#anything goes week

[sleepymccoy]

This is also a bit of a culture query, cos these are all in my house so I genuinely cook with these all (except chicken salt, that's been in my cupboard for ages)

But I'm not from the USA and most people here are, so I wonder if that's similar! Maybe your cupboard is identical to mine. Maybe we use the same stuff but call it something else. Maybe USA has a different relationship with pre mix spices and you use none of it. Maybe you've never heard of pre mix spices. I dunno. That's why I'm asking!

I use plain herbs and spices as well. Especially when making a complex meal I'll do it myself. But I use pre mixes other times, so I'm voting. Voting for a pre mix doesn't mean you don't also use paprika! If you genuinely have no pre mixes in the kitchen tho, then hell yeah, tell me!

Also, I know I haven't listed everything in the world. One, that's impossible. Two, this is a bit of a culture thing so I just checked my kitchen and used those. This selection is representative of me only

(you don't have to be from the USA to vote, obvs, we just all know that's how the results will end up. Please tell me about your spice mixes in other countries!!)

Morrison spice blend: Pepper, tumeric, ginger, cardamom, parsley, salt

Chinese five spice: Star anise, cinnamon, clove, fennel, Sichuan pepper

Chicken salt: Salt, chicken stock, garlic, paprika, pepper, onion, celery

Gluhwein gewurz: Orange peel, cinnamon, lemon peel, star anise, hibiscus, clove

Chimichurri: parsley, garlic, oregano, vinegar, chilli, salt, pepper

Za'atar: thyme, cumin, coriander, sesame seeds, sumac, salt, chilli

Garam masala: coriander, cumin, cardamom, cloves, pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg

[arsenicflame]

Bonus round! Do you use a queue tag?

[souldagger]

made a murderbot cosplay for a con last week!

[puppyeared]

Alex and my farmer Cosmo (he/him)

[aroaceleovaldez]

Nico and Percy's dynamic through the series is eternally funny to me, because it's just. like.

Percy's having a constant mental struggle between his fatal flaw of loyalty with a promise he made to Bianca to protect Nico, versus his Big 3 kid desire to maim other Big 3 kids / Poseidon descendant urge to totally maim Nico specifically. He hates Nico so so much. He thinks Nico's annoying and weird at best, and creepy/sketchy when he's older. The only positive thoughts Percy has towards Nico are "He's Bianca's brother and Bianca was my friend and I owe her/He's Hazel's brother and Hazel is my friend and would kill me if I was mean to him," "He's a powerful asset and useful ally (if questionable)," and "He's kinda pathetic and I feel maybe a little bad about it." Percy has multiple occasions throughout the series where he strongly considers - and on one occasionally actually goes through with - throttling Nico.

Meanwhile, Nico is following around Percy like a lost puppy. He explicitly can never bring himself to even dislike anything about Percy no matter how hard he tries. He has a whole bit in BoO where he's mentally going "UGH he's so stupid BUT IT'S ENDEARING HOW DARE HE." He's totally smitten. He's making deals with his dad for Percy. He's making convoluted plans to help Percy stand a chance against Kronos. During the entirety of BoTL it's like he's playing tsundere - "I'm helping NOT PERCY SPECIFICALLY with this quest! Me helping Percy would be SILLY because I DEFINITELY HATE HIM." Then he proceeds to show up to Percy's birthday party to basically ask him on a weird date and spend the entire next book scrambling around trying to help him or protect him or impress him. And Percy could not give less of a shit.

Just. That dynamic is so funny to me. Percy is the founder of the Nico Protection Club in that he's the one they're all protecting Nico from and meanwhile Nico is throwing himself at Percy to the point where the literal god of gay love calls him out on it.

[violent138]

Bruce has a habit of randomly worrying about his kids and silently lurking in their room until he's done being insane. This usually happens mid prolonged argument or after an incident on patrol that he thinks could've gone much worse.

It would be sweet, if he hadn't raised his kids to be just as paranoid as he is, making them shoot awake every time to see to their Batdad sleep paralysis demon.

[worstloki]

AU where Loki doesn’t interfere with Thor’s banishment at all and it takes Thor years to prove himself worthy and when he returns to Asgard everything is just. The same. Nothing seems to have changed at all and everyone greets him like his absence was a minor obstacle that didn’t fundamentally change Thor and the worst part is Loki stepped down from the place as regent without any delay and Thor can’t help but feel there’s something underlaying the way his brother looks at him now and won’t let him touch him and Thor doesn’t know what he could have missed because he doesn’t think he would have found anything wrong with the things around him and how everyone behaves if he hadn’t spent time on Earth reflecting.

[edgeray]

One Hell of a Butler Pt.1

Encounter (Arlecchino x Fem! Reader Blurb)

A/N: Guys. I am so sorry. I don't think that Arlecchino oneshot is being posted tomorrow. 😿Trust that it will be posted this weekend. Take this as an apology (I am fr spoiling y'all Arle fans) for the pushback. This is a repost to something I submitted as an anon to @/megistusdiary so there's a chance you've already seen this. It was written a while ago so quality is not up to par. This is the Black Butler inspired demon au! that I talked about in my poll, check it out if you want a little bit more on this concept. (Thank you guys for voting in it! :33 I'm looking forward to writing the oneshots). Series Masterlist Content Warning: Semi-graphic descriptions of violence

Everything hurts. It burns, burns, burns, and you can't feel your limbs and your vision fades in and out. Your broken form twitches on the ground, and as your assailants approach you, ready to wrench the remaining life out of you slowly and painfully, with your final burst of energy and concentration, you let out a guttural screech, a summoning spell spewing from your raspy throat and bloodied teeth. 

At first, you think nothing happens. They stalk you, unfaltering despite what you have just called for. Wearing teeth-baring grins and depraved intentions, they near your crumpled body, with their dirty, despicable hands reaching out towards you. Your half-lidded eyes shut fully, and you heave out a sigh of resignation, giving up the futile struggle of staying alive. 

You hear it first before you actually see it. A sound distinct only to stilettos clicking against the ground. It jerks your attention immediately, and you twist your head slowly to face the oncoming figure. Black heels with gold adornment catch your eye, and then--

"Well, well, looks like I found the doll that called me," you hear a deep, feminine voice sibilates, voice reverberating throughout the chamber. Your gaze slowly trails up the newcomer's figure, and the white clothing, snow-white hair, and feminine features cause you to mistake her as an angel. Red-crossed pupils meet with yours. A shiver works its way up your spine but you stare in awe regardless. What kind of human was this?

One of your tormenters inquires rather rudely about the woman and storms towards her haughtily, ignorant of the fact he has just sealed his fate. There's an audible, irate click of her tongue, then a snap echoes the room. For a brief moment, your sight is filled with just red, and then your eyes widen as the aggressor bursts into a beautiful explosion of blood and guts. She walks past where once the man stood without pause, now just a puddle of blood, tutting at the blatant disrespect of the formerly alive human. Her feet stop just before you and her shadow looms over.

"A-arle...cchino?" You croak weakly as your hazy gaze sets on her. She looks so handsome, beautiful like a guardian angel, even when she's covered in red. Her lips curl up slightly and she crouches down to hook an arm behind your back and knees, lifting you bridal-style. Heat radiates from her cold-blooded being and it is so much more comforting than the icy hardness of the floor. You immediately bury your face into her shoulder while your needy hands grip onto her coat out of desperation and fear. Beneath the intense iron smell of blood, she smells of something floral, you noted with dulled surprise. 

"That is me, the Knave. And what have you called me for?" She purrs from above, repositioning you in her arms so she could support you with one arm instead of both. 

You give one single glance behind your shoulder towards the now cowering group of people, their behavior reminding you of feeble sheep rather than the bloodthirsty pack of wolves. You think that you'd like lamb chops after all of this. 

Turning your head back, you suck in a steady breath, your voice unwavering and clear despite being muffled into her clothes. "Kill them." 

"As you wish." 

Even as she draws out the sweetest, most revolting of screams from the remaining alive people, you find peace in your arms. You don't watch, instead, opting to rest your head against her and try to fall asleep to your former captors' begs of mercy. A hand combing through your hair wakes you up. You admire her sharpened red nails and her black hands, so contrasting against her unblemished and perfect skin but pretty all the same. It looks nice, sifting through your hair, it feels right, it feels perfect, even if they're dipped in blood.

"Well, I suppose we can work out the contract at a later time. For now, rest, my dear," her voice is soft and it lulls you to sleep in her arms. She tucks your head underneath her chin and walks away from the bloodbath, her darling wrapped tightly close to her.

[squuote]

still unsure bout this one but might as well post it anyway x-P

[jelly-o630]

Okey not sure how big the overlap is between gravity falls and musical theatre fans is but in the gravity falls falsettos au obviously Fiddleford is Marvin, Stanford is Whizzer, Tate is Jason, and Fidds wife is Trina sooooooooo would Stan be Mendel or would that role go to bill and who do we make the lesbians from next door

[skunkes]

never underestimate a cheye's ability to think "what if this is as good as it gets" about any situation

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[somegrumpynerd]

They had a long day of causing problems and fell asleep in front of a movie. You know when Nightmare found them he had to take a picture (like any good dad, he must embarrass them to live)

And a bonus version under the cut of Nightmare tucking them in

[tennessoui]

For the prompt list, nanny/single parent obikin would be amazing!!

(from this prompt list)

(the first time I answered this prompt two years ago, the nanny anakin au was born)

so to do something different, here's some gffa widowed anakin, nanny (sort of) obi-wan!

(2.5k)

It is hard to find time to grieve. There are too many things to do. Too many appointments to make, too many decisions Anakin isn’t sure he’s qualified for. Some decisions are easier than others. For example, the funeral will be on Naboo. There will be two services: a public one to honor Padmé’s public service, and a private one to honor who she was as a person. The casket will be closed, because his wife died when her cruiser exploded. There isn’t much left to bury anyway.

But some decisions are harder. Which flowers should go on her casket. What songs would she want sung and who should sing them? Would she prefer her grave closer to her ancestral home or the home she created in her adulthood?

If she told anyone the answers to these questions, it wasn’t Anakin. But then, the people who knew her best, who loved her most, died with her. Sabé, Rabé, Saché, Yané, all of her handmaidens—an assassination such broad strokes that it was impossible for it to fail.

So Anakin chooses Yali lilies, because Leia’s eyes linger on them the longest. He chooses a small Nabooian folk band to play after her service because their music is the first thing to make Luke lift his head from his coloring books in days. He formally requests that her body be buried among her ancestors, and the Nabierres agree immediately.

And he keeps telling himself that he will grieve, but there is so much to do. 

And then—then there’s after the funeral. Then there’s the rest of his life, sprawling out before him in a long, hazy road. 

There are more decisions to be made.

There are people who have opinions on them now, people who sat back and let Anakin muddle through flower arrangements and kriffing seating charts, who now step in to peer over his shoulder, monitor his every breath.

Should he really move the children back to Coruscant? Does he truly plan to continue to work as a mechanic in the Mid-Levels? Should he not think of the children, their needs? How can he support them on the thin amount of credits he makes? Would it not be better for the children to live on Naboo in the care of their grandparents and their extended family?

It would be what Padmé would have wanted.

Anakin cannot care about what Padmé would have wanted, because she isn’t here. Not to argue with him, not to make her wants known. She is dead. She doesn’t get to haunt him in the waking world too.

“What do you want?” he asks plainly, sitting down across the table from his two children. The twins blink back at him. Leia has finished her cereal. Luke has barely touched his.

“Bacon,” Luke says.

Anakin hadn’t meant for breakfast, but he figures it’s as good of a start as any. “Alright,” he agrees.

He stands once more and goes to the kitchen. It’s not exactly his domain. It was never Padmé’s either. The way Padmé grew up, food was made once you requested it—by droid, by cooking staff. Not by the hand of a Nabierre.

The way Anakin grew up, food was cobbled together carefully, sparingly no matter how much you requested it. And no matter how you cooked it, it always tasted a little like dust, which took the joy out of experimentation.

But the serving staff have been dismissed for the past two weeks to give the family time and space to grieve in private. 

(Padmé’s parents have been given a schedule for visiting hours for that exact reason.)

Anakin locates the pan; then, he locates the package of bacon strips.

When he glances up, both twins are watching him over the edge of their barstools, tiny faces showing both skepticism and incredulity.

“I want to know what you want to do,” Anakin says, raising his voice as he places the pot over the heating plate, the meat in a moment later. “Do you want to stay here with your grandmother and grandfather? Do you want to go back to Coruscant?”

The twins are quiet. Anakin twists his neck to look at them again, and they’re looking at each other, silently communicating the way only twins can.

“Where will you be?” Leia finally asks, looking at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, bottom lip already jutting out.

Anakin blinks. “Wherever you are,” he answers.

“You won’t leave too?” Luke asks rather tremulously.

Anakin takes the pan off the heated plate and turns it off with a decisive flick of his wrist. “Of course not,” he says. “Come here.” He crouches down and barely has enough time to open his arms before the twins are there, pressing in as close as they can get to him. He holds them back just as tightly in return.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises into Leia’s hair. “Not without you two.”

—-----------------

It becomes apparent fairly quickly that this is, by necessity, a lie.

The twins don’t want to stay on Naboo, which Anakin is secretly incredibly grateful for. He doesn’t want to either, but he knows he’d just be called selfish should he express the opinion.

But the twins don’t want to go back to Coruscant either. This makes sense as well. It would be incredibly jarring for them to go back to living in the quarters they shared with their mother, her Upper Coruscanti apartments in the nicest district of the planet, without her there.

Anakin wishes it were as simple as sticking a pin on a planet and deciding to uproot the entirety of his family to live there. 

But it’s not.

Perhaps if he were still young, nineteen, newly free and in love with the taste of that freedom, it would be.

But he’s a widower now. He has his children to think about, their futures. Any planet he chooses must have what they need as well. 

And they are four year olds who have just lost their mother. Their needs are numerous.

What makes the decision for him in the end is that his boss knows a man from Stewjon, who is willing to hire him. Who is willing to pay a premium for his expertise with mechanics.

Anakin doesn’t know the first thing about Stewjon, other than that it’s an ocean planet in the Inner Core and his dead wife always said the Senators from Stewjon were so frigid and tight-lipped because they spent the first few days of each visit trying not to be seasick on the Senate floor.

Anakin isn’t sure why this is the very first thing he tells the man—his potential boss—he meets behind the counter in the mech-shop on Stewjon.

He’s left the children with their grandparents for the week—long enough to fly from Naboo to Stewjon, meet with his potential employer, interview, apply his work practically, and fly back out.

He’d explained to both twins why they had to stay on Naboo. He’d explained many times. That hadn’t changed the betrayed look Leia had worn as she saw him off. It hadn’t wiped the tears from Luke’s eyes.

“Ah, well, I can’t say I’ve heard that one before,” the mechanic says. He sounds amused, and Anakin is incredibly shocked to hear a Coruscanti accent. Everyone he’s spoken to since arriving planetside has had such a heavy brogue that he’d honestly struggled to understand their directions to the shop—Kenobi & Sons.

Anakin lets himself look again at the man behind the counter. He’s rather clean for a mechanic, he decides. His beard is red, a common factor around these parts apparently, but his beard is short and neat, trimmed to accentuate the strong lines of his jaw. His eyes are a stormy blue, the kind of blue that matches the Stewjoni ocean.

“Between you and me though,” the man smirks and leans onto the counter with his elbow. His tunic is dark gray, white starchy fabric peeking out beneath the v-necked collar. “I’ve never been a fan of Stewjoni politicians anyway.”

“Oh?” Anakin asks, sidling a step closer to the counter. The man has the beginnings of gray at his temples, and his eyes are lined with wrinkles. They don’t make him look old though, Anakin decides. They make him look…well-lived.

“I’ve not a head for politics much at all,” his future employer shakes his head slightly with a small smile. His eyes flick up and down Anakin’s face, lingering on his lips and then lingering longer on the scar over his brow. Anakin feels rather flushed under the inspection, and he shifts his weight forward until he’s leaning up against the counter too.

There’s something about this man that’s rather…magnetic. It pulls him in. It makes him want to linger.

Good characteristic for a shopkeeper to have, though Anakin privately decides that the man before him has a face that’s wasted on mechanics, buried under some ship’s underbelly in a backroom.

“Me neither,” he admits, a moment too late to sound anything but highly distracted. It makes the man smile again though, a flash of straight white teeth.

“Is there anything you do have a head for then?” he asks. His tone is light, airy, rather teasing.

This is the strangest interview Anakin has ever had.

“Um,” he says. “Well. There’s mechanics.”

“Oh?” The man’s eyebrow lifts at an elegant angle. He props his chin on the palm of his hand and looks up at Anakin through his eyelashes. “Then why come here to us then?”

“Um,” Anakin says, and not because the man looks rather unfairly flattering like this, amber eyelashes in sharp relief against the blue of his eyes.

They’re interrupted by the sounds of clattering in the backroom, stomping and cursing. The man before him straightens with a slight sigh and picks up the closest flimsipad. “And what brings you in here today, sir?” he asks rather loudly, pitching his voice back to the other room of the shop pointedly. “Problem with your speeder? Serving droid? Cruiser? If it’s your astromech droid, I regret to inform you that I’ll have to refuse you service on account of the fact that I don’t particularly care for them.”

Anakin thinks he splutters, but whatever noise he makes is definitely drowned out by the rather irritated shout of Obi-Wan! that comes from the back.

A moment later, a man storms through the door, looking annoyed. "We will service an astomech if that's what's broken, Obi-Wan."

Now this is a man that Anakin can believe is a mechanic. His nails are blackened with oil, and his bare, burly arms carry smudges of the stuff. He’s much broader than the man—Obi-Wan—that Anakin had been talking to. He’s bald with a reddened scalp and a rather large red beard that’s the antithesis of the other man’s in every way. His clothes are dirty, loose, and the color of ash. He looks older too—whereas Obi-Wan could easily be in his thirties, this man must be pushing fifty.

He snaps at Obi-Wan in a language that Anakin doesn’t understand. Obi-Wan shrugs and hands over the flimsi pad without argument.

“Um, actually,” Anakin says, feeling incredibly wrong-footed. “Which one of you is Kenobi?”

“I am,” both of them say. Obi-Wan’s smirking slightly. The other man’s voice is louder, carrying that Stewjoni accent so obviously lacking in Obi-Wan’s speech.

The older man closes his eyes as if he’s praying for patience. “We both are,” he says. “Though if your ship’s malfunctioned, sir, I’m the Kenobi you want to see. This one’s good for naught but magic tricks.”

“I have been told I’m rather good at other things,” Obi-Wan turns his smirk full-force at Anakin, dropping his eyes to Anakin’s lips once more.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker,” he says very quickly in a very normal tone of voice that is most definitely not a squeak. “I’m here to interview for a position. As another mechanic.”

“Oh,” the older Kenobi says.

“Oh,” the younger Kenobi says in a much different tone.

The older Kenobi pinches at his nose for a moment before turning around the counter and offering his hand. “Ben,” he says. “Ben Kenobi.”

Anakin takes his hand and shakes it, eyes traveling back to Obi-Wan. Is he supposed to shake his hand too?

“I’m the Son in the sign,” Ben says gruffly as if that answers his question.

“I’m the reason it’s plural,” Obi-Wan adds, busying himself with the contents of the counter. From what Anakin can tell, the man is just messing up the carefully organized piles of receipts. 

He decides that he would rather not get the job than point this out to Ben.

Ben huffs out something in Stewjoni that sounds downright insulting, but that doesn’t stop Obi-Wan from smiling sunnily up at Anakin. “My brother enjoys bitching and moaning that I came back home when I was seventeen, but he’s awfully quick to foist his children off on me when he’s called to shift at the rig offshore and Marci’s off-planet too.”

Anakin blinks. He feels like that’s the safest answer.

“Only thing good that blasted Jedi Order ever taught you was how to handle younglings,” Ben says, and then spits on the ground as if the words themselves have left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anakin blinks and wonders if he should say something to remind the brothers that he’s here. For an interview. “And my magic tricks,” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes slightly before catching Anakin’s eye and winking. With a wave of his hand, a flimsi-sheet flies over the counter and into Anakin’s chest. He catches it unthinkingly. “Would you like to sign in, sir?” “Get out of here,” Ben barks, snatching the flimsi from Anakin’s hand and pushing it back to the counter. “Like I said, the only one’s impressed with that is the younglings.”

“I don’t know, your man looks impressed,” Obi-Wan says slyly, even as he pushes himself away from the counter and around the edge of it.

Anakin isn’t sure what he looks like. He doesn’t think impressed is the word he’d use though.

When Obi-Wan brushes past him, the static electricity in the air jumps between their shoulders. Anakin feels as if he’s been shocked.

Obi-Wan must feel it too because he stops only a few inches away and looks at Anakin. For the first time, his expression is open. Curious. Considering.

“Get!” His brother insists, and Obi-Wan obeys, throwing one last look over his shoulder at Anakin before he slips out the door.

The shop feels somehow much bigger now that the other man has left. Ben sighs and rubs a hand down his face. He looks older now. More worn. “So that was my brother,” he tells Anakin wearily. “Who you would most likely see frequently if you were to take this job. I would understand completely if you would like to start by talking compensation.”

[becca-alexa]

because who can when eddie's involved

this big boy loves to help you i can't even with this-

this man reads signals like a colorblind dog at a traffic light

and a BONUS STEVE

because you're eddie's princess but you're steve's baby

HUGE MASSIVE THANK YOU TO @munsonmecrazy FOR SUGGESTING THESE i just couldn't resist they were so good i just picked my favorites 💗 I HOPE YOU LIKE THESE 💗💗💗💗

[bookinit02]

in honor of my s5 announcement this week, here’s one of the scenes from the first episode! hope you all like it🫶🏻