#not much exposition

[waywardstation]

Look for anything (or anyone) that could be familiar

For part two:

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🔼 for Ingo to find Emmet

🔽 for Emmet to find Ingo

[peacesmovingcabaret]

It really feels like Hua Cheng’s character was design to showcase just how ineffective and dare I even say useless heavenly officials truly are.

First, you have reports of a ghostly groom who’s really just Pei Ming’s bitter ex kidnapping brides and murdering god knows how many people over the past 100+ years. Yet heaven does pretty much nothing, and dumps the responsibility on a twice demoted scrap god. It takes Hua Cheng showing up, guiding Bride! Xie Lian to the ghost’s domain and destroying the barrier that kept away outsiders for the issue to even get resolved.

When Xie Lian needed to find information about Banyue pass and asked around heaven, they declined to enlighten him on anything. Meanwhile Hua Cheng (while in his San Lang disguise) tells him every detail, helps him on his journey, finds him the antidote for the scorpion snake bite, protects him while trapped in the Sinner’s pit and helps him with exposing Pei Jr. as the culprit.

Oh and then there’s the boy with the multi-faced disease that he asked Ling-Wen to look for several days ago, that took Hua Cheng all of two minutes to track down. Like come on!!!

Then there’s the whole Fang Xin Guoshi/Golden Feast Massacre incident Xie Lian was accused of. That took Hua Cheng only a few hours to uncover the truth and prove Xie Lian’s innocent. A matter that would have taken heaven who knows how long to settle.

Heaven is so bad at their job, Hua Cheng made a jab at them for how they would be dragging their feet when it came to dealing with Qi Rong’s underlings. Then proceeded to highlight that fact by literally making it rain with the blood of said underlings that he’d just slaughtered in that very instant.

[boinin]

Chapter 271 spoilers

So, a couple of interesting things about chapter 271, which is all from Rin's POV and mostly in flashbacks. The main reveal was about the Itoshi parents.

They're not particularly important figures in Rin's life, but apparently this is not due to neglect. The parents in this chapter seem conflicted in how to raise and guide their children, rather than actively harmful in their parenting. The worse you can say about them is that they seem hands off. Sae does the heavy lifting when it comes to consoling and advising Rin, not their mom or dad.

What's most interesting to me, in terms of Rin, is that they're never fully depicted. Rin's memory shows them in detail, but never with eyes. Compare this to how he recalls Sae, his kindergarten teacher and fellow kindergarteners. Even the bloody pigeons are well rendered in his memory—but not his parents.

Lastly, the body language of the parents speaks volumes. Rin and Sae's mom is somewhat present in their lives, or at least tries to be despite her own doubts. Their dad though? Really avoidant. His body language is evasive, and the only time he seems truly present is when he's comforting his wife.

As an aside, while their dad has dark hair, Sae looks just like him now that he's older. Their mom has lighter hair like Sae, but the way her hair sits looks like Rin's. She's also willowy and tall like Rin. Nice seeing how they both inherited different things from their parents.

Other than that? The panels of baby Rin trying to be a Kaiju are too damn cute. We're starting to get a sense of where he started, and how those natural instincts of his got twisted and repressed over time. I really liked this development, even if it refutes my theory about what his ego was.

The other thing that's really clear this chapter is how protective Sae is towards Rin. He steps in without a second thought to take his mother's reprimand about the broken toys—even though their mom seems to know he's lying about it. He's quick to suggest taking Rin out of the house for ice cream when he senses his little brother feeling bad.

Sae's aim seems to be to cushion Rin from every bad thing, whether or not it'd be ultimately beneficial for Rin to undergo that experience. Which makes you wonder—how does his outburst post-Spain fit into that agenda?

[guardian-angle22]

Tarlos Wedding Celebration Event [Week 12] -> favorite location(s)-> The Tarloft

[volcanicsleep]

i've been havin' mega hard art block the past month hsdajidbsi, but i managed this which is nice

[blueskittlesart]

hi i have literally zero art to post rn but here's my favorite shot of the main character from my thesis graphic novel so far

[evviejo]

STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE - S2E17 Playing God

[correct-hermitcraft-quotes]

Tango: I'm gonna need to make the door bigger to this truck so that Impulse can fit his head in, if that's okay.

[twentytwoarts]

my friends and i made an au where the classic world is trapped in a time loop and classic sonic basically has the worst time of his life

[azu1as]

dumb rotmhs fanfic idea: one hundred years after his death, tang bo reincarnates as the son of a wealthy merchant family in shaolin.

—basically, a tangcheong reincarnation ficlet set during the shaolin tournament arc 👍

»—————————–✄

Part 1 2 3

the zheng family was the leader of a wealthy merchant guild in shaolin. while they were not on the same level as the hwang, they were still influential enough for rumors to run amok.

And rumors always circled their eldest son.

zheng bo was as much of an enigma to his family as he was to those within their village. he had always been a quiet child but, one day, something happened that /changed/ the then five-year old.

the zheng family's son cried tears upon tears. he was absolutely inconsolable. his small body shook, overcome with emotions so heavy that his entire body was painfully heaving.

and when he woke up, eyes bloodshot and distant, it was as if the childhood spark in his eyes disappeared along with his tears the previous night.

off-handedly, his father noted the history book that was dropped haphazardly on the floor. several of its pages were scrunched up terribly.

the zheng partiarch mistook it as his son's desire to learn martial arts, but quickly learned the opposite as his son glared at the instructor with so much vitriol it was poisonous.

no matter how many instructors he sent his son's way, he all turned them back—uncaring whether they were decades-long martial artists, instructors of renowned ones, or teachers from the shaolin sect itself. if anything the latter worsened zheng bo's mood to the nth degree.

ashamedly and with deep regret, both the zheng patriarch and matriarch had to give up on their son as they realized the teaching him how to inherit their merchant guild was a futile endeavor. zheng bo would rather stay cooped up in his room in complete silence.

the zheng family had three more children after their eldest yet none of their births affected the dark veil of mourning that shadowed their eldest brother.

A veil that no one could ever seem to lift.

other families often asked after him, most in hopes of marrying off their daughters, but the zheng matriarch stiffly laughed them off.

they had tried once to set a play date with another merchant family's daughter, but it ended up with her in tears and vomiting with an upset stomach. the same occured with the next and third ones.

they catch zheng bo slip a vial with an unknown substance back into his sleeve and understood the lengths he would go to avoid such a thing from happening again.

many years go by and their second son inherited their family's merchant guild, much to the confusion of many.

it stirred up interest in zheng bo. rumors went around about his inability to perform his duties as the eldest son; some said that he was actually a bastard which was why he was overlooked.

former servants and workers from the zheng family whispered about the eldest son's madness and how his mania could not be cured by even the best of doctors and healers.

but as with all rumors and public interest, it died down when no new information sprung forth.

zheng bo was simply a crazy son who was better kept within the walls of the zheng estate than be let out for fear of what his madness would lead him to do.

when the shaolin tournament began with warriors and fighters from the ten great sects and other notable families, the zheng patriarch tried to urge zheng bo to attend and simply watch the battles with the rest of the family.

zheng bo scoffed at him.

their second son placed a comforting hand on his father's shoulders and suggested that they just let him be, "the winner has already been decided. i'm sure eldest brother would end up bored."

but the world had a funny sense of irony.

mount hua was the competition's dark horse. they were nigh unstoppable, flicking away their opponent's swords with absolute ease and twisiting around them as if they were falling petals themselves. it was an unexpected but amazing start to the competition.

as the finals approached, discussion about the upcoming fight between mount hua's divine dragon and shaolin's hye yeon run rampant outside of shaolin's walls. inside the zheng estate, no one could stop talking about the unexpected showing from what should have been a fallen sect.

tang bo, by chance, overheard the praises heeped on mount hua's divine dragon who had beaten everyone he had faced undeniably and soundly.

a part of him felt guilty that he had been too overwhelmed by his own grief and pain to even step out and check on his family and hyung's sect—especially after what he had learned about the aftermath of the battle against the demonic sect one hundred year ago.

so felt a strong wave of relief at the knowledge that mount hua had regained its footing somehow and that it was doing well enough to receive awed praise.

he felt imensely grateful towards whoever this divine dragon was because he seemed to the center of mount hua's revival.

tang bo idly wondered if chung myung was berating him in the afterlife. he asked him to take care of tang bo's family, but couldn't offer the same for his sect, he imagined that the other man would just exaggeratedly roll his eyes and tell him to start doing better then, you bastard.

and so tang bo, for the first time in a decade, knowingly chose to leave his room and approach his second-life father first.

thirty years was a long enough period to mourn, even if his heart still aches with regret.

but tang bo supposed supporting mount hua's divine dragon in the finals was a start.

[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.”

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

would you like some tea (uncaffeinated)?

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Sometimes I read the books that the internet is going feral over and I'm just like "take my hand babygirl I can show you the world."

We can do better baby. I can get you a better version of this.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

i feel like im obligated to remind everyone that the time we see the characters spend with saiki on screen isnt the ONLY time they spend together,,, i just see a lot of people take their screen time very literally and assume that this is the case despite it being heavily implied that it isnt, and im not entirely sure why but i can guess that it may be because of the assumption that saiki genuinely hates his friends (i do also see people doing this with specific characters they dont like or that they have a specific agenda for, which i think is them being like "i feel a certain way about them, therefore saiki the narrator who gave me all the information that made me feel this way about them must not like them" which i dont really have a problem with (its just an hc) until they start arguing with people that their hc is the only right answer and saiki canonically hates that person or is only around them when forced to be LOL)

yumehara and teruhashi immediately recognize "kurikos" eating manner as saikis despite us never seeing him eat in front of them, kaido + nendo + kuboyasu bribe saiki for his homework with coffee jelly because they know hes obsessed with it despite us seeing no on-screen reason for them to know that (we do see a bit later that he walks home with them every day and he stares at coffee jelly every single time though LOL), and mera talks about saiki spending a lot of money at her workplace despite us only seeing her and him there at the same time once before..

saiki does not succeed at avoiding them, and in fact is probably not even trying to most of the time LMAO he loves those idiots. dearly.

the people i see the least true implications of him spending off-screen time with are actually, weirdly enough, the other two psychics. this doesnt necessarily mean to take that at face value and assume he DOESNT spend as much time with them, but its interesting i feel... please correct me if im wrong though cuz i would love to see more examples of these kinds of implications, for any characters actually!

[flowercrowngods]

i'm just gonna write a quick thing is always such a scam bc i'll be 3.5k words in and the Thing hasn't even started yet (and still i'm surprised every time smh)

[bluntloyalist]

he is so special. to me