It’s fanfic writer appreciation day, so I want to send some love to my favourite fic writers out there. Since there’s so many good fics in the Haikyuu!! fandom I’ll restrict myself to completed fics, or else this will get out of hand. These will be sorted by the main pairing in the fics. There’ll be some rare pairs here so look forward to that xD
Learning us (nsfw is skipable) by @morisuke-kun. I think I’ve said this a thousand times already, but this is my favourite EnnoTana fic of all time. It hurts so bad at times, but the ending is worth it!
The second part is a mess and out of tune with the music but i’m pretty sure my program just hates me and exporting shit. And i’ve been trying to fix it for the last three hours. I’m done.
But excuse that mess- and thank you Teamiplier for this whole amazing project! Whether it ends today or in the future, theorizing, looking for clues and brainstorming was so much fun I don’t have words to describe it. The community was brought together like never and I myself met my theorizing fam that I love and adore with all my heart. Sitting up until 3 am analyzing every and each video frame by frame was the biggest fun I’ve ever had thanks to them. So just, thank you. For everything. And have fun on your tour! :D
This piece took me waaay too long to do for such a result but at least I had fun and I tried some new stuff. Anyway, I love all the new Gems from Steven Universe Wanted and I just cannot choose my favorite amongst all the Off Colors ones. Plus, Lars looks way too cool in its pink-zombie-Lion new look ; his character development was perfect and I just can’t wait to see what he’s going to become now that he”s stuck on Homeworld with a bunch of strange but lovely Gems !
Hope you like this painting, even though I’m aware of its many problems, and see you later everyone !
As @qwertyuiop678 and I discussed over chat, this is a snapshot into the lives of stay-at-home celebrity cook Qui-Gon Jinn and archival professor Tahl Uvain (She didn’t change her name after marriage, because I’m Chinese and Chinese women when married get referred to as Mrs whatever like Wong-tai, for example, but also don’t change their last names officially). Of course, there’s also their adopted son, little two-year-old Obi-Wan. None of them are Force-sensitive, or Force-sensitivity does not exist in this version of the SW universe.
Pies, Books, and Swords
Qui-Gon Jinn has made quite a good name for himself, as far as holonet cooking shows go.
Jinn’s Den of Dessert Djinns (the producer had insisted on the name, much to Qui-Gon’s embarrassment) features a “ruggedly handsome, yet quietly serious” (according to several raving reviews) father-of-one who, once a week, is broadcast live from his family kitchen as he makes various dishes. Contrary to what the show’s name suggests, Qui-Gon’s works actually vary between dessert, confectionery, and savoury courses.
Viewership had been climbing steadily, until one particular incident rockets the entire family very firmly into galaxy-wide stardom.
In retrospect, Qui-Gon does not understand how it didn’t happen sooner.
Filming day in the Jinn-Uvain household is always slightly more hectic than usual; Tahl fairly sprints out of the house after pressing her lips to the crown of Obi-Wan’s head (and getting a peck on the cheek from Qui-Gon, too). When the front door slams shut after her coat-tails, Qui-Gon puts on one of his fancier, stain-resistant shirts, rolls up his sleeves slightly, and moves Obi-Wan into a high chair.
“Yo-yo,” Obi-Wan says, succinctly.
An entire year of raising this little hellion has gifted Qui-Gon with the ability to understand baby babble, and so he barely pauses between tying the strings of his apron and reaching into the conservation unit for yoghurt.
“Thank dada,” Obi-Wan lisps happily as he tucks in.
The doorbell rings. Qui-Gon runs an affectionate hand over Obi-Wan’s red-gold hair before running to answer it.
Set-up is routine, and the holocam crew comfortable friends, after two years of working together; Obi-Wan is kept amused both by his yoghurt and the passing grins of crewmembers.
Lighting is adjusted, Qui-Gon’s outfit is given a once-over, and the producer counts down to live broadcast; Qui-Gon smiles and begins to speak to the holocam. A crewmember is dispatched into a side-room to watch Obi-Wan.
Calamity strikes when Qui-Gon begins to roll out the first batch of dough for his muja pie base.
The more sharp-eyed viewers of the show might notice that a little hand slips up over the edge of the low sideboard, snatching away a ripe muja-slice. Then another. And another.
Qui-Gon, occupied with stretching out the dough, does not see the rapid depletion of the most important ingredient in his muja pie until he finishes laying a baking-tin with dough, and reaches for the first slice of fruit.
His hand grasps air.
Qui-Gon glances down and to his right, finds a sideboard devoid of fruit - and a toddler crouching down behind it, with juice-stained lips and eyes wide with innocence.
Father and son stare at each other across this diagonal plane of silent thought: I-didn’-do-nothing-dada and Kid-I’ve-literally-caught-you-red-handed.
“My apologies if you’re watching this,” Qui-Gon says suddenly, causing the producer to sit forward. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to make wasaka-berry pie instead of muja today. My stock of muja appears to have been stolen.”
With these words, he bends down out of the shot for a moment and comes up with an armful of toddler.
Obi-Wan squirms a bit as he tries to hide his juice-streaked hands behind his back, but is impeded by his father’s hands under his armpits. He settles with pouting.
The crew, being professionals, hide their awwws behind their sleeves. The producer starts, and then glances slit-eyed to the right, where a panicked crew-member stumbles in from the hallway, obviously having just discovered he has misplaced the child he was supposed to be watching.
“Say hello, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, deadpan. “You’re live in front of the galaxy now. You should at least introduce yourself.”
Obi-Wan waves obligingly, staring perceptively at the camera that swivels to focus on him.
“Hello,” he says, grinning hesitantly. It is nevertheless enough to make his dimples visible.
The producer makes a sound somewhat like an asphyxiating loth-cat. It is unclear whether she does so because of the sheer adorableness, or because her prospects of career advancement may now be severely impaired.
Undaunted, Qui-Gon moves on with the show without even a hitch, fishing a carton of wasaka-beries out of the conservator and setting Obi-Wan to mashing them. Raising is voice over the splat-splat of overenthusiastic toddler fists meeting plastiweave bag, Qui-Gon begins to calmly explain the changes to the muja pie recipe now that the main ingredient is different.
“Wasaka-berries are sweeter than muja, so I would recommend using less-”
“-less sweetener, or perhaps none at all. If you have a-”
“-sweet tooth - Not so loudly, Obi-Wan - then perhaps Chandrillan cane-sugar would be a good choice.”
“Thank you, Obi-Wan. You may take the rest for yourself.”
Obi-Wan accepts the small serving of fruit that remains, and accepts being lifted off the tabletop and placed back on the floor with good grace.
A little “Bye-bye, dada,” rises into the air from the general vicinity of Qui-Gon’s right leg, and then the pat-pat of small feet passes out of the range of the audio-recording devices.
As Qui-Gon continues, seemingly not noticing the small purple handprints that now dot the front of his apron, someone taps the producer on the shoulder.
“What is it?” the producer groans quietly, taking a sip of Qui-Gon’s Sapir blend from the mug beside her chair.
“Our viewer numbers have doubled in the last ten minutes.”
Qui-Gon is a picture of calm when the producer calls him and asks if he would be amiable to Obi-Wan appearing next week. He simply states that he should need to discuss this with his wife.
Tahl returns from a long day at the archives to find her husband bouncing Obi-Wan up and down on his lap as he reviews the draft of his latest cookbook.
“Mama!” Obi-Wan yells as he slips out of his father’s grasp, tumbles across the floor, and careens over to her.
She snatches him up. “Hello, my darling.”
“I made pie!”
“You did? After papa’s show?”
“What?” Tahl turns to Qui-Gon, who is wearing a somewhat sheepish expression. She tilts her head at him. “Qui, please don’t tell me that this is why Plo from down the street told me on my way back from the hover-bus stop that our little boy must be quite a handful.”
Qui-Gon winces. “He stole all the muja live on galactic holonet - I had to include him on the show. It saved what would have been a disaster difficult to explain.”
Tahl stares at him for a moment.
“On the upside, our producer called and said he wants to make this a permanent arrangement. Apparently our viewership numbers exploded.”
Obi-Wan tugs on Tahl’s hair impatiently.
Tahl raises an eyebrow at Qui-Gon as she turns to go. “We’re talking about this later.”
“I mean it.”
“Yes, dear,” Qui-Gon says, sliding off his chair to kiss her on the forehead.
Tucked into bed with a giant hardcover print book taller than him, Obi-Wan giggles as his mother teaches him to read. Print books are rare - datapads and holo-volumes have largely replaced the ancient paper of old, but Tahl firmly believes in the magic of archived works.
“Why do you like this story so much, Obi?” Tahl asks as Obi-Wan eagerly turns the pages.
“That is the name of the book,” Tahl smiles, running a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. “But the hero doesn’t actually fight with it, remember? He talks his way into peace.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan insists, focusing on the pictures. “Like dada.”
Tahl’s hand pauses in his hair.
Obi-Wan giggles as his mother suddenly reaches down and pulls him into a hug.
“Yes,” Tahl whispers into Obi-Wan’s little locks. “Just like your father.”
In the hallway, Qui-Gon tucks his apron under his arm, and smiles.
“Qui-Gon,” Tahl says, later, after Obi-Wan has been tucked in - “If Obi-Wan is on the show, I reserve the right to appear on my days off, too.”
Qui-Gon looks at her fondly. “We’ll need a new name for the show, then.”
“Uvain-Jinn’s comedy of cooking horrors.”
“No. I’m the cook, my name comes first.”
Plotless little AU fic that took waaay too long to finish (sorry qwerty, you know what happened) But here we are! Feel free to reblog as you wish.