My favorite mermaid art is the one of a family photo with a mermaid mother and old sailor father and their sons are both reverse merfolk (human legs with fish heads).
dear god am i spectacularly in love with nk jemisin's writing because it's the first time i've seen a depiction of calculated, performative love of a child towards an oppressive and abusive parent that isn't framed as malicious but a survival mechanism!!! i'm so tired of monstrous children going "I love you daddy" only for the parent to kill that monster masquerading as a child despite their guilt and being lauded as a hero when in reality abused kids go "I love you daddy'' to manipulate their piece of shit parents out of further abusing or flat our murdering them
second hot take: anakin skywalker can't read and no one fucking noticed
no you’re so fucking onto something here bc we’re talking about the people who didn’t notice a woman was nine months pregnant with twins and a guy who has such a desperate need for approval he would have literally learnt to make books read themselves aloud through the force than admit to obi wan he couldn’t read himself. so when the padawans went through gffa poli sci and How Not To Become A Fascist 101 he was not clued into the assigned reading
for the prompt list, how about #16 for the Star Wars characters of your choice? 🪐✨
#16 -- our life was one block wide
this is definitely a very abstract interpretation of the prompt and also one of the more incoherent au concepts ive run with but here u go <3 <3
"But I'd say your best bet will be homeschooling," Qui-Gon Jin is saying. "I had to switch myself, back when the kids were school age. It is a commitment, but a worthy one."
His long biker style ponytail is offset by the very lumpy and quite frankly ugly knit sweater he wears, and the thick plastic rims of his glasses. His kitchen door, which he had to duck a little to step through, stands open to let in the pale fall air and also to enhance the acoustics of the relative chaos running through the rest of his house. It seems to be full of people -- not too hard to guess who, given the line up of lopsided family photos lining the wall next to the ancient rain poncho and the three mismatched cars in the driveway -- which is … unexpected. When Din met Bo Katan's old college friend at the most recent political rally she’d dragged (read: blackmailed) him into attending, he had opened up out of desperation; even Bo Katan’s referrals were worth following up on when he had no other options. Except all Ahsoka Tano said, sipping the juice box she’d pilfered from the drinks table while Paz droned on about clan solidarity at the podium, was, You know, I think you’d do really well to talk to my dad.
And now here he is. Drinking apple tea out of definitely-homemade clay mugs and discussing educational philosophy with a total stranger, who looks like someone spliced Sons of Anarchy with like, an English teacher (Cara has been making him catch up on modern media). At least Greef and Cara were okay to babysit Grogu for the hour; otherwise Din wouldn’t know what to do at all.
Ahsoka’s foster father is still talking, it seems.
“Now, granted, it can be overwhelming. You could always try an alternative Montessori type institution – my eldest Obi-Wan’s working in that these days, though I can’t say I completely hold with their methods. But a boy with his ability and constitution, he might do fine in that sort of environment.”
“He’s just,” Din tries to come up with the words, “I don’t want him to feel like -- out of place.” Omera said nonverbal at six wasn’t unheard of, especially given none of them knew, really, what had happened before Din found him, but –
“Always tricky at that age,” Qui-Gon agrees wisely. He takes a long sip from his cooling cup while a loud thundering of footsteps sounds on the staircase just outside the kitchen door and one of the voices that had been going on in the background becomes more clearly audible, saying,
“Well, I wouldn’t have lost it if you didn’t leave all your old things in my room!”
“You own a literal apartment with your literal wife and children, Anakin!” calls back a second voice, in cheerful, overloud tones. This voice, at least, Din recognizes, “And I can use your old room for storage if I want to, Qui-Gon said so –”
“Please tell Snips to use Obi-Wan’s room for storage next time!” calls the first voice, matching that same easy cheerfulness and somewhat more directly aimed at the kitchen.
Amidst all this a teenaged girl with too much hair wanders in, picks up and bites into one of the leftover apples on the counter beside the stove, then says, proclaimative,
“Dad lost his screwdriver again.”
Qui-Gon gives Din a complicatedly fond look, like, Kids.
Din sweats. Grogu is a kid, his kid, but increasingly he is realizing that he has no idea what that means – the depth and implications of a child in his care. He probably wouldn’t even be here if not for the sheer dumb luck of his lovely widowed neighbour and Greef and Cara from the bar, and now homeschooling – Din never finished high school! He’s diplomaless! It doesn’t matter what Boba Fett says about corrupt institutions in the quiet moments between running security during happy hour, he can’t leave Grogu without opportunities in this economy –
“Hey,” says the girl, interrupting Din's mental doom spiral. “Wait a second. You’re the guy! From the afterschool program.”
“The – the afterschool program?” Din manages.
“Yeah, my brother Luke volunteers there. By Temple road? You were there last week to pick your kid up and he wanted to keep playing with the blocks.” She grins, a combination of cleverness and genuine care in her round cheeked face. “The adorable Dumbo ears, right?”
“He –” Din clears his throat. “Yes. My neighbour says he’ll grow into them.”
“I saw him run over to you at pickup time,” says the girl. “It was so sweet. You should’ve seen him, Grandpa, this guy’s a natural.”
“Leia’s an excellent judge of character,” says Ahsoka’s sudden voice, in time with her braided head poking into the kitchen. “You should listen to her. But later, because she’s late for soccer practice.”
“We’re late for soccer practice,” Leia says, though allows herself to be led out of the room, not before catching a second piece of fruit in her hands, this one tossed gracefully across the room by Qui-Gon himself. “Dad’s our coach. You’re assistant coach. The whole extracurricular is an enterprise in nepotism …”
The front door slams distantly behind them.
“I,” Din says, and then just sits there, for a moment, in total silence. He does remember the other day, at the after school program. He remembers the huge grin on Grogu’s face and the warm sticky feel of his cheek and his little fingers tangled in Din’s scarf, which was slightly singed because Greef had just introduced flaming cocktails to the menu and only total idiots drink flaming cocktails in the mid afternoon. He takes a deep breath and tries again. It never hurt anyone to try, Omera keeps reminding him, on the off days they have these weirdly deep chats when they take the garbage out at the same time. “Maybe – maybe if you had some of your … curriculum materials. To share.”
Qui-Gon looks immensely pleased. “That I do, Mr. Din Djarin. I’ll just go fetch them from upstairs. I’m sure your boy will take to them in no time.”
the great thing about getting dressed to go to new years in my living room is I don’t have to worry about my outfit being practical, on-theme, or weather-appropriate. I’m out here lowkey dressed like a cowgirl and living my best life. might put on sweats soon tho.
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