quality of their intimate relationship than by their career success. (1)

^Agree. Relationships can fill the cup of our motivation/energy, so that we may show up as better versions of ourselves in our work/careers. The two are not antagonistic. At their best, relationships + work/career are synergistic!

With our cultural insistence on a narrow and meritocratic path to success, it feels awfully unfair to expect young adults to manifest romantic coherence when our culture seems to reflect back to them anything but. (1)

Technological/stimulus overload disrupts intimacy/solitude

Of course, we can’t understand the erosion of young people’s capacity to love without considering the colossal impact of smart phones and the 24/7 immersion in digital culture. ... Increasingly, they can’t tolerate the solitude that lays the foundation for intimacy. And if intimacy is hard to come by, they’re left with just an avatar of the real deal—a hookup.

Engaging in ambiguous hookups appears to be an effort by young people to avoid what they don’t trust themselves to handle. When framed like this, hookup culture makes a strange kind of sense, reflecting the anxiety, ambivalence, and passivity of many college student who report dissatisfaction with hookup culture while participating in it because they don’t know how to create an alternative.

^This resonated. I currently still feel averse to commitment because I’m unclear on exactly what I bring to a relationship of any kind. Hookups seem like a less messy stand-in. Physical/sexual desire is a constant, but emotional landscape/maturity? Not so much.

Young people wish they got more relationship education from parents

70% of 18 to 25-year-olds ... said they wished they had received more information from parents about the emotional side of relationships, including "how to have a more mature relationship" (38%), "how to deal with breakups" (36%), "how to avoid getting hurt in a relationship" (34%), or "how to begin a relationship" (27%). (2)

I teach an undergraduate course at Northwestern University called Building Loving and Lasting Relationships: Marriage 101.

The longer I offer Marriage 101, the more aware I am that my students’ world is quite at odds with the values of self-awareness and self-responsibility that I emphasize in it. ... Nonetheless, they seem grateful to have the space and time to think critically about what intimacy means and how to achieve it.

If we’re not willing to have an open dialogue about sex with young people from early adolescence onward, the Internet is more than willing to fill the vacuum. Young adults deserve wholehearted education about all aspects of sexuality, not just safety, STDs, and reproduction. Good sex education must address how young people can be conscious consumers of erotic material and how to create happy, fulfilling sexual experiences. (1)

1. https://www.psychotherapynetworker.org/article/inside-hookup-culture

2. https://www.insider.com/how-much-do-millennials-hook-up-2017-5

#relationships #sexuality

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scham-wcan · 2 years

Note

ao3 wrapped [writers edition] 12, 18, 19, 27, 29, 30

12: How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

So currently I plan on writing Elemental for like ever so that’s there. I do have a couple miscreant ideas for other lesser cumbersome stories which are more on the smaller and cliche oriented stage. I want to write Fall Bloom and White Rose targeted stories again cause I love them to death but amongst that I have a couple other spin off ideas in my notes. So beside Ele probably like 2-3 WIPs?

18: The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

~~All of them~~ No but I think the ones who really got me thinking on character were like Winter or Ruby.

Because of the world and evolution Ele has gone to I really wanted to push Winter from being a soldier styled Huntress and being on a team where rank isn’t really a thing, and even then she’s not on the top in terms of who people look to for some answers. So it was neat to write some of the dialogue then in the background think about how she reacted to X person being deferred to over her. That and the progression of her mannerisms was fun, in the beginning of writing her I always pictured her having this more rigid and stoic form of speech which has progressed to now having her be the first character to swear in the story. I am really excited to develop her more though, the last couple chapters of Ele take a toll on her and the next half of the story is going to definitely experiment with some Schnee dramas.

Ruby was the opposite end of Winter in a lot of ways, she ended up being the one people looked to, naturally it is still her story, but then she was the one to look to others for their takes and thoughts. It's part of the reason she had her little scuffle with Winter on how they should be properly running their missions and group priorities in the first half of three. She’s the beacon of hope naturally for the whole crew in a lot of ways and even Cinder probably thinks of her now much more like a sibling than a friend all the while Weiss and the rest of RWBY all see their leader growing up before their eyes. I do want her to be more involved with Cinder and Yang however in this next part of three so soon enough!

19: What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Emerald/Ilia honestly, a little bit of Rainbow Quartz to cure my fields. Yes of course with CinWin and White Rose.

27: What do you listen to while writing?

So I have a lot of playlists with a variety of mood settings. Elemental gets its own whole thing but I could go through a lot of the songs and pick out certain songs which I have ‘on-loop’ which serve as something like character themes. Like for Cinder, for a majority of Ele 1-2 was Glorious Purpose by NerdOut honestly. But she’s progressed and grown as a character and has since changed her purpose from being better to actually caring for those around her and finding a place of her own so her theme is more like No Son of Mine by the Foo Fighters or Just Like Me for her and Ruby scenes. CinWin scenes have a plethora of songs like The Horror and Wild, World on a String, and Stuck With You. White Rose got the similar treatment with Soda Pop, Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, or Mr Loverman.

The most unique characters which needed aesthetics to write for were Krawd and Glynda though. I actually layered a lot of sounds together for them, Krawd more specifically, but it was usually a combination of like a classical villain music mix off of youtube with a lot of Poor Mans Poison, Vo Williams, or Shayfer James.

29: Favourite line/passage you wrote this year?

Oh the scene in Ele 2 where Weiss got slapped by Krawd and then the entire team freaked out so bad they kicked down dorm doors to tackle the nearest guard but it turned out to be Neo sneaking around to help them.

Or in More than Workout Buddies where Winter and Cinder watch Weiss go on a date with the cute workout girl she’s been crushing on forever.

30: Biggest surprise while writing this year?

People seem to like the writing

#powertaco #Thanks for the ask!!!!#The elemental playlist is on spotify and it is pure nonsense

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krakenartificer · 4 years

Text

So my therapist and I were talking today about ADHD brains, and what "executive function" means, and we discovered a really interesting thing about how my brain works. I don't know how much it will extend to other people, but I'm throwing it out there in case it's useful for anyone else.

Usually it takes me about 1.5 - 2 hours each morning, to go from "booting up my computer" to "actually starting on my first task". This is true whether I work from home or work in the office, whether it's a coding day or a meeting day, whether I jump out of bed when the alarm goes off or if I'm very seriously giving consideration to sleeping under my desk while my computer boots. I don't want it to take that long, but extensive experimentation has shown that it definitely does.

Today I decided to try an experiment. Instead of my normal morning routine (where I check email, IMs, to-do list, and self-care list, and compile that into an enormous to-do list for the day, then sort that list in order of "if everything goes sideways and I get to only one thing, what thing will be the most painful if it happens tomorrow instead of today", and then set up multiple desktops on my macbook so that each task -- including "brush teeth" has its own desktop, and then put the desktops in the assigned priority-order), I decided I'd just jump right into my first task, and see if I could get myself a hyper-focused hour of work before someone came into the office to bug me.

It. Was. Terrible.

I mean, I got the task done, in record time. Then I checked Tumblr. Then I checked Facebook. Then I composed a summary of David Graeber's argument that the European Age of Exploitation cannot be understood without knowing why the Chinese decided to abandon paper money. Then I replied to all my Facebook messages. Then I helped Jessica at work set up her code. There followed a relatively productive afternoon where I helped my boss sort out a personnel problem, set priorities for our department, contributed to one meeting, ran yet another meeting, got consensus on a project, and helped Jessica again -- but I didn't eat my midmorning snack until 1pm, I never did brush my teeth, and my knees are killing me because all through the second meeting my body was sending "This posture hurts! Change position! Get! Up!" signals, and I couldn't summon the focus to actually move from the floor to the couch. By the time my therapist called, my phone was on 3% and I couldn't find my bluetooth headphones. I'm still 400 calories under my target for the day, because I missed 900 calories during my workday and I couldn't figure out how to add more than 500 calories to my dinner.

So my therapist and I talked about this strange mix of symptoms: knocking out task after task of helping people at work, but unable to feed myself; incredibly highly effective code debugging, but also getting lost in Tumblr for an hour. I wasn't under-stimulated, but I also didn't get to pick what I focused on. And he talked about how executive function isn't just one thing, which I knew, but mentioned specifically that one element of executive function is taking your own initiative, deciding your actions for yourself, rather than just reacting to stimuli. And it hit me ---

I can't do that.

I thrive in hyper-focused development environments, where I react to each compiler error by debugging the error ... but I break down when the compiler runs without error; I don't know what to do if I don't have the error-stimulus deciding my actions.

I thrive in high-multi-tasking environments like running a retail store at Christmas, where I do a task, and then look around and see which notification is the highest priority, and then do that task. But I struggle in January and February, when all the customers are gone and I don't know what to do.

And today, I was entirely stimulus-driven. Jessica asked for help, and I helped her. Kathy commented on Facebook, and I replied to her. Ryan asked about a report, and I explained it to him. Mark brought up something that reminded me of David Graeber, and I typed up a history essay. Anything that didn't have a notification -- brushing my teeth, eating my snack, charging my phone -- didn't get done.

And that's when it hit me. My usual morning routing isn't a waste of 2 hours. It's setting up my environment so that I will be stimulated to do the things I want to do.

I have barely any initiative-decide-for-myself at all. I get one (1) intitiativon each morning, and I have to spend it wisely. And what I do with it, each day, is set up the stimuli I will experience throughout the day.

I finish a task and close that desktop: the next desktop pops up with a note that says "Meditate."

I finish meditating and close the desktop: the next desktop pops up with an email I need to reply to.

I finish that email and close that desktop: the next one pops up with a note that says "Order groceries."

I don't have any initiative left by that point, but I don't need to: I get the stimulus to do my work, maintain my health, connect with friends, and clean my house, and I'm too executive-dysfunction-deprived to do anything but respond to stimulus, and so I do all those things. This explains why I need to leave such specific directions to myself: not “write chapter 5″, but “Open C:/Documents/Writing/NovelTitle/Chapter5.doc”. The first one isn’t a stimulus to action; the second one is.

It's also why I have such a hard time with "leisure", and why my "randomized leisure activity" deck helped me so much; because by the time I get to the end of the day, and I'm out of spoons and I have earned a fun and relaxing evening.... I cannot -- by definition -- decide what would be fun and relaxing.

Like I say, I have no idea whether that will be any good for anyone else, but it prompted some interesting introspection, and I wanted to share. Now if you’ll excuse me, I still need to go brush my teeth

#ADHD #executive dysfunction cw #coping strategies #gpoy #how to life #long post #unsolicited advice #neurodivergence #tips #how to adult

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

Hello, may I please ask for yandere headcanons for Childe, Diluc, Kaeya and Zhongli walking to their fem darling mastrubating and moaning their name please?

Whenever I read Zhongli, I just hear him say his name in my head and get reminded of why I even started this game. Geo god is my weakness smh... Thanks for requesting!

Rated Lemon

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Childe

♡ Ha, what an exciting turn of events this is, in Childe's opinion! So far, you two either fought upon him coming home, or you played along in his sweet fantasy of a good home life. Who'd have thought you'd do something so lewd while he was away, especially with him on your mind? This is thrilling to him since you always push him away and pretended to be disgusted by this man. It's another fight he won without you even realizing the battle you were in. Childe doesn't even bother wiping off the bloodstains on his face, simply dropping his jacket and shawl as he stalks over to you. Even if you crawl away, he pulls you back by your ankle, caging you underneath him before taking a deep breath, the excitement having made his heart beat just as fast as when he's fighting. "Missed me?" he asks, kissing along your neck and shoulder, tearing the blanket you tried to cover yourself with from you without care. Wandering down your body hungrily with his mouth, you have the chance to resist him, but no push or yell will make him want to stop. The only plead that will go to him is if you ask him to shower first instead of putting someone's blood all over you, finally making him stop to think about it for a second. But a teasing grin on his lips follows as he gives you the, "Ah, ah, ah! You're just trying to hog the fun all to yourself, aren't you?" Sliding up again, he'll give you a cheeky kiss before the smile abruptly vanishes as he looks you up and down with hungry eyes. He kisses you again, deeper this time. Passionately and fierce until you feel the sting on your lip where he bit you. "Only do those things with me, you understand? I'm not just your enjoyment. You are mine."Next thing you know, you're left with a bleeding lip and a tongue between your legs, and he won't stop until you beg for him to fuck you, only spurring him on more by repeating his name over and over throughout the night.

Diluc

♡ Diluc is certainly interrupting something here, but it’s hard to tear his eyes away. He’s lucky enough not to be immediately discovered by you, but when he hears his name from your lips, it’s over with his composure. Growing red in the face, he looks away for a second, only to hear shuffling in between the fabrics as you finally spotted him. Perhaps it was the soft gasp he made or the sudden movement of hiding his face behind his hand that drew your attention, but it’s already too late for both of you. Damn. As if you knew how hard it was for him to keep his hands to himself, you looked even more desirable than always, barely clad and breathing heavily. He didn’t even do more than kiss you on the forehead in your sleep, and here you were, pleasuring yourself with his name on your lips? Do you have any idea what this would cause in him? Diluc can’t speak, but he also can’t move. The right thing to do would be to leave, but he really doesn’t want to. “Need help?” he asks, eyes shooting up only for a split second before ending back at the wall, and he takes a deep breath after having caught your horrified but heated gaze. If you say no, he’ll hesitate for a moment before leaving with a disappointed, “Alright,” finishing the business building in his pants in his office instead. But if you give him even a second of hesitation, he’ll be more than glad to assist you, finally having the chance to experience you wholly.

Kaeya

♡ Ah, if only he had known that you were awaiting him so eagerly, Kaeya would have put his work aside and called it a day earlier. He’s not even mad--how could he? You are moaning his name, after all. All these tiresome discussions and arguments in which you assured Kaeya how much you despised him, truly seem pointless now, and he won’t let you even start another one anytime soon without reminding you of the way you were sprawled out on his bed, greedily thinking about him with your fingers inside of you, even though you say you ‘hate’ him more than anybody. Kaeya must have left a pretty good impression on you after all, huh? He’s not shy to waltz into the room proudly and loudly, clapping and chuckling after seeing the show you put on for him. But even if you try to immediately cover yourself, he’s just a bit faster than you, hand firmly locked between your legs which you try to close, cold fingers tickling your heated skin. With his grin shoved into your face, it’s not long that Kaeya tries to kiss you, one hand between your shoulder blades keeping you locked from turning him away, as he promises you to be very thorough tonight, so you have enough memories for the next time. “I’ll make you scream for me some more, Darling~”

Zhongli

♡ Now, Zhongli didn’t mean to bother you while you were so busy playing with yourself, but he does think he should have priority over it now. Then again, he also stood outside of the sliding door for the better of the last few minutes, just listening to your moans and gasps, knowing better than to enter. Just, when you said his name, he couldn’t restrain himself anymore. This isn’t a part of the contract you two have, but you were practically begging for him to find you like this, inviting him inside. And so he did, standing in front of you now, letting his hand fall on your head where tears of embarrassment pool in your eyes. There’s still so much more to learn from the humans. To experience as an ex-deity. So maybe this was meant to happen. Petting your head, Zhongli assures you he isn’t mad, but you might have to ask him from eye to eye if you want something from him. “Leave me!” isn’t an option, though, and he’ll be quick to change his tender strokes to a tight grip at the back of your head. “Nicely. Ask me nicely,” he demands, and you know he doesn’t mean for you to ask him to leave again. “Repeat my name.” Oh. Zhongli does so enjoy when you obey him finally, seeing this as something that doesn’t even need a contract to work out well. After all, you both will have a significant gain from it, and he’ll gladly let you undo his belt and show him these things you imagined privately, for just one more call of his name.

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minsyal · 3 years

Text

The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg imagine #lord heisenberg

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Names and Faces

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Word Count: 6,477

---------------

It goes like this:

Nobody wants to separate Anakin from the children in his care until they know more about why he’s here. The gamble paid off, to some degree, and he thanks the Force that it did.

He hasn’t felt that cold in years.

He knows the logic of why the Mandalorians he’s fallen in with aren’t doing anything yet. He’s an obvious Jedi, and they don’t know why he’s here or what he’s doing. Hedging on the Mando’a and the cultural obligation to childcare hadn’t been anything close to sure, but it was... enough. He got lucky that these Mandalorians leaned on those obligations, at least to the point of keeping them all in the same room. He can sense that much, even before he opens his eyes, and he has to be grateful.

The looming hypothermia had probably nudged things in his favor.

Anakin opens his eyes to a guest room of a cell, something well-furnished and cozy, but definitely not meant to be something he can escape from. His saber is gone, and there are Force-nullifying cuffs on his wrists, and he’s pretty sure they’ve taken his--yep, vibroblade’s gone.

Fuck.

His body doesn’t want to move, and he’s still shivering a bit, but he’s mostly back to normal. When he sits up, he notices that there is, in fact, only one Force-nullifying cuff. They detached his arm.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep and tells himself it was probably medically necessary. Large pieces of metal aren’t great for maintaining homeostasis. He’ll get it back.

Probably.

“Ah!”

The voice makes him jolt, and his eyes fly open.

Two cribs, one much bigger than the other. Both are occupied. The larger one has bars, and through it...

“Snips,” he breathes, lurching to his feet and then crashing to his knees, about as graceful as a newborn eopie.

“Bah!”

“Just--just one second,” Anakin grits out, grimacing as he tries to pull himself to standing again. The fact that he’s down an arm doesn’t impact him much, but the shakiness of his legs is... a problem.

“Owwww,” Ahsoka coos with an exaggerated grimace, reacting to his pain with the innocent sympathy of a toddler. She looks, what, two? Maybe? He’s not sure if there’s anything particular about how Togruta babies age. She’s too young for words, clearly.

“I’m fine,” Anakin assures her, even as his heart sinks. She’s Ahsoka, clearly, he knows her in the Force and it can’t be anyone else, but her memories...

She recognizes him, but that’s not saying much.

He manages to get over to the chair next to the crib, but doesn’t trust himself to take her out right now. The snow and the mess of a fight before that haven’t been kind to him. Instead, he just sticks his hand through the bars and lets her grab at his fingers.

He can’t help but smile, really. She’s adorable, and she’s so damn happy to see him.

“Skyguy!”

“Oh, so you are talking,” Anakin says, part of him relaxing just a tad. “I was worried.”

“Mine,” she stresses, patting at his wrist.

“Yeah, your Skyguy,” he says. So she remembers... some things, at least. “And you’re my Snips.”

She squeals and yanks on his hand, just enough that the Force-suppressing cuff clanks against the bars of the crib. “Sky, Sky, Sky!”

Oh, she’s precious.

“You having fun?” he asks, filling the air with words faster than his head can fill with doubts. “Has everyone been nice?”

“Mmmmm,” she grumbles, falling to her butt with a huff. “Doc!”

“Oh, a doctor?” he asks, wondering at his own tone. He never expected to be one for baby-talk. “Was the doctor mean?”

“Cold!” she tells him. “Cold here!”

She taps at her chest, right where someone might check her heartbeat or breathing; the metal would be cold, and also necessary. He doesn’t fault anyone for it. Considering how poorly Anakin had fared, he’s just happy they’re all alive and mostly fine.

He doesn’t know what year it is. He knows he’s not in the year he should be. He’s vaguely aware of the name Jaster--one of the Mandos had said it while bringing him in--but he doesn’t know when Mereel’s reign ended and Fett’s began. He does know both are supposed to be dead.

Has Anakin been born yet? Has Ahsoka? Hell, has Obi-Wan?

Can he give out any real names?

A series of small, upset noises start coming up from the other, smaller crib.

He stands, but Ahsoka clings to his hand and refuses to let go. He can’t pry her off, not without his other arm, but he pulls away with quiet reassurances that he just has to check on... on...

Her brother, he says, aware that there’s more than a slight chance someone has the room bugged. He’s a Jedi in Mando custody. They aren’t stupid, and neither is he.

Obi-Wan’s the most likely to have already been born. Having the same name and face will draw attention, will cause questions, but... he can’t just rename his master like a recently-adopted pet. That’s just... wrong.

Anakin’s less shaky than when he first woke up, but he still has no way of safely picking up the kids. He reaches into the small crib, something twisting behind his sternum, and tickles under Obi-Wan’s chin.

The baby--the infant--looks up at him with wide eyes, too blue for the Obi-Wan he knows, but full of wonder and--

Love, the Force whispers through the cracks in the effects of the cuff.

“Love you too,” Anakin whispers, though he wonders if Obi-Wan would really feel like this as an adult again. Babies love easily, he thinks, and he’s the only adult that Obi-Wan knows right now. Maybe it’s just chemicals.

He stands there for longer than is probably a good idea, with the state of his body, but he can’t help it. Obi-Wan keeps grabbing at his finger and kicking with tiny legs, and sticking a tiny, tiny fist in his mouth as he tries watches Anakin.

It’s all Anakin can do to mutter a stream of meaningless nonsense as he struggles not to cry. He’s always had too many emotions, and right now he’s the only person these two can rely on. He’s the adult.

The door whooshes open.

“The medic said you were awake.”

He knows that voice. He closes his eyes and doesn’t turn, because there are a million feelings in his chest and he’s not sure which one is going to come out first.

“Sky?” Ahsoka questions, likely feeling his worry. “Issokay! Good!”

No, she wouldn’t have the mind to recognize why this familiar face she knows as friend is quite the opposite.

Anakin turns away from the crib, and smiles. “Mando.”

“Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” the teenager in the door says. He’s not wearing his bucket, but the rest of his armor is in place. Anakin would peg him as younger than Ahsoka was, before. Not by much, but... fourteen, maybe fifteen. The face is painfully familiar, and stays utterly neutral as he answers the question Anakin didn’t ask. “We found your Ident card after you passed out.”

Cool, so, Anakin definitely can’t change his name.

“Are they yours?” the teenager that will one day create an army says.

“They have no one else,” Anakin tells him. It’s true enough. Still, he gets the feeling that’s not what Fett’s asking. “They’re family.”

Jango squints at him. “I was told Jedi can’t have families.”

Anakin’s mind flashes to Padme and the fantasies he’d long harbored of children born free, and tears himself away. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t think of who he’s--

“Jetii!”

Anakin’s head snaps up, and he realizes he’s shaking. Fett’s not neutral anymore, just... concerned.

“I’m fine,” Anakin spits out, and leans on the crib behind him. He can hear the little ones whimpering. He has to pull his thoughts in and bundle them up into something that won’t hurt the incredibly Force-Sensitive babies behind him. “I’m--I’m all they have. They’re all I have. Are the exact words important?”

Fett doesn’t grimace, exactly, but his expression isn’t pleasant. “I guess.”

Anakin waits to see if there’s anything else coming, but no. Just an awkward silence. He holds onto his frustration, but it still gets the better of him.

“What are my chances of getting my arm back?” he asks.

“Hm?”

Anakin waves what’s left of that arm, the tied-off sleeve flapping about. “My arm. If you don’t want to give me mine back, can I at least have some kind of placeholder? I can’t pick up the babies without worrying that I’m going to drop them.”

“I can ask the medics,” Fett says. He stares at Anakin for a little more, and then asks, “Aren’t you going to ask about our plans for you, or...?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you already would have,” Anakin mutters. “Right now, these two are my only priority. I’m more likely to keep them safe and alive here than I am if I try to break out. I can be patient. I would also assume they wouldn’t have been left in a room with me, alone, if any of us were in danger of medical complications.”

Fett flushes and turns. “I’ll tell buir you’re up and active. There’s a nurse droid in the hall, I can have it handle feedings until you get an arm.”

“Thanks,” Anakin drawls, aware that he’s a little bitchy right now, but not in any mood to temper himself.

He settles himself on the floor next to Ahsoka’s crib, lets her play with his hair while the nurse droid feeds Obi-Wan, and then feeds Ahsoka herself. Anakin thinks he could probably pull the droid apart for an escape attempt if it came down to it. He hopes it won’t be necessary. He’s barely existing in the moment as it is. The droid asks Anakin if he needs anything, and he... shrugs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps some non-perishables,” the nurse droids suggests. “Ration bars, for if you are hungry before one of the Mando’ade returns.”

Anakin shrugs again. “Alright.”

He ignores the droid after that. He’s only mostly cut off from the Force by the single cuff. He can’t blanket his Master and Padawan in his own Force presence, try to make them feel safe and calm with the fact that he’s here and ready to protect them, but he can monitor them. He can meditate, even if it’s not the way he prefers to do it. He doesn’t have the strength for moving meditation right now, but a regular meditation... he can do that.

He needs to do that, because no other stress relief option is available to him right now.

Anakin lets himself feel the babies fall asleep, the two of them radiating contentment and warmth. He lets himself trust that, for the moment, he doesn’t need to worry. He lets himself sink into an absence of thought, and then the Force guides him deeper still.

“Anakin!”

His eyes fly open.

This is not the real world.

This is not the room-cell in the Haat Mando’ade base he’s managed to stumble across.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, a smile hidden in a beard and worn laugh lines about his eyes. The right age, the right size, reaching for him and--

There’s only a moment’s hesitation for Anakin to process, and then he sprints forward and yanks his Master into a hug.

“You’re good,” Obi-Wan mutters to him, rubbing his back as they both sink to their knees. There’s a click of bootheels against the empty white not-space that they’re in, and Ahsoka buries herself into their sides. Anakin pulls her in a little closer too.

They stay that for longer than is maybe necessary, but Anakin’s stress levels are sky high right now, and he needs this. A hug, even one that’s technically only taking place in his head, is important.

“Sorry, Skyguy,” Ahsoka whispers. “Thinking in the real world is... really hard right now.”

He pulls away from the desperate hug he’d started them off with, rearranges things so he’s leaning against Obi-Wan, lets Ahsoka lie down with her head in his lap, on her back and legs stretched out across the white nothingness.

“I don’t know what happened,” Anakin says. “I mean, Sith stuff, probably, but... we’re in the wrong year.”

“I’d wondered,” Obi-Wan admits. “I thought it odd that I couldn’t feel the clones, but I only have so much energy to think right now...”

“Please tell me there’s a way to fix it,” Anakin begs. “I can’t be the adult, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even been born yet, that’s how far back we are. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t just bang around making bad decisions without you there to pull me back and--”

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan tells him.

“We’re in the Force,” Anakin says, just a little hysterically. “We don’t need to breathe!”

“Actually, I think we’re in your head,” Ahsoka says. She’s pointing and stretching her feet like a dancer, but looks up to grin at Anakin like the little shit she is. “You’re the only one whose brain is big enough right now.”

“Hey,” Anakin complains, putting his entire palm over her face as revenge. She giggles and swats him away. “That any way to talk to the guy who taught you how to kill five guys in one move?”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and runs a hand over her montrals, smiling when she wriggles and makes a little chirruping noise.

“She’s not wrong,” Obi-Wan says. “Though the phrasing was unfortunate, it does stand to reason that as the only person without the brain of a toddler, you’re hosting. Our minds can’t handle the strain of our own selves, let alone sharing space.”

“Infant.”

“Hm?”

“Ahsoka’s a toddler. You’re an infant. Maybe six months.” Anakin grins, just this side of brittle. He doesn’t want to joke about a problem he can’t fix, but what else is there? “You’re the literal baby of the lineage now.”

Obi-Wan sighs over the riot of Ahsoka’s laugh. “Of course I am.”

“It’s okay, Master,” Ahsoka assures him. “Skyguy’s gonna take care of us until we can fight again.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, grimacing slightly. “I am sorry for you being put in such a position, Anakin. It’s certainly not an easy one.”

Anakin wishes he could say that his immediate reaction isn’t a sense of hurt, a you don’t trust me, a you don’t think I can do this, a you’re disappointed someone else wasn’t here to handle things instead.

He wishes he could make that claim and have anyone believe him, but they are in a shared meditation, and in this moment there are very, very few secrets. He does not make the effort to hide his reaction in time, and Obi-Wan catches it.

Anakin turns away as Obi-Wan’s face fills with surprise and horror. “Anakin--”

“Can we just pretend you didn’t feel that?” Anakin asks, and flinches when Ahsoka pops up from where she lies and scurries around to hug him like a vise. “Can we just pretend I’m not--”

“Dear one, there are very few people I would trust as much as you in this,” Obi-Wan says. “Those who match up are largely the people who helped me raise me when I was actually this age.”

“Being completely reliant on your padawan isn’t--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, cutting him off there. “I can trust you to care for me in ways that don’t just come down to making me a useful general again. I already trust you to risk your life and safety and freedom to see us survive, given what little I remember of that storm.”

“You handed yourself over to Mandalorians you knew nothing about so we’d be safe,” Ahsoka mutters into the fabric somewhere over his ribs. “That could have gone really badly, and you still did it because you were worried about us.”

“We trust you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling Anakin to his chest and resting his chin on Anakin’s head. “We know you.”

“You don’t even know what happened in the storm,” Anakin mutters. “You were asleep.”

“I caught enough listening to the doctors,” Obi-Wan says. He runs a hand over Anakin’s head and through his hair. “You did well, Anakin.”

Anakin wonders why they don’t do this in real life. Obi-Wan doesn’t usually hug him, let alone cuddle. Maybe it’s because they’re all stuck in too much truth in this shared meditation, and the other two are currently stuck in child bodies that crave physical affection in ways they don’t realize they’re expressing in here as well. Maybe it’s the stress.

“What even can you hear?” Anakin mutters, still in Obi-Wan’s arms. Ahsoka giggles at him, nuzzling into his side in a way he doesn’t think she’d ever let herself, normally.

“We can’t really think in the real world right now,” she muses. “Only when we’re sleeping, and probably when we’re meditating once we’re bigger. If I try to think too hard, my head hurts worse than that time Ventress got me in the head with the back of her saber.”

“Everything takes up more space than it should,” Obi-Wan adds. “It’s... all of my senses are bigger and brighter and take up more of my attention, but they aren’t very clear, really. They’re just more. I can’t focus on anything, either, except... well, the feedings.”

Ahsoka makes an annoyed noise. “The whole diapers and bottles thing is really embarrassing, by the way. Only here, though, I barely notice when I’m awake because...”

“Because you’re a toddler,” Anakin says drily.

She huffs. “How would you feel if you were stuck like that?”

That’s fair.

��I don’t remember much,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “But part of me recognizes familiar things, even if I can’t quite make the connection.”

“Was that Fett, earlier?” Ahsoka asks. “Because I thought I saw a friend, and I pretty much forgot the face as soon as they left, but--”

“It’s Fett,” Anakin confirms. “But I guess that’s good to know? You saw his face and your baby brain just assumed it was one of the clones?”

“Pretty much.”

“And we know we trust you,” Obi-Wan adds, and tightens the hug when Anakin stiffens. “Anakin, I can barely understand the world around me at all right now. It’s like being on the painkillers that don’t knock you out but leave you saying only the most ridiculous things that come to mind. You have a general understanding of what’s going on, but all your emotions are too much and the room spins, you can’t stay on one track mentally, you can’t remember what you’ve done and what you haven’t--”

“You can’t control your bladder,” Ahsoka mutters, just a touch spitefully.

Obi-Wan grimaces and nods. “An unfortunate commonality in the experiences, yes. What I was aiming to address, however, is the fact that I only remember a very few things with any reliability. Most of my adult mind, so to speak, appears to be stored in a stasis form in the Force itself, because the infant mind can only handle the barest edges of who I am. But what that infant mind knows, and what I remember thinking once I have some sense of my full self in sleep, is that there is no one I react to as positively as you, Anakin.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Ahsoka interrupts, “but can’t because he’s trying to be a serene Jedi Councilor who definitely doesn’t break the code, nosiree, is that we don’t remember much about ourselves when we’re awake, but we remember you, and we know that we love you, Skyguy.”

Anakin stares at her, and then twists around to look at Obi-Wan instead.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka croons. “Stop being emotionally constipated. We’re literal babies right not, which sucks, but we’re like 90% emotion. Tell Skyguy.”

“Yes, er, Ahsoka was not incorrect,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his beard and refusing to meet Anakin’s eyes. “I, that is to say, we...”

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka says, a touch sharper than she might have dared if not for the reversal of their ages.

“I do love you, Anakin, and it’s one of the only things my child mind knows consistently.”

The Force does, in fact, sing with the truth of this. It circles them like a delighted tornado of emotional reality, pulsing like a coat of positivity.

Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder and hugs him as tightly as possible.

“Oh! Oh dear, I--Anakin, really, this isn’t news.”

“Master Kenobi, you’re allergic to actually talking about your emotions. Let him hug you.”

“Anakin, I’ve raised you since you were nine, it would be nearly impossible for me to not care, why are you--”

“Master Kenobi, stop questioning him!” Ahsoka whines. “It’s affirmation time.”

“Ahsoka, have you been spending time with the mind healers again?”

“I was a teenager in a warzone and also Barriss bullied me into it for my own good.” Ahsoka shrugs. “I learned some stuff. You two should have gone, too. You were more karked up than I was.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan scolds.

“What are you going to do, spit up on me? You can’t exactly make me run laps, Master.”

“Both of you shut up,” Anakin mumbles, and tries to push as much of his own affection as possible into a little ball of feelings that he can just drop on the two of them while he’s still in his own brain and not somewhere he can’t touch the Force. “Just--just shut.”

Apparently, Anakin’s feelings are a lot, because Ahsoka bursts into tears and Obi-Wan zones out so hard Anakin starts worrying about him.

They’re in a mindscape, a thing that he didn’t really think happened, but does. He shouldn’t have to worry about his--

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling him in tighter. “Why did you...”

“Skyguy, I don’t think you planned on putting in the part where you worry about nobody loving you back as much as you loved them,” Ahsoka says, raw and uneven. “Because, uh, we got that? Skyguy, that’s really wrong!”

Oh shit.

“No, you were... you were not supposed to get that,” he says, just a little strangled. “I am so sorry, that wasn’t--”

“Be our dad.”

Anakin stares down at his Padawan. She stares determinedly back.

“What?”

“Fett asked if we were yours, and you edged around the question by saying we were family, but he was asking if you were our dad. I’m guessing you didn’t want to claim that when we couldn’t agree to it, so I’m telling you now: do it. Adopt us the Mandalorian way or whatever. You were already my older brother, basically, this is just a step sideways in how we talk about it.”

He stares at her a bit more. He doesn’t have words, and his emotions are such a cyclone of conflicting thoughts that he’s surprised the Force hasn’t tossed him out.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be born, but if I am, then I need a name so I don’t have the same one as future me,” she says. She takes his hands, holds them tight and leans in close. “You’re going to be raising us anyway. The Force already made it clear there’s no fixing this, we tried asking while you were unconscious, it wants us to grow up the long way. You’re going to be our dad. Just make it official. Make me a Skywalker.”

Anakin sits up straight, looks her up and down, the determination and affection and--

He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “Master?”

“...yes, Anakin?”

“I know she said ‘we’ and ‘us,’ but I’m not letting anyone speak for anyone else. Not for something this important.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, and then rearranges himself to something a tad more formal. He takes one of Anakin’s hands in his own. “Anakin, we’ve been family since you were nine. This is just redefining the terms. We can adjust as we go forward, but for all intents and purposes, the majority of the time, I will be that youngling in the cot. For all intents and purposes, I will be your child, and... and I would be honored for you to make that official.”

“Even if it breaks the Code?” Anakin presses.

“All is as the Force wills it,” Obi-Wan says, almost but not quite overriding Ahsoka’s, “This doesn’t break the Code.”

They both turn to look at her. She shrugs. “What? You guys are always arguing about it and Skyguy was married. I went and did some digging about what is and isn’t allowed. This adoption would be skirting the edges of some rules, since we should be taken to the creche to be raised in a communal manner, and official adoptions are discouraged for reasons relating to later padawan stuff, but since the Force is also insisting we stay with the Mandalorians, I think it qualifies as an exception and will be treated as such, retroactively, by the Council. You also won’t be able to take either of us as Padawan once that time comes. It does not, however, violate the Code in and of itself.”

“What the hell, Snips?”

“I’m impressed, young one,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile Anakin can feel. “I could have expected to see you in court in a few years, with an argument like that.”

“You knew I was married?” Anakin squeaks.

“Rex isn’t a very good liar,” she says. She then droops. “Or, he wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. He tried, at least, but I caught on. That was against the Code, though. Just so you know.”

Anakin runs a hand over his face, tries very hard not to think about what and whom he’s left behind. He can save that breakdown for later.

He chances a look at Obi-Wan.

He gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“You’re not mad?”

“I knew you and the Senator were close, considering all the kissing you did in the Arena,” Obi-Wan says drily. Anakin isn’t stupid enough to ask how he knows it’s Padme. “I didn’t know you were married, and am a little disappointed you didn’t at least tell me, or consult me before you did it, considering you were still a padawan... but no, I’m not mad. Even if I were--and I am not--we’ve time-traveled, so I’m fairly certain that qualifies as annulment. It’s a non-issue.”

Anakin pushes down the tidal wave of grief for people who haven’t been born yet, and just breathes instead. This is important. This is too important for him to just kriff it up.

“Names,” he says.

“I still want part of it to be ‘Soka,’ if you don’t think it’s too risky.”

Obi-Wan shrugs with a smile. “Almost every time I’ve posed as a Mandalorian, since my first mission with Satine, I’ve gone by Ben. It would be fitting that, now that we’re here and apparently staying, I take the name for real.”

Anakin nods. He closes his eyes, and breathes deep, and thinks that they may be among Mandalorians on a world of snow, but he has the desert in his bones and will never forget it.

“Ahsoka Tano, sister of my heart,” he says, hoping he’s getting the words right, and takes her hands in his. It’ll have more meaning here and now, where they’re both of full mind. He holds her gaze. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my daughter, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Sokanth Skywalker, she who slips through every hunter’s trap, and you are my child.”

She smiles brightly at him, and looks like she might cry. He presses his lips to her forehead. He turns to his Master. He hesitates, because it’s one thing to redefine his little sister, but...

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, father of my heart,” he says, his voice catching where it shouldn’t. He can do this. It’s weird but he can do this. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my son, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Ylliben Skywalker, he who hunts the monsters of the darkest nights, and you are my child.”

The man before him almost laughs, well aware of how absurd it is for Anakin to be the one adopting him, but keeps it limited to just a twinkle in his eye and a quirk to his lips. Anakin presses his lips to his teacher’s forehead.

He pulls both of them in close. Padawan and Master. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

Daughter and son. Soka and Ben. His.

“I’m still gonna call you Skyguy,” Soka says wetly. “But Mas--um, Ben. Ben can call you buir, all the Mandos are gonna love it.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says. “I’m going to be telling you Tatooine bedtime stories, by the way. You’ll remember creche stories as you grow, but these’ll be new.”

“I do believe that would be appropriate,” Ben says, laughing just a touch. “I also think we should perhaps disband this, unless you have something else to address. You’re going to be dealing with two very cranky younglings soon.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have headaches after this,” Soka laughs, rubbing her face against his shoulder. “But it’s okay, we got what we ne--”

“No, shut up, what you do mean, headaches? You said that was only when you were awake!”

“I mean, we’d be sobbing after like three minutes if we were awake,” Soka says cheerfully. “This way, it’s been like... an hour or whatever between all the talking and the hugging and the crying and the feelings, and we’re just gonna be grumpy.”

“Oh my--wake up!” Anakin growls at both of them. “I’m responsible for you now, wake up.”

He ignores Soka’s laughter and drags himself back to wakefulness. Behind him, he feels slight confusion and pain mixed with love and delight. Ben starts fussing.

Anakin drags a hand over his face and groans. He gets to his feet, nods to the nurse droid, and steps over to the cribs.

“Can we put them in the same one until I get my arm back?” he asks. The droid obliges, moving Ben to Soka’s crib. She immediately crawls over to him and envelops him in a hug. She pouts up at Anakin, eyes going watery, and he drops into the chair next to her and offers his hand through the bars. She grabs it.

“You’re going to be trouble for a long, long time, huh?”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he smiles at her. Yes, trouble in spades, his Snips.

He starts telling her one of the fables of Tatooine, the really sanitized ones meant for children her age, before they got to the slave stories and haunt-tales. She falls asleep for real, no Force Shenanigans, shortly after. Ben is dead to the world by that point, making small snuffling noises whenever the blanket tickles his nose.

Anakin knows he’s got the galaxy’s dopiest smile on his face. It’s fine.

It’s a few more hours before someone stops by. He’s used the fresher by that point, helped the nurse droid coax Ben through a feeding, and helped Soka play with the little stuffed eopie they’ve given her.

“They got names, aruetti?”

He looks up and over. “Yes.”

The middle-aged man ambles over, arms crossed. “Jango said you claimed to be all they had left.”

He is. “They’re family. I’ve had a few hours to think it over, now that I’m not getting shot at or dying in the snow. To any system that allows it, I’ll be their father.”

“No chance of returning them to their people?”

Anakin shakes his head. “Soka has none who would recognize her, and I already--I already babysat her regularly, and she thought of me as a brother. It’s an easy next step.”

“And the human?”

“I... the master-padawan relationship is often one that is compared to that of parent and child,” Anakin says carefully. “My own master was like a father to me, and Ben is... Ben is all I have left of him.”

There. Not quite the truth, but... technically not lying.

Ben makes a small noise in his sleep, fussing, and Anakin reaches through the bars to brush his thumb across the infant’s chubby cheek. He smiles helplessly as Ben whines and curls in tighter on himself, pressing a tiny fist to his mouth.

“You’re good,” Anakin whispers. “We’re fine, Ylliben.”

“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” the Mando says. “But I do believe you’re doing what you can for those kids.”

“That’s all that matters,” Anakin agrees, finally looking away from his... his son.

Mine, the greedy krayt in his chest whispers.

“When are you planning on going back to Coruscanta?”

“I’m not,” Anakin says, standing and looking the man head-on. Anakin’s taller than him. That’s usually useful. “I don’t know why, but the Force wants me to stay here, or at least with the Mandalorians.”

“You want me to believe that you support my cause?”

“I don’t know your cause,” Anakin admits. “But I don’t like Death Watch, and I know you don’t either. Nobody on Coruscant is going to know to miss me, and the Force is warning me away from trying to go back. Whatever it is that needs doing, I’m supposed to be doing it here.”

The man steps forward. “Anyone tell you who I am?”

“No.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel.”

Good for you, Anakin thinks, and doesn’t say. “I’m pretty sure you already know my name.”

“I do,” Mereel says. “Wanna tell me how a Knight with a seemingly valid ident card claims nobody will know to miss him?”

“No.”

Mereel doesn’t even blink. “Try that again.”

“It means exactly what I said,” Anakin says. “The ident card is real. My training and rank are earned and deserved and bestowed by protocol. All of it was done at the Temple in Coruscant, but if you phone up the Temple with my name and face, nobody will know who I am.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why,” Mereel grouses. “What’s stopping me from calling them up anyway and asking them to come fetch your hypothermic ass?”

“...the fact that I already offered to help you?” Anakin manages. “I... I did say that part, right? That I’d help?”

“What’s stopping you from wanting to go back? And don’t give me any of that ‘will of the force’ banthashit.”

“I broke the Code,” Anakain says. The words sit heavy in his mouth, but one of his violations is lesser than the other, and-- “I married, and we’re not supposed to do that. She’s... not around anymore, but it still stands that I did it.”

The Tuskens weigh on his mind, suddenly and intensely. He hasn’t thought about them in ages, has always pushed those memories down, down, down, but--

“And they won’t take you back?”

“They might,” Anakin admits. They probably would, with his full title and everything, especially if he told them about the future. “But they wouldn’t let me keep the kids.”

Understanding flickers. “Not allowed kids?”

“It’s not... technically against the code,” he hedges. “But they’d find out about my marriage while investigating my past--” maybe, he’s not sure what kind of investigation they’d justify for a complete stranger of a knight, especially to confirm the future, but if they had a psychometric so much as touch his saber or arm, once he gets those back, there’d be a risk, “--and after already breaking the code by marrying, they’d be far less willing to bend the rules about the babies.”

He doesn’t realize how likely the risk is until after he says it, because he’s just been focusing on staying alive and following the Force, but.. they’d want the kids in the creche. He’s broken the code enough that any investigation they set to prove he’s legitimately a Jedi Knight that isn’t recorded and isn’t in the system is going to uncover something through the Force. They might not let him keep his family.

“What are their names?”

“I already--”

“Jango kept his last name,” Mereel cuts him off. “Did yours?”

Anakin looks the man in the eye, and then attempts to cross his arms in response, to mirror the pose and hold his ground. Unfortunately, he’s forgotten that he’s only got the one arm, which is really kriffing irritating.

“I gave them my name,” he says. “They’ll know where they came from, but they are mine.”

Yeah, no shit they’ll know where they came from.

Mereel’s face twitches, but the man is unreadable in the Force. Still, there’s something in the air... “So, those names?”

“Sokanth and Ylliben Skywalker,” Anakin tells him. He spells it out when the droid asks. He assumes it’s just for the medical data their droids are collecting.

“How well can you fight without your laser sword?”

“You mean unarmed?” Anakin asks, and then smiles brightly and tauntingly and waves his empty sleeve around. Mereel does not appreciate the humor. “Pretty well, but I do better when I have the Force, and am not still recovering from hypothermia. And I’m a fair shot with a blaster, but no specialist.”

Mereel eyes him for a moment, and then nods. “One of my snipers is Force-Sensitive. Never was enough to get more than some basic training in mental shields and the control to not hurt herself, but when we mentioned bringing in a Jetii, someone asked her what she thought. Came by the room while you were unconscious and said she thought you felt sad, angry, and desperate... but that she had a good feeling about where you’d be going.”

“Sad, angry, and desperate?” Anakin repeats, a little offended.

“You act like a veteran, kid,” Mereel says. He shrugs. “Damn near everyone that goes through some kind of war has all that going on. S’normal. You got Kamira’s approval, though, and that means a damn sight more. Keep your secrets for now. We’ll get there eventually.”

No we won’t, Anakin thinks. Out loud, he asks, “So, how much of what kind of work would I have to do to borrow a ship to Tatooine and earn enough to free a slave girl?”

#disaster lineage #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #jango fett #jaster mereel #time travel #mandalore #tatooine #de aging #babies #phoenix files #Anakin and the Jedi Babies

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