I grew up with Mafalda! My anthology collections fell apart from age + use. She's always been one of my favorites. ❤
For everyone else, Mafalda is an Argentinian newspaper comic that ran in the 60s, but is widely known all over South/Central America and parts of Europe.
it's difficult to translate the tone without embellishing a little, but she basically goes, "Hey, mom, was this guy your first boyfriend, or....?" at what's clearly like 2 in the morning about her dad because Mafalda was a savage who took no prisoners in her search for the Truth. she's also like six, to be fair, they're just like that.
if the Korkie bs is that he's actually obitine's secret child BIG MOOD I hATE THAT FAN tHEORY
indeed it is! like, I don't care what peeps do in fic and headcanons and such, but to me it crosses the line when they continue to tag SW creators (like Felony) begging for it to be 'canon.' i just have so many reasons why i don't think it'd be good characterization for either character. 🤷♀️
For shinobi, the one thing important above all else is teamwork. (Ch. 240). Discord 30 Minute Gift Exchange (Comrades of My Heart) for @tomicaleto | Prompt: Taiyaki
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“Remind me again how this is a mission, sensei?” Kakashi asks flatly, ask he cracks an egg into a bowl.
Minato smiles widely. “It’s one that I have specially requested. And you and Obito are the shinobi I want for the job.”
“But you know how to cook already,” Obito points out, rifling through one of the cupboards. After a moment, he emerges victorious with a bag of flour, which is hefty enough that he falls back on his rear, a puff of white powder hitting his face. “Told you I’d find it, Bakashi!”
“Don’t waste the ingredients,” Kakashi tells him.
Chuckling, Minato says, “Nice work, Obito. You can portion what we need into that bowl while I finish up the filling. Kakashi, keep working on the wet ingredients.”
Both boys nod, and their fleeting glance at each other tells Minato that they’re going to compete to finish their tasks as fast as possible. They’ll have to add clean-up to the mission parameters, he thinks, caught between amused and concerned for the future of his kitchen.
Even as he is racing Kakashi in a contest of who can get more of their ingredients outside of their bowls, Obito’s curiosity persists. “But what’s up with all of this, sensei? Why’d you send Rin and Kushina-nee away? If it’s about teamwork, shouldn’t we all be here?”
Minato reaches for the sugar with a sigh. Folding it in carefully into the pot on the stove, he asks his students, “Well, you remember last month when Kushina and Rin gave us those chocolates, right?”
“It was a holiday, so they were supposed to,” Kakashi says, folding his arms. He nods at the mixture in front of him. “I’m done.”
“Of course, I remember!” Obito says, almost indignant. “I’d never forget to thank Rin for a gift! How’s this, sensei?”
Obito tilts his bowl in his teacher’s direction, and Minato determines that what’s inside of it is enough to form a batter. “You’ve both done well. Now you and Kakashi can put the batter together.”
There is some debate between Kakashi and Obito over whether Obito’s ingredients should be added to Kakashi’s bowl or the other way around, but luckily, Minato is able to mediate by asking them to put it into whichever is bigger. With fewer causalities to his kitchen than expected, they manage to get their taiyaki ready for the moulds.
When the boys have settled down, Minato explains, “Today, it’s our time return the favour and give something back to them. We don’t want to leave their feelings unanswered. “
“You’re marrying her, sensei,” Kakashi says, raising an eyebrow. “I think Kushina-san knows you like her.”
Placing a hand on both of his students’ heads, Minato leans down with a grin and says, “That’s true. But when you care about someone, you should tell them, alright?”
Both Kakashi and Obito turn red and mumble out replies. Minato asks them to speak up, and Obito mutters, “Married people are embarrassing,” while Kakashi nods his agreement.
I wanted to answer this in your actual ask but tumblr apparently took that off?? I don't know, anyways! 20000 leagues under the sea is a favourite and Nemo Anakin designing and building his own submarine has me like 😍😍😍😍😍😍
Yes!!!!!! I haven't read it in a few years so I was just checking out the wikipedia page and saw that Aronnax describes Nemo as "certainly the most wonderful physical specimen I'd ever met up with." As one does, I guess? Could be Obi-Wan cooing over Anakin's handsomeness very easily. And Nemo is a brilliant engineer obsessed with revenge for his dead family, and he makes several questionable decisions.
Really I just want to read 20000 Leagues Under the Sea again because I've forgotten a lot of the details, and I want Obi-Wan and Anakin to kiss 😍
"By the time Obi-Wan reached their rooms, Anakin and Ahsoka had already eaten dinner and cleaned everything up. Now, he found them sitting on their couch, with Ahsoka using the opportunity to watch some holomovie on Anakin's holoscreen. Anakin, for his part, was stitching a pattern on a piece of cloth using a golden thread."
(three lines but oh well)
yes i am absolutely still taking first lines and i love this one so much!! also this is way more than five lines unless you define line as a paragraph but it's fine it's all fine
By the time Obi-Wan reached their rooms, Anakin and Ahsoka had already eaten dinner and cleaned everything up. Now, he found them sitting on their couch, with Ahsoka using the opportunity to watch some holomovie on Anakin's holoscreen. Anakin, for his part, was stitching a pattern on a piece of cloth using a golden thread.
“Been busy?” he asked, shedding his outer robe and setting the kettle on the stove.
“Doing absolutely nothing,” Ahsoka agreed and looked absolutely delighted about it. Anakin just hummed from his spot on the floor, intent on his work, and Obi-Wan watched him fondly as the kettle whistled and he set about pouring himself a cup of tea.
He’d just settled onto the sofa beside Ahsoka when, without even looking up, Anakin sent a tendril of the Force to tug the teacup from his hands and bring it down to his own lips.
“Thank you, Master,” Anakin murmured, and Obi-Wan couldn’t even feign irritation, not when the faintest hint of a mischievous smile was flirting at the edge of Anakin’s mouth. In retribution, he leaned over to look at Anakin’s project—and had to steady himself on his Padawan’s shoulder at the sight of the pattern of twin suns his old apprentice was stitching onto one of Obi-Wan’s own tunics.
So you’ll always have me with you, Anakin projected through the Force, his signature shining with peace and light.
fluff and domesticity is the way to my soul! I hope you liked it, tomi <3
(send me the first line of a fic and i'll write the next few!)
oh boy oh boy oh boy!!! did you know i cannot write snippets/short fics?? did you know i just wrote 1200 words for this ? strap in
34. meeting at a masquerade ball:
“I thought the point of these things is for rich people to give us money,” Anakin grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He wants to reach up and adjust his mask but he can’t because last time he had, Padme had slapped his hands away and spent five minutes yelling at him under her breath about him ruining all of her hard work.
“It is,” Padme responds, smiling pleasantly at someone walking past. “The museum relies on these events to keep departments like yours funded well enough so that you can afford to go cavorting around the globe, exploring unstable ruins and giving me stress ulcers.”
“But don’t you think these guys won’t want to give us money if we can’t see their faces? I mean half the reason they do it is for the recognition.”
“Would it kill you to not think the worst of everyone, all the time?” she asks with a sigh as she turns to give him what he knows is a very judgmental stare from under her mask.
“I guess we’ll never know,” he responds immediately, uncrossing his arms just so he can reach up and fiddle with his mask. He keeps forgetting that he’s wearing it, it’s so light on his face. The black lace is sort of itchy, and it’s not really doing anything to actually hide his identity, but Padme had insisted. Padme had insisted on a lot of things tonight, most infuriating of them being that Anakin show up.
“I did not dress you in gold and black just so you could stand in the corner and complain, Anakin Skywalker. If I don’t see you out on the floor, making nice with potential donors in the next five minutes, I’m pulling your Peru trip.”
“Padme!” Anakin yelps. “You know that’s not--” but she’s gone in a whirl of blue fabric and Anakin is left alone to sulk. He snags a flute of champagne off of a passing tray and downs it in two swallows. Liquid courage as he moves out of his little alcove and into the main floor of the museum, turned into a proper ballroom for the evening.
He’d wanted to stay in tonight and do research for his next trip. He still needs to brush up on the language and customs, as well as relisten to audio clips one of his field interns had sent him yesterday. He’d had plans, Padme, and they did not involve being stuffed into a very stiff outfit that exposed more of his chest than he was comfortable exposing around his coworkers, Padme.
He smiles painfully at the coworkers he recognizes and wonders if he can just talk to them instead, if Padme would notice. She probably would. And with the Peru trip on the line, he can’t afford to play around here.
One more champagne flute. And then he’ll talk to a stranger. Is he getting paid to be here?
He looks around despairingly for a waiter, but they all seem to have unanimously decided to leave him high and dry, emphasis on the dry.
“Ah, good evening,” a voice says to his right and Anakin temporarily abandons his search in order to have what is going to be a very tedious and hopefully brief conversation.
Plans, Padme. He’d had plans.
And they had most certainly not involved impeccably groomed older men dressed in dark navy three-piece suits, holding out a glass of champagne to him. The man’s mask cut diagonally across his face, exposing one steel blue eye, a defined cheekbone and a jawline almost entirely hidden by a neatly trimmed beard.
Anakin accepts the flute almost as if in a dream. “Hi,” he says dazedly.
“You seemed to be looking for one of these,” the man says in a crisp British accent, gesturing with his own glass to the one in Anakin’s hand.
“I--yeah. Yes. Thank you.”
The man smiles at him as if charmed. Maybe the man has terribly low standards in conversational partners.
“I like your. Outfit.” Anakin says, which sounds very stilted but it’s also much better than what he first thought of saying, which is that he liked the way that the man’s shirt was unbuttoned just far enough to expose his collarbone to Anakin’s very greedy eyes.
“I wish I had had something in my wardrobe more worthy of the compliment,” the man responds, falling to stand next to him casually, as if settling in for a long chat.
Anakin’s plans for the night are rapidly shifting and changing before his very eyes. He’s not even mad about it anymore.
“You don’t work here,” he means to ask, but it comes out sounding much more like a statement. He takes a sip of his drink to fortify himself.
“Do I look so out of place?” The man, thankfully, laughs.
“No, no,” Anakin says quickly, and then even faster, “I just would have remembered you.”
One eyebrow raises in something like amusement, and Anakin wants to die. “Oh, you would have, would you?”
He’s not going to answer that. He’s already said enough. More than enough. Too much.
“You’re right, of course. I’m a writer. But I do spend much of my free time here.”
“A writer?”
“Oh yes, science fiction mostly but I’ve found the best science fiction novels take inspiration from our own world.”
“Anything I’ve heard?”
“Quite possibly,” the man nods, taking a sip of his own champagne. “I like to think I’ve done well for myself.”
Oh, so this man’s a donor. He almost wants to look around for Padme, to make sure she’s paying attention to him, but that would mean looking away from the man in front of him, and he doesn’t want to do that at all.
“And you?” the man asks.
“I’m an archaeologist. And archivist with the museum,” Anakin says, trying to think about how to phrase what he does without boring the man. It’s happened too often before with people Anakin’s interested in: they’ll ask him about his job and he’ll talk for so long that by the end of it, he’s single-handedly killed any hopes for a second date.
Not that this is a date or anything remotely like a date. But the principle is the same.
The man’s eyes have lit up, however. “That sounds absolutely fascinating. I would love to hear more.”
“You--you would?” Anakin asks, wrong-footed.
“Absolutely, darling,” the man says, the endearment gliding off of his tongue.
“It’s Anakin,” Anakin says, blushing a furiously bright red.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep by call--”
“It’s fine! That was fine, don’t apologize, please. Just. In case you wanted to know. My name.”
The man smiles then, and it’s beautiful. “It just so happens that I did want to know your name, Ahna-kin. And mine is Obi-Wan, but why should we stop at names? There’s so much more I’d like to know about you.”
“Yeah?” Anakin asks, feeling brave enough to put his hand on Obi-Wan’s--Obi-Wan’s--arm gently. “Like what?”
Obi-Wan covers his hand with his own. His fingertips are rough, or maybe Anakin’s feeling particularly sensitive at the moment. “Everything.”
