#Thank god for the live version but... Just

[simxndy]

Requested by @babyvs !!

Babyvs requested a version of my Mimori Set without the long frontal streaks, so this is an edit, I hope you like it as much as you did with Mimori v1!

BGC

All Lods

Hat Chops

Poly Count: 10070

24 EA Colors

40 Puppy Crow Colors (You will need the mesh with the EA colors)

TOU (Terms of Use -> Read this if you have any questions about permissions, conversions, recolors, remeshes and such!)

       ❤ • DOWNLOAD • MORE CC • 🤍

PLEASE CONSIDER DONATING ON KO-FI OR BECOMING A PATRON. I’m struggling to pay my college tuition and buying my ADHD meds, I can't work or study without them and, right now, I'm not making enough money to cover both issues. Please, consider sharing too, if you can’t help. Thank you for the support :)

Adding to my usual begging moment, and again I'm really sorry about this because I hate this more than you do, but I am really struggling. My parents and I aren't making enough money to live. I'm finally graduating, but I still have debt to clear and I could really use the help. If each one of you donated $1 dollar, it would clear my entire debt AT ONCE. I'm not joking. Just please consider helping <3 Love you, may God bless us all.

[megaeratheefury]

ROOK WEEK 2025 ✧ ismeria mercar design commission by @alamangoes 🥭

first, thank you so much to @rookappreciationweek for organizing this event! 🤩

been super excited for this one because i had the absolute pleasure of finally commissioning a longtime fave filipino artist 💓 actually got this comm back a month ago and been sitting on it while i waited for rook week hahah

i knew forsure that i wanted to infuse ✨filipinality✨ into ismeria's aesthetic while still undeniably placing her in tevinter and giving her her own cunty waist belt. we focused on spanish colonial era fashion influences to parallel ismeria's lived experiences as both ancestrally dalish and culturally tevinter

for this look i initially asked stes for a pamalengke ("for the market"), something she wears when she's off the clock and just one of many in the crowd

even though she's hiding her ears here for imperial reasons tbh i'm so endeared by the headwrap 🥹

[gordon ramsey voice] finally some good fucking lighthouse casuals

if you've read don't get caught, this is what ismeria is wearing at the beginning of the fic 🙂‍↕️

i know everyone is in "casuals" in the lighthouse, but i honestly can't imagine ismeria dressing down too much. she's the leader, she has to command trust and respect, and no one is going to follow someone in pajamas to battle against gods (i also feel like she's just constantly ready to be attacked at the lighthouse/deal with fade chaos so she stays ready in something practical)

the pambahay ("for the house"): this is what she wears when she’s relaxing and can spend the day doing leisure activities like painting and journaling and being loved on by davrin 🥰

yes that top in the final version is sheer teehee

[marsdql]

heyy, it's me 💗

can you PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make a Jay version of enhypen babying the reader and can it be a little longer too? i hope it's not too much

thankyou so much 💗

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Here you go and I also tagged you in the niki btw! Thank you for requesting and I’m sorry it took so long, I saw all your msgs don’t worry! >.< sorry i had to make jay cringe I js had to.

The members were lounging in the dorm living room, a lazy afternoon filled with snacks and half-watched variety shows. You were curled up on the end of the couch, legs tucked under you, quietly giggling at something on your phone. Your oversized hoodie practically swallowed you, sleeves covering your hands as you tapped away.

Jay was sitting nearby, pretending to be interested in the show, but he couldn’t stop glancing at you. The way your nose scrunched when you laughed, the way your eyes lit up, the quiet hum you did when you were comfy. His heart was not just full—it was overflowing.

Then you looked up at him with those big eyes and gave him the tiniest smile.

That was it.

“Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath, standing up suddenly.

“Hyung?” Sunghoon blinked up at him. “You okay?”

But Jay didn’t answer. He crossed the room in two strides, scooped you up bridal-style with absolutely no warning, and sat back down with you cradled in his lap like a giant teddy bear.

You squeaked. “Jay! What—?!”

He buried his face into your shoulder, squeezing you tighter. “My baby’s jus’ too cute. I can’t handle it no more,” he mumbled against your skin, voice dropping into the softest baby-talk. “Look at you, all tiny n’ squishy in this hoodie. You tryna kill me, huh? You doin’ it on purpose?”

You flushed, face warm, and the members froze.

“Hyung…” Jungwon looked both amused and horrified. “Are you—baby talking?”

Jay just grinned, completely shameless. “She’s my baby. You guys can deal with it.”

You tried to hide your face in his chest, embarrassed but secretly loving it.

“Aww, no hiding,” he teased, gently cupping your face and nuzzling your nose. “Lemme see that pretty face. My precious girl. Mwah.”

Sunoo groaned. “Okay, we’re leaving. This is gross. Adorable, but gross.”

Jay just chuckled and held you tighter. “She started it by being cute. I’m just reacting.”

You mumbled something unintelligible against his hoodie.

“What was that, baby?” he cooed again, full baby-talk mode now, rubbing your back.

“I said… stop being so extra,” you muttered, though your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging.

Jay smirked and whispered just for you, “Not my fault you drive me crazy, darling. Mine forever, yeah?”

You’d barely stepped out the dorm when Jay started.

“Watch your step, tiny one,” he said in a ridiculous fake-deep voice, holding your hand like you were about to cross a dangerous battlefield instead of a cracked sidewalk.

You side-eyed him. “Don’t start.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Sorry, sorry. You’re just so small. So delicate. So petite. So fragile. So kawaii. So in need of my constant protection.”

You stopped walking. “Jay.”

“Yes, my baby mushroom pumpkin spice latte sugar baby?”

You groaned. Loudly. “I’m going back inside.”

He cackled, grabbing your hand again before you could turn. « Okay, okay! I’ll stop. Just needed to get it out of my system. » « You’re unbelievable. »

“You’re still holding my hand,” he pointed out, smug.

You didn’t respond. He knew he was right.

The ice cream shop was a quick walk away, tucked into the corner of the block. Inside, he let you choose while he stood behind you, way too close, leaning down just enough to speak near your ear.

“Don’t take too long. You’ll overthink the sprinkles.”

You ignored him, picking your usual. He paid, of course, and handed yours over with a smirk. “For the sleepy menace who pretends to hate me.”

Back at the dorm, you flopped onto the couch, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands and digging into the cup like your life depended on it. Jay sprawled next to you, one arm over the back of the couch. “You’re not mad, right?”

You gave him a flat look. Then, without a word, you slid lower into the cushions, head falling back. “Why are you so much sometimes?”

Jay just laughed. Loudly. “Oh my god, you’re crashing out. You’re done.”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

“You’re like a toddler after sugar. Just shutting down.”

You didn’t answer, just blinked slowly at him, expression blank. He leaned in, brushing your hair out of your face, amusement still tugging at his mouth. But his voice dropped a notch.

“You done pouting now, love?”

You blinked again, slower this time.

And something in him shifted.

He took the empty cup from your hand, set it on the table, then leaned back and tugged you into his chest. His voice changed — low, warm, steady.

“There she is,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Always act tough ‘til you get tired. Then you melt.”

You didn’t say anything, but the way you curled against him gave you away.

Jay’s hand dragged slowly down your back, stopping at your waist, thumb pressing into the soft spot there.

“You gonna be good now?” he asked, voice near your ear, quiet and serious this time. “No more eye rolls?”

You let out a muffled hum.

“That’s what I thought.” His hand tilted your chin up gently. “You know I only tease ‘cause I like watching you get mad, right?” You tried to look annoyed, but your body betrayed you — relaxed against him, eyes fluttering shut.

He chuckled, but this time it was low. “Mm. Too tired to sass me now, huh? Thought so.” He kissed your cheek, slow and lingering. “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ve got you.” And he did—one arm wrapped firm around your waist, holding you close like you weren’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

[lucstarz]

— ☆ ̇ ̟ @ 𝕸𝐞 𝕹𝐞𝐱𝐭

3 | Baku so Sigma 🫩

You huffed dramatically, tossing your phone onto the bed before scooping it back up and hitting Aisha’s contact. You put her on speaker, flopped onto your back, and balanced the phone against your shoulder while admiring your freshly done nails—glossy, baby pink, and dangerously sharp. The kind of set that screamed “unbothered,” even if your brain was absolutely not.

The line clicked after two rings.

“Girl,” Aisha groaned, her voice crackly through speaker. “It is midnight. Why are you calling me while I’m literally tryna get laid?”

You rolled your eyes, flicking a piece of lint off your pajama shorts. “Ignoring the last thing you said—what’s the beef between Bakugo and Midoriya? Like, what actually happened back in the day?”

There was a pause.

“…You’re being serious?”

“Yes.”

“God.” You could practically hear her repositioning on the bed as you could hear the faintest a movements. ‘Definitely Shoto.’ You thought.

“Alright. Short version? Katsuki was a menace. Like, worse than now. At U.A., he thought his quirk made him untouchable and he used to bully Deku.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “He bullied Deku? Like my bestie Deku?? Allmight Jr??”

“Yes. Ruthlessly. Called him ‘Deku’ to be mean, told him to take a swan dive off the roof once—don’t gasp, I’m serious.”

You actually sat up. “WHAT?? And y’all just let him graduate???”

“Look, he got humbled eventually. Now they’re trauma-bonded or something. I don’t remember.”

You flopped back against your pillow, eyes wide as you stared at the ceiling. “So he’s been annoying since the womb. Good to know my memes are punching up.”

“He’s mellowed,” Aisha said slowly, like she didn’t even believe it. “But the ego’s still nuclear. And you know he’s the type to search his name on Twitter.”

You snorted. “I’m not scared of him.”

“You should be. He tracked a reporter once. Had the guy apologizing on live TV.”

“I’m shaking in my bunny slippers.”

Aisha groaned again. “I’m being serious, Y/n. You’re not even in the hero scene anymore. You quit after Shiketsu, remember? You do photoshoots now. Not training drills.”

“Exactly,” you said, gesturing with your perfectly painted hand like she could see it. “That means I’m untouchable. I’m a model with an internet connection and no filter. I live to clown.”

You heard her sigh. “Why do I even answer your calls.”

“Because you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You grinned, already unlocking your phone again. “Thanks for the lore dump, Top-Ten-Hiatus Hottie. Now I can meme him with historical accuracy.”

“If he drags you to court, don’t call me. Shoto’ll freeze my phone if I get stressed again.”

“Noted.”

There was a pause, then Aisha muttered, “…send me the tweet before you post it.”

You smirked. “Already in your DMs, stinkabutt ”

“God, I regret picking up.”

꒷︶ ̇ ̟ ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ︶꒷

— ☆ ̇ ̟ masterlist.

— ☆ ̇ ̟ profile.

[dodger432101]

Hi! Sorry that this is last minute, but I just found a fluffy and cute electro swing version of the song “Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue (Has Anybody Seen My Girl?)” sung by Nick Lucas that I think would be great with female reader and Lux for the Gatsby fic. Like she is Mr. Pye’s granddaughter and at a Gatsby themed party at the Palazzo with her two best friends in their flapper dresses and she enters a Charleston dance contest to the song. Lux sees her dance through the projector room and he falls in love Tex Avery style with her (Wolf whistle, head turning into wolf’s head etc.) They then meet for the first time and he dances with her to the same song dressed as Gatsby. You can make it as fluffy as possible. Thank you! (If you already wrote it with something different, feel free to ignore this.)

[Combined these 2]

You're on your merry way to Palazzo, arms swinging by your sides with your bag on your shoulder. There's an exciting little event that's being held at the picture house your grandfather works at, and you're going to attend. Perhaps even get involved, if your nerves stay down.

As soon as you enter the building you can hear a multitude of voices from further within. You head into the first theatre at the beginning of the hallway, smiling when you see just how many people were here. Sure, it didn't make your nerves any lighter but you felt a sensation akin to pride at seeing so many people gathered at your granddad's picture house. And none of them are even here for a movie! Before you can think about trying to talk to anyone, Reginald spots you and quickly makes his way over. “There she is!” He only says it once he's close to you, not wanting to draw too much attention to you. Then you're brought into a warm hug. “I'm glad you could make it, my dear. Look at this!” He lets you go so he can gesture to the crowded room, a big smile on his face.

“I know! I'm impressed, gramps, you got a lotta people here today.” His smile grows at your praise as he ruffles your hair, chuckling when you bat his hand away.

“So am I! Didn't expect so many to show up, there's a good handful of performers too. And I have suspicions you'll be another of them..?” Your grandad knew all about your love for singing. He was a big supporter of your little hobby, when you were younger he'd attended all your school plays and always clapped the loudest if you'd gotten a singing role, and he liked to leave money in birthday and Christmas cards for you to get singing lessons with. You nod in response to his question with a shy smile. “Well, I'm glad to hear that. I'm sure everyone will love whatever you've got planned.” After giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze he lets you go and get ready while he talks to the other performers.

You've brought quite the look with you; the same kind of pink dress that Marilyn Monroe wore in that one movie, along with matching opera gloves. You don't have any of the jewellery she wore but the outfit itself is quite enough for you. With one last quick check in the mirror you head back to the theatre. Reginald is on the stage, looking a little nervous with everyone's eyes on him, but then he spots you and stands up a bit straighter. You sit on one of the bottom row seats with the rest of the performers as he introduces the first one to the stage. With everyone's eyes on them, no one notices the quick glance he takes at the projector booth, or the little blue figure that's up there.

Lux is leaning on the gap in the wall with a bored expression. Mr Pye had made him promise to not trap these people and remain out of sight. What's the big deal if he was seen? He could just play off the living cartoon as some act of today's event! But instead, he's cooped up in this dusty projector room, with nothing to do except watch the dull performances on stage. Sure, humans were a little fascinating to him but this was no movie. Plus, music’s not really his thing. That's up a different God's alley. The God of Light is about to go find something else to do when Mr Pye speaks up. “And now, I have the joy and pleasure of bringing my own granddaughter on stage!” His antennae perk up as he watches you get up there. That old man has a family? He's never mentioned it! Now you suddenly exist and..

Holy moly you have the voice of an angel. He's utterly captivated, mouth hanging open as he watches you perform. Wait a sec, he's seen you before! You always visit Palazzo on the weekends to watch any runs of those Ring-A-Ding cartoons. He'd been intrigued by your peculiar routine, watching you from within the light of the film. You were quite pretty, make no mistake, but in that dress.. you're drop dead gorgeous! Even while you're singing you have this radiant smile on your face that just lights the room up. He's so entranced by you that Lux doesn't even question the new warm feeling in his chest, he's far too busy getting lost in your voice. At the end of the song there's a round of applause which snaps him out of the spell you've put him under. He automatically joins in, even whistling for you. Then you have to go and laugh, that smile growing wider, and his little toon heart can't take it. The God of Light leans forward as he howls, his head morphing to a more canine look. Only a second later he throws himself down behind the wall, eyes wide and a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Why did he do that? What was so special about you? Why is his face so warm? What's this feeling in his chest? He looks down, blinking in surprise at the heart shape literally beating out of his chest through his clothes. It's quickly pushed back down. This is all new and strange to the little God. Hopefully you didn't see him.

Luckily for him, you hadn't. You're too wrapped up in the overwhelming applause, though the flash of blue up in the projector booth does catch your eye. Before you can think about it too much, your granddad comes over to shower you in praise, pulling you off stage with an arm around your shoulders. You don't think about the blur you'd seen as the next performance starts, it must have been a trick of the light.

After the event’s over and everyone's left, you stay behind to help Reginald clean up. There were decorations, posters, lights, food and drinks (which you helped yourself to). In the middle of scoffing down a cupcake, someone starts whistling. It's the tune of the song you had done for the event. You turn from the table of food to look around, but no one else is in the room. Reginald went to put some of the decorations away, everyone else who attended has long since left the building. That's.. creepy. Just as you turn back to the table, hoping if you ignore the sound it'll go away, the projector clicks on to shine a white light onto the stage. And standing in that light is…

“You really knocked those other schmucks outta the park, toots! What a performance!” That's.. Mr Ring-A-Ding. You'd know, of course, having a family member working in a picture house meant you were watching films quite often. This weird little hybrid of critters mashed into one toon was no stranger to you, it'd be a lie to say you didn't enjoy the cartoons he was in. Only problem is, he's not in a cartoon right now. He's on the stage, here, in the real world, with a somewhat nervous grin on his face. Right, you've just been staring at him.

Blinking multiple times to make sure this isn't some hallucination you're having, you give him a smile. “Well, thank you.” Even though the compliment is from a blue, balding, mixup of parts from different animals, you couldn't help but flush from the praise.

The toon looks much more confident now as he struts up to the edge of the stage, the light of the projector following him. “You’re very welcome, dolly.” That and the wink he sends your way only makes your blush worse. He’s wearing a smug little smirk now, pleased that he's getting such a reaction out of you. “It’s not everyday a beauty such as you comes in here. Only on weekends, isn't it?” Huh? He knows when you visit Palazzo? Mr Ring-A-Ding chuckles at the surprise on your face. “Don't think I haven't noticed you, angel, you're always watching my cartoons after all. You've clearly got a favourite among all those film reels.”

You turn away as you feel your face burning up, shoving the remaining half of your cupcake into your mouth to avoid squealing in embarrassment. Of course the toon come-to-life knows you watch him more than any other film in this picture house. After you swallow down your food, you flick a dismissive hand his way. “I, uh, don't know what you're talking about..” There's a laugh from behind you.

An arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you towards the stage. “Oh, you don't have to lie to me, pretty lady.” Ring takes a hold of your hand, pressing a light kiss on the back of it before that arm stretches to spin you. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when I'm on screen. You can deny it all you want..” He pulls you right up to him, both hands joined in his. With the extra height from the stage, he's just slightly above being eye level with you. “I know I'm your favourite.” As you somehow blush even more and begin to stutter, the little toon giggles and lets go of one hand so he can spin you again.

You're loving the attention of this strange dance partner, but you really want to get him back for all this flirting. So, when he brings you close to him again, you take a deep breath and lean up to whisper in his ear. “And am I your favourite?” He freezes so you pull away, having to hold in a snort at the dark blue blush that's spread over his cheeks. You coo at the adorable reaction, your left hand going up to cup his cheek.

His eyes flash gold at the contact before he jumps back like your touch burned him, giggling nervously as his own hand goes up to touch where you had. “Uh, well- I uh, uhm..” While he's struggling to get a response out he makes the mistake of looking at you. That sweet little smile is back on your face. Ring quickly looks away, slapping his right hand over his chest to stop that embarrassing thing with his heart from happening again. “You, uh, still got tidying up to do! I'll leave you be, haha, uh- bye!” The light of the projector clicks off as he dashes out of the theatre.

Reginald comes back not long after Mr Ring-A-Ding’s left, an inquisitive smile rising to his face when he sees that your mood has gotten even better. “Is the food that good? I bought most of it.” You chuckle as he ruffles your hair again, waving both hands at him to make him stop.

“The company’s been great, too.” He just thinks you mean him, so his smile grows, happy that his granddaughter is enjoying time with him.

Neither of you are aware of the God of Light in a different theatre, who's struggling to come to terms with the strange new feelings overwhelming his little toon body. His hand hasn't moved from his cheek, revelling in the memory of your touch. Hopefully you'll come back tomorrow, hopefully you'll do that again. Maybe.. more?

[theirloveisgross]

own shitty clips of fitf songs i've seen live.

#6, chicago. mérida, méxico. june 8 2024.

[bogkeep]

pros of having a 900+ post queue on my sideblog: a steady source of nutritional, organically sourced Good Posts; keeping the lifeblood of tumblr flowing like a beating heart

cons of having a 900+ post queue: sometimes i realize that the artwork i just queued away is an unsourced repost/ai generated and i have to scroll down all 900 posts to delete it

[wavernot4love]

here i go running my mouth again ..... left foot in the dark 'cause i'm sunnyside.... up-up, up-up ...

no, we don't give a.... up-up-up-up .....

oohhhh.... SUNNYSIDE!!! up-up, up-up .....

if You even care!!!!!

[radio-4-is-static]

ハイパーベンチレイション | RADWIMPS from BACK TO THE LIVE HOUSE TOUR 2023

[fagtainsparklez]

SPARKLEZ!

You wouldn't believe the things I've seen. Or maybe you would. What do I know?

Worlds upon worlds of wonder have embraced my many selves. I'm living a thousand lives at once. And those are just the lives I'm aware of. For instance, in a place called Middle Earth I am reborn a beautiful elf queen. And under the ice shield of a moon called Europa I am a strand of plankton. And in a world we both know well, I'm a bunch of little girls who look just like me, and maybe other things too... Anyway, my umbrella consciousness has reformed for just a moment; my caretaker, in his mercy, has allowed me to show you these things.

But you definitely won't believe the most amazing thing I've seen. Lately I've been looking through a window... A window into bygone years. A man sits in front of a screen, speaking his soul to the world while playing a game. I think I know who he is!

I see this man forming friendships with those who also speak to the world. I know who they are too. They project themselves as tiny box figures into a world made of boxes. It's so much less detailed than the world where the man and his friends sit. I would not have known Ruxomar and it's sister dimensions to be so childlike in appearance except by this contrast!

The days go on as the friends play. The boxlike world is ruled by two gods. Of course I know who they are. The man is faced with a choice between the two. His life is riddled with choices! And like the stubborn idealist he is, he carves out a middle path. He'll take neither god. He'll have a goddess all to his own.

He created me.

A man named Jordan Maron created the goddess Ianite in a world beyond worlds. And Jordan Maron looks just like you. He is one of your countless alternate selves. He looks so much less boxy! I think that if I did not already know you and Spark so well, I would call him my favorite version.

Now I grasp the truth I have been seeking all my life. I have see what is above gods. It is ____________.

My umbrella consciousness won't hold much longer. Let me say a few choice words before the final goodbye between this version of you and this version of me. Thank you for choosing to create me. I believe that had the other you not made that choice in that far off world, none of my present selves would exist. In a strange sense, you are my god. Thank you for believing in your creation enough to make it real. Thank you for continuing to love me and make choices for my wellbeing. I hope another you loves another me in another world soon.

If Jordan looks out the window one of these days, he might be able to see me.

Not even creeping. Just fyi.

Forever Your Lady

[blorboo]

^^ OP your tags are so right :)

do you think shen jiu is redeemable in Canon?

Short answer: no.

Longer answer: It really depends on what's meant by "redeemable" and what's meant by "canon."

Because while we don't know everything, we do at least see the conclusion of his story in canon, so we know that he does not find redemption, nor does he think it possible:

“Has Shidi ever considered that, if you hadn’t treated Luo Binghe like that in the beginning, everything that unfolded today never would have happened?” Shen Qingqiu burst into laughter. “Why does Zhangmen-shixiong say such ludicrous things? What’s happened has happened! I’ve already ‘considered’ it hundreds and thousands of times! There is no ‘if,’ no ‘in the beginning’—there was never any chance of redemption!” (Chapter 24, 7S)

Shen Jiu did what he did in canon, and even at the end of his life claims there is no redemption for himself and there never was.

Without significant canon divergence, Shen Jiu is not redeemable.

That doesn't mean that at times his actions aren't misunderstood or misrepresented, of course-- as we know, he didn't kill the men at Qiu Manor out of nowhere, and the accusations regarding his cold-blooded murder of Liu Qingge we also know to be false, since Shang Qinghua implies he tried to help-- even though his help didn't prevent Liu Qingge's death (and may have made the situation worse due to the animosity between them and Shen Jiu's own emotional instability-- though that's just headcanon). However, in regards to his treatment of Luo Binghe, there's really just no chance or way for him to be redeemed in the canon timeline.

And that brings me to another point-- my general dislike of the idea of villain "redemption."

It's way too nebulous of a term. What would constitute redemption for Shen Jiu? Never abusing children to begin with? He wouldn't need redemption then. Making things right later on? There's no real chance to, and even if he was given a chance, say, by Luo Binghe after he returned, Shen Jiu is the kind of person to double down, not to repent and apologize-- we already knows he views apologies as useless. What's done is done.

I am 100% convinced that Shen Jiu always knew in the back of his mind that, as long as Luo Binghe or any other victim survived, he would die by their hands. While the extent of the violence and torture he might not have expected, he was basically recreating his own childhood, putting himself into the role that Qiu Jianluo once held, and he knew very well how Qiu Jianluo ended.

Unlike some abusers, Shen Jiu does not have the delusion that he is a good person, or that his actions are good. He views himself as scum, so he acts like scum. He probably even thinks himself worse than he actually is-- no one hates Shen Jiu more than Shen Jiu himself. That's another thing that makes the idea of 'redemption' difficult for him-- because he knows he's in the wrong, and continues on that path anyway because he just doesn't see any other option.

So, what Shen Jiu would need is not so much redemption, but a paradigm shift. It would require rewriting his entire worldview, his perception of himself and his perception of others-- and that is very, very difficult, and especially difficult for someone who really doesn't think it's possible. Entrenched beliefs are entrenched for a reason, and a fully-established worldview is not easily changed, especially when it is so incredibly self-sabotaging.

However, let's just imagine for a moment that Shen Jiu actually did get the chance to heal, and that worldview gradually began to shift. I don't think he'd be the best teacher even then, but he at the very least might be able to keep from taking out his childhood trauma on the kids under his care. The difficult part would be getting him to the point where he actually had healed enough to facilitate that paradigm shift.

Basically, Shen Jiu first and foremost needs healing, not redemption or atonement. If he were able to heal, then he might not even need redemption to begin with, and without that healing nothing would change from the canon timeline. But at the same time, the circumstances of canon, along with Shen Jiu's own self-sabotaging viewpoint, do not provide a space for that necessary healing, thus, he can only be "redeemed" through canon divergence.

Shen Jiu is a product of his environment. As much as the choices he makes as a peak lord are his own, they are also shaped by his experiences. Without different experiences, he would never make different choices-- and so, Shen Jiu's fate in PIDW can never be changed.

There are many ways, however, that canon divergence might change things-- for example, my ongoing attempts at a Shen Jiu redemption/character development story in SVLPO where he returns from death and tries to change the future (it's really long, but if you haven't read it yet, it's basically a 400k word character study into Shen Jiu's psyche and will pretty much tell you how I feel about his worldview and how that affects any 'redemption arcs'), or fics in which Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan are different incarnations of the same person, and how Shen Yuan's kinder background enabled him to become a different, kinder person.

I think that there are plenty of ways that Shen Jiu might end up a better, less-tormented person, and that if the circumstances were right, it wouldn't necessarily be OOC-- and so if that's the true question here, then absolutely, yes, he can be redeemed.

Even the deepest wounds can heal, even the most deadly injuries can be recovered from-- the chance may be infintesimal, but it still exists.

In the end, that's what fic is for, isn't it?

[cursedcola]

Prompt: YOU ARE LIKE PAPA!!!! Aka. I'm seeing a trend. The boys are all literal carbon copies of their mommas (or one parent) at this point - so how do they feel having a child that’s THEIR spitting image? In which your genes didn’t even try. Physically...and personality. Masterlist: LinkedUP Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: House-Wardens Format: Headcannons+ imagine (Yes, I know I said I wouldn't be doing bullets anymore...but one more? It's mixed. Can't just cold turkey a gal) A/N: Do I want to make this a series?...I do not know. Maybe? It's really hard to write without the kids having names - and I'm just here like...can I use the names I want? I already made them up in a past post. Would that ruin the experience for people? I mean - it's my stuff and I can do what I want but hmmm.... Warning(?): For this to be, MC's the one who popped the kid out and has reproductive ability to house spawn. Kiddos are biological. Talk of pregnancy and general child-rearing. Use of mother and she/her pronouns to make my life a bit easier.

Riddle couldn't care if his child looked like him down to the last freckle on is butt. What mattered most in that delivery room was that the child came out healthy with no complications. He's the father that doesn't shy away from asking the doctor + midwives questions - perhaps too many, since you nearly toss him out of the delivery room for causing unneeded distress.

In all honesty? Had he studied medicine like his mother pushed - Riddle would've been the one delivering his own child. He copes with stress through control - so imagine THAT scenario.

After birth, he cares much more for the child's skills and manners rather than their appearance. Do they wash their hands before every meal? Say their please and thank you? Do they trust him enough to state their opinions - respectfully, not a potty mouth.

Riddle can and will make them lick a bar of soap if they utter a curse word before the age of 15.

How's their academic drive? Are they social? It's very important that they get along well with others from an early age. He wants them to have many friends.

He's so focused on their personality - aiming to raise a happy, confident, healthy child - that Riddle takes compliments on their physical attributes with a grain of salt until his hard work all those years child-rearing amass into... well, a second less intense version of himself.

He's adamant to ensure the child's homelife is better than what he had growing up. In a way, he misses much while worrying about other things. 10/10 an anxious father, but very doting despite being strict.

"Must I paint a heart on my cheek every day? Why not a crown, or something more fitting us? Like a rose?" his daughter huffed, yet went to paint a large red heart over her cheekbone regardless.

Just like her father, she'd received her invitation to Night Raven. The girl was expecting it, her certainty fueled by perfect grades and a strong aptitude for magic. She did not lack confidence.

Just like her father, she was assured to land in Heartslabyul. Already prepping her cheek-mark before the mirror made any verdict.

Just like her father, she aimed for the position of Housewarden before setting a single foot on campus.

Yet unlike her father, she held no issues in speaking her grievances. She bemoaned about packing, groveled at her mother's feet for her favorite biscuits before living off cafeteria meals, and surely had no reservations stealing Riddle's best fountain pen for her studies.

She keenly resembled a certain ginger that still calls the Rosehearts' household every day despite getting blue-screened by the answering machine.

That’s the last time Riddle allows you to chose the godfather of his child. Ace is an insufferable influence without that power to toss around.

Riddle sighed, plucking the brush from her fingers and pinning her V-shaped bangs back to examine her uniform. He flattens her lapels and redoes her necktie.

His necktie. Gods he’s raised a little thief.

For a moment, as he loops the tie-knot, he's a young boy calling the girl's mother over each morning to straighten her uniform. It's nostalgic, especially with how his daughter squirms under his appraisal.

Definetly her mother’s daughter, he thinks.

It is then that Riddle sees himself through her wide eyes - they're the same greyish blue that were hardened on his first day. His daughter's are much kinder, he notes. She'll easily find companions to eat her meals with.

Her cheeks are full with sweetness- his were too, but by genetic design rather than an extra treat here and there. To this day his baby-face lingers.

Her cheeks were 100% rounded with uncle Trey's spoiling. Not that Riddle could deny her when he'd eat just as much sweets while toiling over papers in his office. He remembers the familiar patter of feet slipping in, tiny hands pushing a cookie on his desk and coating it with crumbs.

He'd scold her to bring a plate next time, but take a break from work to enjoy the moment. Strict yet not domineering. A child that shares should be encouraged, at least that's what one of his many parenting manuals said.

She shared his button nose and tiny stature. Except she loved wearing matching Mary-Janes with her mother, while he wouldn't be caught without a heel at that age. She inherited his height but not his insecurity. Thank goodness.

Perhaps all those comments about his genetics weren't solely in regard to her magical prowess or ambitions. "....Father? Hellloooo?" she side-stepped to grab her bags, just as he reached to flatten her hair for the fifth time. His heart mellowed enough to not scold her impropriety.

"Ah - " Riddle coughed into his fist, " - apologies, little rose. I just never realized how much you look like -"

"You?” She cut in, “Yeah, psssssh. Mother says it at least once a day. About time you listened."

Riddle snorted, pinching between his brows. Yes, of course it was said. Although only now was he beginning to believe it.

"In appearances, yes. Yet your manners are as deplorable as ever."

Leona hopes his children are nothing like him. Which is impossible, since beastmen carry dominant traits when pitted against humans. He's not surprised in the slightest when his child has two little cub-ears atop their head, or that tiny chord barely passing as a tail. A ready snack he threatens to bite off when they misbehave.

At the very least, he hoped for your eyes. His piercing citrine was attractive, no doubt about that. He's not displeased to have them peer up at him from a bassinette each morning. Yet it is your eyes that carry a softness that this palace needs for him to get through his day.

Hey. At least there's no question of paternity. The joke falls flat with the midwives though. 'course it does.

Multiple times, by the way. For someone who claims to dislike loud children, Leona's genes are intent to sire three spitting images of himself.

In every which way - from their squeaky yawns after a mid-day siesta, to the magic flowing in their veins.

"Papa! Look what I learned how to do!"

Leona barely had time to look up from his endless pile of paperwork. The damn thing was near endless, and he'd missed three scheduled siestas just trying to get through the civil dispute filings. His brother spared no mercy in delegating the less 'enthusing' tasks to his 'smart, wise, people-smart' - pah - little brother.

He hated the sea of menial administrative filings.

His eldest daughter was well aware - she hated her homework just as much.

"A stampede's on it's way! Better freeze up before it's too late!"

Which is why she chose that moment to turn her beloved papa's woes to stone. Literally.

The moment her little fingers touched papyrus, the entire stack turned into solid rock. As did the blood in Leona's veins. Sparkly citrine eyes looked at him expectantly. Somewhere in the palace the lioness' tutor was undoubtly scouring to find her, take her back to magic theory, maybe try to cover this up from the other servants.

"You - OI! I needed those - urk, what else have you turned to stone?" he drops the pen in his hand and tries to move the now frozen stack into a drawer.

"Dammit Ki'faji...Where are your tutors? This is exactly why I told your mom combined lessons with Cheka would be a hassle," Leona grumbles and kicks from his desk, quick to check the hall outside. The kid was a bad influence - rambunctious as a twerp and even more riled up as a preteen.

Upon seeing no servants, guards, or even Cheka running up after his cousin - Leona's both relieved and angered.

Angered that his daughter was left alone. She probably escaped to avoid classwork, which he did too at that age but she deserved better. A proper education outside of solitude. One where she could hopefully grow up optimistic about this country and the people inside of it.

Relieved that no servant witnessed her Unique magic. They wouldn't understand. He can't bear the thought of them speaking of her like they did him.

Except it would be inevitable.

Then angered again, because in his hurry her little tail tucked between her legs. She hugged the side of his work desk with her hands fisted at the hem of her tunic. Her lips set in a scared pout, looking up at him past that untamed mane in her eyes. Worried.

"Papa...did I do something wrong?"

He wonders if this is what his father felt like. Being confronted with your own child, knowing that by cruel fate they'd have to face hardships and hatred for something out of their control.

Suffocating. His own throat felt full of sand. The leather on his hands too tight. She looked so much like him. Acted like him. That much Leona never once contested. Ki-Faji bemoaned to the skies that it was like time never passed, and he was stuck in a loop teaching the same unruly child.

It was funny, until it wasn't. "Nah, kiddo. Nothin' like that," he tried to keep his usual drawl. Unclench his fists. Forget about when he first slipped gloves on, "ya gotta warn me before a shock like that. So you finally got your magic tamed down, huh? Good job."

He shut the door and it set closed with a load thud. Leona might have an idea of what his father felt, but right now? She came first.

Ensuring she felt wanted, strong, and damn right accomplished - came first. Everything else later.

So with just a few strides, he swept her up over his shoulder and out from under that desk. She giggled and squawked about turning 'him' to stone if he made her go back to classes.

And Leona made no promises, but set her on the edge of his desk with 'threats' of turning her sweets to sand if she didn't at least try.

"With Unique Magic like that, you'll out-class your cousin before he even catches wind," and a bit of rivalry never hurt to keep the bloodline strong too.

Which judging by his daughter's immediate squirming to go and turn the first-prince to stone? She inherited Leona's competitive streak as well.

Unions between Merfolk and Humans are rare. Roughly 1/100 and that is giving benefit of the doubt. There were too many boundaries and complications. Prejudice born from history, the need for transfiguration, differing lifespans and culture.

One strong deterrent, perhaps the most impactful, is childrearing. The genetic output - while not impossible - is exceedingly unpredictable. Each species of merfolk reproduces differently, and their genetic dominance when put against a human's gene (especially if the mother is human) can cause complications. Capricious complications.

And as we all know - Azul is not fond of chance. Were his child to be born on land, yet have gills? Their lungs are so small, so new, they wouldn't make it to water in time. The same could be if they were born underwater and needed air.

One thing he is certain of, is that Octopi carry strong genetics. Literally. Should the child inherit his strength its kicks could do much more to your stomach than be a tickle to fawn over.

His mother wanted grandchildren, as did his great-grandmother did great grandchildren. Truth be told he wouldn't be opposed to raise one to leave his legacy to. Yet the Ashengrotto genes were strong with each descendent, so much that when he discovered you were with child? He couldn't be happy. Not truly - because too much was at risk and out of his control.

He prayed, which is not something Azul ever does, that the child would take after you. At each stage of development you were monitored down to the last detail, looking for any complications. Even the slightest hint of a tentacle or incompatibility.

Luckily, the child formed feet. Its first kick scared the hell out of him, but at most left you sore. Yet he wasn't able to relax. Not until you were taken care of in the best hospital on land, with a literal aquarium set up next to the bed just in case.

A medical marvel. That's what this child was.

Not a miracle. Not a blessing.

A medical marvel, and the most beautifully unpredictable thing that has ever happened to Azul in his entire life.

There was no clear picture of how his son might look at birth. He waited with bated breath, mentally running through every text he could find on mer-human unions. Banking on all the preparations He arranged and trying not to bite through his nails from the anxiety. The success rate was too low, but you insisted.

And he was most fortunate, because had you not then he wouldn't be holding the most cherished prize of his life.

The baby didn't cry, yet neither did he according to his mother. He was pale, no gills in sight but the wispy swirls of light gray on his head showed Azul's genes wouldn't rescind everything.

It was hidden from view for now, but there were signs of mixed blood on his son's skin. Plentiful black dots spotted his entire body, too dark to be freckles yet too light to be like Azul's outer skin in his mer-form. Time would only tell if Azul's genes really did overtake all, and if his son would look at the world with wet purple eyes.

Yet what struck Azul the most wasn't these obvious traits, ones he predicted at the very start of your pregnancy after endless nights of research.

It was that right below his son's lip, in the same spot as his father, was a small mole. That truly was by chance with no genetic influence.

He thumbed the little speck, marveling at something so small yet he didn't realize he wanted until it was there.

"You weren't lying, huh? Those are some strong genetics you carry."

Azul balked, just barely stopping himself from whipping around too quick. He turned to scold you for not sleeping, worry ebbing at him all over again.

Yet you rest your head against his shoulder, cheek pressed into his ruffled button down to sink against him. His heart still spun like it did as a teenager.

"Look at his little head of hair," you laughed, and he mutely did just that, "if he gets glasses, then I think my bloodline's finished. Might as well say you did mitosis"

That got him to scoff.

"Hardly," he said dismissively, but his lips pulled to smile regardless, "I don't recall giving him feet. That's all your doing."

"Well excuse me for not having eight legs."

"You are excused," he snickered, "Truly, he would be so much more productive with them."

Azul didn't mean that. Well, partially. Yes his son would get much more done with four sets of arms but with other costs.

You hadn't pressed, and he was grateful.

Kalim wants a large family. Not only because it is expected of him as the eldest Asim, but also because he is a family man. He adores his siblings and does his absolute best to give them all attention despite their large quantity.

He's the most doting husband, and is even more attentive as a parent. One thing he will do differently from his father is keeping his family 'small'. Four children minimum, six children maximum. Monogamous as well. As much as he loves all his siblings, the unspoken tensions are too much to endure. Kalim's also a one-spouse kind of guy, and the thought of sharing - while normal for someone of his status - is not for him. No amount of suggestion or pressure will change that. It is bad enough that his children will be subject to worries about their uncles, aunties, and cousins possibly harboring ill-will. Kalim is set on ensuring that they are part of a true family, one without such tensions, and that he can give them all the love they deserve.

Perhaps he feels guilt as the eldest. He received the most attention from his father as the heir, but he has siblings who barely know anything about their father aside from how he looks. He has step-mothers he has met only in formality, and as time went on there were strains between his siblings that he couldn't ignore. Not after taking his official seat.

Kalim will not be the same as his father. Regardless for his respect and love for the man - No matter what the future does to him, no matter if he lives a long life or one cut short. Kalim will make sure his spouse and children are cared for. He loves them more than anything on the planet.

Should he have a family, and the situation demand it? He'd give up his spot as heir in a heartbeat and move far out into the dunes with nothing but the clothes on his back. All for them to be happy and safe. That's the kind of dad he is.

"Baba?"

Kalim resisted the urge to giggle. His eldest son hated when Kalim acted too childlike, and he was already pushing the boy's patience. He was just past thirteen, his fourteenth birthday already planned for a week-long celebration in just a half-month. It would be the biggest banquet the Scaldings Sands had see since Kalim's wedding. His son would soon start officially training as the next head Asim, just like Kalim did at that age.

Yet it was never too early to celebrate one of the best days of Kalim's life. Which is exactly why Kalim hovered outside the boy's window at an hour long past their family's 'bedtime'. The carpet under his feet familiar as ever, as was his son's exhausted disapproval (we wonder which attendant he inherited 'that' look from).

"Come on! Let's go for a carpet ride. Just you and me tonight," Kalim gently pat the space next to him, his smile adamant, "we don't even have to tell your mother."

His son deadpanned. Even Kalim grimaced at that one.

"Okay! If we get caught, I'll take the hit for both of us. Please? It's such a lovely night out. Perfect for a flight~"

Normally it would be the son begging his father to sneak out, not the other way around. Yet Kalim's eldest was much more mature than he was at that age. Despite being his physical copy, those ruby reds never sparkled with excitement like his father's. They were aways fully concentrated - be it on his studies, his charity, or whomever captured his attention. There came a point when a rumor surfaced that he couldn't possibly be Kalims, yet they didn't reach far thanks to the physical resemblance.

The 'only' resemblance. Since the kid hadn't cracked a laugh since he was in diapers.

Something Kalim learned to accept, but never gave up trying.

His son observed from his bed, the boy's nose wrinkled with thought. No doubt wondering if he should tattle to his mom. He was a doting momma's boy, at least he had that in common with his father.

"Fine," he sighed heavily, and rolled out of bed like it was torture.

Kalim waited, holding the curtain open eagerly until his boy hopped the ledge and sat cross-legged on the carpet's far edge.

Then they were off. High above the city where no one would see. Kalim bobbed his head happily, pointing out buildings as if his son hadn't memorized the entire map of their homeland at the ripe age of five.

"Oh! And there's the restaurant I took your mother on our first date. She loves their Kanafeh -"

"Baba, I know. We have it for breakfast twice every week."

Kalim guided the carpet towards lower ground without a response - keeping air, sassy teenagers, and his messy turban from whacking him in the face.

Only two of those three succeeded.

"Why are we even out here? Shouldn't you worry more about your responsibilities? What if mother wakes to an empty bed, did you consider the consequences? Her worries?"

There came those older thoughts out of such a young mouth. Kalim couldn't help but slump inwards, although his smile still hung on. "You're turning fourteen soon," life will change, "Don't you want to enjoy life a bit more before starting your studies? Baba will understand, you know." he said, and perhaps that was not what his son expected to hear. The boy puffed up. His tanned skin rouging with lost composure.

"I'm not like you. Being al Asim means something to me. Maybe you'd understand if you were a proper sultan who took his job and family seriously! Rather than sneaking off in the night for merry rides on a flying carpet!"

Under the moonlight, his son's perfectly primmed white hair bounced in the wind. Even in sleep he managed to keep his appearance tidy. There were times it was like Kailm was looking in warped a mirror. Those rare moments when he caught the boy lapse, usually with his younger siblings or cousins. When he looked softer, his garnet eyes full of kindness rather than the contempt held in them right now.

Except in these moments too - he still saw a mirror. Just one he wished to avoid.

He too disliked his father's way of doing things, to a certain extent. That his own son felt similar wasn't a surprise. It did not lessen the sting regardless.

"Tifli..." Kalim started, and his son faltered at the endearment, "think what you want, but there is nothing that means more to me than our family."

And even if his son wouldn't admit to it - Kalim knew he saw the mirror too. Just because Kalim disliked his father's choices, didn't mean he did not love him.

He reached for his son without a second thought, pulling the boy down to roughly rub his cheek over his head.

and just like that, Kalim was back to being happy and his son back to groaning complaints - albeit less agitated, to Kalim's delight - and pretending he was much more mature than he was deep down. Kalim's opposite yet perfect little replica.

"Ahahaha!!! Look at you! Just wait until the council has to fight against that fire! I can't wait to bring you with me! "

"AGH LET ME GO!!! WHY DID I EVEN AGREE TO THIS?!"

Papa Vil - now that's one unexpected title to tack onto his Resume. Contrary to what everyone might believe of a superstar leading a life on the go, Vil is proud to be a father. His own raised him while juggling his goals, why should Vil's career deny him the joys of fatherhood?

No. When Vil's daughter is born, he is more than prepared to balance family and work. He locked in when taking a spouse, and is never one to be unprepared.

When you were pregnant, he announced a hiatus in his career just as you entered the third trimester. He can afford it. The public loves a family man. He has money money, and wasn't going to risk missing the birth of his first child while travelling.

Also. Supportive husband to the maximum. Considering you were carrying his child, the bare minimum he could do was be readily available as you go through the roughest stage. That baby had a college fund made and filled before she was even born.

Not that he'd just let her mooch - no child of his would grow up without ambition and practiced life skills. He was not 'aiming' to create a replica or enforce his standards...but she wouldn't lack drive. No Schoenheit - not even you - is going to go through life quietly.

His hiatus was meant to extend until she turned one. Old enough to enjoy life on the road, for you to recover, and give 3-5 years for him to work until she started school. Unlike him at that age, she wouldn't be chartered around as much for his work. Nope.

He already had it planned. She'd be enrolled in a private academy, you'd work as you liked in a good neighborhood, and he wouldn't take any contracts outside of the Shaftlands until she was a teenager. Balance. She would have every opportunity, proper support, and hopefully independence to grow outside of his shadow.

The last thing Vil wanted was for her to be influenced by his career - well, other than admiring his films and being that perfect little face to single out int the audience while at a talk-show or photoshoot.

Speaking of Schoenheit genetics and their blossoming careers - heavens above, he fell in love the moment she first opened her eyes. There were few curly blond ringlets that grew out at super speed as the months past, and she inherited his lavender eyes. Although on a baby they were more rounded, doe-like, and would most definitely take his sharp edge as she grew. Every time he booped her little nose, the little giggle that came was almost melodic.

Such a well behaved baby made a cameo in one of his largest projects to date. He took the role of an unruly ostracized duke, where the special effects makeup made him both enchanting yet horribly frightening to young children. His character gained his redemption through raising an orphan, and Vil's little girl was the only baby they could find who wouldn't cry when seeing her father act so heinous.

"Vil, everyone here is itching to know, is it true that the baby we see in 'Redemption of our Finest ' is your own daughter? There are rumors and speculations from those on set yet we'd love confirmation."

Vil shifts in his chair. The many cameras at all angles did little to deter his focus from the interview in progress. It was one of many, and the talk-host across from him looked very eager to get the first scoop on his latest hit success. He smiled to the camera with his eyes, pretending to be in thought for a moment. The questions were all pre-approved, after all.

"Your assumption and the rumors are all correct," he started, crossing his legs and folding his hands together in them, "unfortunately we struggled to find a child that would not cry when faced with my appearance. Poor little things - it is a struggle to rear child actors. Especially babies."

The reporter blinked, somehow still shocked despite knowing the already.

"And you're saying that your daughter is a cut above the rest?" they asked, and he tutted inwardly. The phrasing was poor, as always with these reporters.

"Yes," he gave them a moment's victory, "and no."

He didn't wait for further inquiry.

"My daughter is remarkable - she is my greatest production, a work of perfection alongside my beloved spouse. Yet this film is rated PG-13, and includes scenes not fit for young eyes. Babies act on instincts alone, and for the majority of this film my appearance was...ah, I so rarely say this, but I was unsightly."

His tone carried warning for them not to twist his words, and the message was received as they gestured for those behind the scenes to alter the backdrop.

"We could even argue your acting ability is that good! To make such a beautiful face and poised demeanor come off as cold." they said, and with the click of a button the screen behind them changed.

On it came a picture of an old, tattered bassinette left on the front stoop of a castle. The picture flicked to show inside, and in it was Vil's precious little girl. Special effects added some dirt on her cheeks, and they wrapped her in a tattered blanket for the scene. Yet despite their efforts to make the child look abandoned, Schoenheit genetics demanded the world see such an adorable baby for all she is.

The audience awed at the picture, even without a cue card. Vil himself took on a genuine lift to his practiced smile when seeing her.

"And just look at her folks! Such an adorable little baby! Can you really expect anything less from THE Vil Schoenheit and Eric Venue's heritage. An actor before she can even count! Your wife's genes didn't even try here, did they Vil?"

The crowd appears insatiable as the host scrolls through a series of photos. Some taken from the film, others from photoshoots and the occasional candid photo snuck by paparazzi. He knew better than to try and hide his family, but said nothing as they all made assumptions.

After all - he was beautiful, and his daughter was undoubtedly the most beloved baby in all of Twisted Wonderland. It was only natural and who was he to turn his nose when faced with one of the few facts these reporters have gotten right.

Although, he wasn't entirely content He laughed into his palm, unable to resist the chance and made direct eye-contact with one of the cameras. Knowing full well that you were watching somewhere back stage, lips likely puckered from being disrespected and just waiting for him to come sneak your family out before the public was dismissed.

"I'm afraid there is nothing to argue there. My genes are perfection, not to mention competitive," he smirked seductively at the camera, propping his chin in the palm of his hand, "but I'm not opposed if my wife would like a rematch for a chance to win the next battle."

And with that - he simultaneously spiked his popularity rating and soft-launched what would likely be a second replica coming to life soon.

Maybe.

If you didn't kill him for that stunt first.

Prodigies spawn prodigies. At least in this case.

Idia never pictured himself as a family man. Hells he never thought anyone would even look at him with anything other than disgust (minus that one ghost lady. He doesn’t like to talk about it) let alone marry him. Needless to say that he cannot decide if you are an idiot or if he has plot armor - because those are the only two reasons you could possibly ever agree to give up your entire life and move to STYX just to be with him.

**see Marriage series for settling THAT can of worms

Yet you do, and now he’s got not only his little brother but a whole ass spouse. He’s on cloud nine. Life cannot be letting him have such good luck. The RNG is rigged

Until he learns that you’re with child - and it all goes boom. Literally. Since not only does his daughter inherit his curse, his fiery flames that never tame themselves, and his spiked teeth that nip his lips way too many times for comfort -

She inherits his genius.

Raising a child in a contained base is a living nightmare.

Raising a child with a need to infiltrate the laboratories and experiment is hell. At least he kept to his room when tinkering as a kid. Idia’s daughter has his brains and your craftiness for going around undetected…and your habit of initiating dramatic events. Needless to say that she does NOT keep to your family’s apartment, does NOT submit to any security (he regrets teaching her how to decode the base padlocks), and very much enjoys making STYX ‘lively’….haha…yeah

No one has ever met such a happy Shroud. Excluding Ortho. He was a sweet type of happy. You spawned a menace.

But let’s not derail. Even if he didn’t want her per-say - Idia loves his daughter. His gut twisted seeing the Shroud curse start taking hold over such a tiny body. She was just a toddler and already burning through enough blot to tie her to this place. He knew the feeling of those youthful amber eyes looking at him for guidance. She looked so much like Ortho as a toddler, and as a child began to resemble him more with longer flames.

It was a constant battle every day. Balancing his work while also trying to do better - because his attitude sucked. He knew his attitude sucked. You warned him about using self-deprecative language and for the most part he did learn to reign it in.

Except old habits die hard, and deep down he still struggles to like himself. Seeing his daughter follow in his footsteps burns brutally, since she has all this potential and just like him she’ end up working for the family business without a choice. All because of these stupid flames and these stupid teeth and these stupid genetics and this STUPID curse -

“MAMAAAAAAAA!!!! DADDY’S BEING A BIG MEANIE AGAIN!!!”

Her shrill high-pitched cry carried throughout the apartment. Idia had just enough time to swipe the alarm system off before it processed. He wishes he could regret putting a system to detect and alert if she was distressed when alone here - but couldn’t. Even now. Since this was totally 100% his fault.

Dammit this kid has lungs of steel.

“Nonononononono - No Mama! No! Shhh shh shh shh!” He grapppled at her little shoulders with clammy hands, “Look! Look I’m not sad, see??? We have pretty hair! Super cool hair! Please please please stop crying -“

And then she did.

The tonal whiplash. The way this tiny manipulator just ceased all her tears, mouth clamping shut with an audible click. A literal child pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket to pat her eyes dry - like some twisted 60yr old swindler at a poker game who’s been training for this moment for decades.

He should have known.

Honestly. Idia can’t even bring himself to be mad. The amount of gaslighting it took to get this kid off his Ninswendo last week already put his best tricks to use.

He is the one who created this monster.

Just like her dad - his little girl was hyper aware of people. Including him, and picked up all his weaknesses. She knew damn well that he genuinely had reason to fear only two people - her momma and her grandmother. Both of which lecture him about being a good model. She knew that system was put in place, and to be good when no one was around to watch her. Not that she ever stayed quiet in their home with S.T.Y.X labs to infiltrate.

He just never thought the day would come, when her demon like tendencies would be used for something like this.

“Your her father, not her friend” his mother said.

“It’s bad enough you turned me into a living photocopier - don’t you dare get lenient with her at this age” you warned.

“That child scares me” he thought, and you agreed. Awful. Awful parents. You both mean it in the most loving way possible.

“Hwee hee hee! I’m glad you think so, daddy,” she grinned up at him all sweet-like, with those pointy little chompers ready to stake their claim. She snapped her teeth at him like a piranha, “hehe~ Mommy says our teeth are cool too. The pointies make eating steak easier - oh! Oh! Can we please have steak for dinner tonight? Please?? Pleaseeeeee?”

Something told him that should he say no, those distress detectors would be set off before he could catch them.

“U-uh…yeah, kiddo. Sure thing. Just go play and I’ll put an order in.”

He tried desperately to hide the quiver in his voice, but knew he failed. She skipped off to her bedroom much too happily - even if father’s were supposed to want their kids to be happy, that was too much - and whatever work remained for the evening didn’t seem important

As Idia slid up to one of the house control panels to check for instant-card delivery, he wondered how this became his life, and if this is how his parents felt having a prodigal spawn of the under-hells for a son.

No. He wasn’t that bad….was he? Did he even want to know at this point?

Boom

“DADDY!!! MY EXPERIMENT BLEW UP AND IS LEAKING RED GUNK!”

No. No. He really did not want to know. For the sake of whatever relationship he had with his parents.

He wants as many children as possible. The definition of that one clip of of the kid who wanted 100 children, so that they'd all have to be his friend. Not that Malleus would force his children to be his friends - well, it would be a plus surely - but he does want a large family to live his life beside.

He finds comfort in solitude, but comfort's close companion is loneliness. He wishes to never be partnered with that feeling. There was opposition. Union between the Briar Prince and a human? Unheard of. Not to mention the life-span difference. Not just between himself and you, but also for his children. Half-fae live long, but not as long as full-blooded fae. In time he will still come out alone, but he hopes to have many memories. Much love and warmth to take with him.

Yet this isn't meant to be sad - no, let us focus on the absolute joy he felt when his first child was born. A boy, his magic exceedingly strong despite his lineage. Even the elders were surprised at the magical prowess this child held. It was almost as if Malleus' nightly wishes for his child to be well, to be loved, to be healthy - taking every precaution to ensure you were well cared for during pregnancy, speaking blessings to your stomach in the dead of night - it all just manifested and out came the world's most perfect child.

A Draconia who would grow up with both parents. He'd be protected, nurtured, loved, and never ever alone. Some might call the King overbearing, making sure his spouse had a desk in his office and attending his meetings with a bright yellow baby sling over his chest. It definitely stood out against his royal attire but Malleus didn't mind.

In magic - there was also physical appearance. Being half-human, the child physically aged quicker than Malleus did in his youth. Yet he still retained the Draconia genes, with two curled scaly horns poking out above his forehead. He had no tail at birth, but around puberty many little scales began to poke their way through at his temple, back, wrists, and neck. No one predicted this since the Draconias have never reproduced with humans, but you tried to calm him with poorly convoluted jokes about ' fancy dragon acne'.

Yet according to Lilia, the boy looked like a near carbon-copy of Malleus once he sprouted up. His hair may have been kept shorter, slicked back, and he may carry himself entirely different from his father. Yet the look in his slitted-emerald eyes was exactly the same. His aura was the same.

And Malleus hadn't any idea how to handle that observation. Surely it was meant as a compliment. In the moment, he laughed and took it as one. Who wouldn't be prideful to see themselves in their child? Especially one so accomplished, growing into his scales with pride and eagerly stepping into his role as prince.

Except Malleus wouldn't, because the thought of his child sharing the feelings he had at that age? It unsettled him greatly. Perhaps one of his worst nightmares as a doting father.

“Father?”

Three sharp knocks echoed in Malleus’ study. He needn’t look up from his book, since the door opened with a thud without waiting for his approval.

Not that he minded - no, quite the contrary. He felt excitement building up at the first knock after all. There was only one person who it could be.

No one would dare impose on the Briar King during his downtime.

None had permission for such rudeness.

No one except his dear family, of course. Although as much as he wished for them to cling to his side and be a welcome reprise from his duties - Malleus was rarely afforded such a gift. His eldest son in particular conducted himself more as a knight or distant consultant than a loving son. Perhaps that came from leaving him in Sebek’s care - as much as his knight was ecstatic to become the first prince’s personal guard, his constant reverence to the elder briar ways likely left an impact on an impressionable child. Instead of bedtime stories, the little Draconia likely fell asleep to Sebek's long-winded lectures on the daily.

Back when he was a starry-eyed toddler, of course. Now the boy wouldn't dare let his guard down enough to sleep, even if his safety was guaranteed. Somehow despite Malleus taking every last precaution to rear a tranquil child, he raised a stickler instead.

“Hm? You look troubled, my son” Malleus met his eldest’s rare lack of decorum with amusement. He didn’t bother to hide a fanged smirk from him.

His son, who seemed to bristle in the doorway when under Malleus’ eye, clearly struggled to contain himself into the proper prince he was trying to be.

“Because I am troubled, father” he grit out, hands flexing at his sides. Sharp black fingernails pricking at his palms.

“Oh? And what seems to be the problem? You so rarely come to me with such matters” - to anyone who didn’t know the king, the sentence read as a bitter slight.

Yet it was merely a father sulking for his son’s attention, in his own prideful way.

“That’s precisely the issue,” his son huffed, “with all held respect, you cannot just drop in on my classes whenever you feel like it! It’s disruptive!”

Malleus merely turned the page in his book, “and whose fault is it that I had to resort to such measures?”

His question met a guilty conscience, and so he continued.

“What else am I to do? My child no longer behaves as my blood. He writes home giving stale reports as if he is one of my soldiers and bids his precious family far too few visits,” Malleus looks up from his ‘reading,’ and gestures to the uniform his son wears, “What else am I to do to see my precious son, other than visit his school? I was a student there once. Your headmaster wouldn’t dare to deny my entry.”

“Father - I understand your anger with my negligence but that is not an excuse for disrupting my classmates -“

“They looked quite please with my presence. I even supplemented material for your lecture -“

“They were scared beyond their wits! - And what of mother?! Surely she was against doing something so drastic! Think of our image! The King of Briar Valley cannot just casually drop his responsibilities whenever he so pleases.”

The boy’s composure finally cracked - and even for a half-blood, his power easily contorted the world around them if left unteathered.

Crackles of electricity buzzed across the study, flickering through a lit desk-lamp. As did the temperature lessen some degrees. Rather than be miffed by his son’s explosion, Malleus laughed in the face of it.

So this is how he must have looked during his moments of impulsivity. Hah.

“You’d be foolish to assume she didn’t try and come along. I thought to spare you her ire, as a mercy.”

At that, the lamp ceased it’s flickering to beam a steady light once again. The teen’s cheeks flushed a shameful color, so rare for one who prides himself more than any of his siblings.

"That was not necessary," he softened almost instantly. Even if she nearly committed the same 'crime' as Malleus, it seems favorites were at play.

"You know with certainty that it was."

A Draconia through and through. What was the term Lilia used? “Momma’s boy”? Considering that none disrespect the Queen - the King included - as her ire could strike the most sore spots of their family after all.

The boy pulled at his collar, out of arguments and simmered to displeasure rather than anger. He muttered an apology for losing his temper, and Malleus found himself wishing for the argument to continue just a bit longer.

After all, these were the times he felt most like a father, a husband, part of a family - rather than a king. He misses the early days when he was only the first three, before the council and other influences pushed his children to focus on responsibilities and their lineage.

“I’m sorry for not writing home…or visiting…I hadn’t thought it would trouble you. I simply - I thought it best to place distance between us.”

“Distance?” Malleus balked, “Distance from your family?”

He couldn’t understand why his child would want distance.

How could the boy he worked so hard to instill belonging within, whom he raised from egg to man, whom he would give up everything for - possibly say such a harrowing thing.

His own blood. His heart and soul. To spew such things in the face of ancestors who were bound to loneliness.

Whatever explanation for his manners didn’t matter so long as he was happy, but to intentionally want to be away from all Malleus thought worthwhile in life?

Never-mind. Malleus wanted the argument to cease. Indefinitely. And to tie himself to this desk for a decade or more.

“Yes, Father. Otherwise it is too difficult-“ he hesitated to continue, but one look at his father- whatever expression he might hold that couldn’t be contained despite his efforts - seemed to be the last push, “- being away. From my family. Leaving. I do not like it, but it is my duty. Coming home, hearing from you, mother, even the care packages I receive from grandfather! I can’t eat them but somehow just smelling the burnt food makes me falter! How can you expect me to preform up to our family’s standards, if I am homesick all the time!?”

It was the first time since he was a boy, clinging to Malleus’ legs, begging his parents not to leave him with his babysitters, that his son cried so openly. Malleus nearly gave in each time it happened too.

The pressure of royal duties, of perfection, on his shoulders was the same as those who came before him. Yet Malleus found himself more relieved than anything, even if his child might never recover his pride.

It was also the first time in many years that Malleus hugged his son, careful to avoid his growing blunted horns, and wasn’t pushed away.

“You are already doing more than enough. Loving your family is nothing to be ashamed of, and it is one of my greatest regrets that you thought otherwise for a single moment.”

[sixeyesonathiel]

clanhead!satoru, who grew up behind paper walls and formal greetings, thinks he’s doing fine. he doesn’t need warmth. doesn’t need partnership. definitely doesn’t need you. not your voice. not your gaze. not your hands reaching out in that quiet way they always do, halfway between anger and hope. he doesn’t need softness, doesn’t need mornings spent with knees brushing beneath the table, or nights curled around shared exhaustion. he doesn’t need any of that.

he keeps telling himself that.

you were arranged. names selected. lives assigned. there was no falling in love, no whirlwind romance. only obligation, and a shared contract, and two people who didn’t know each other at all. the clan called it a bond. satoru called it a sentence. and maybe, so did you. maybe you still do. but you're both too stubborn to say it out loud.

and yet, here you are. somehow, sharing a home that isn’t quite a home. circling around each other like bored cats, passive-aggressively polite, trading jabs like candy wrappers. it’s a miracle neither of you has murdered the other in your sleep. though, sometimes, it’s close. last week you slapped his shoulder with a ladle because he said your miso soup was “a little too philosophical.”

every morning, he wakes up alone in the house you both live in. passes your closed door, always closed, like a wall he isn’t meant to climb. makes his own coffee. glares at your mug next to his like it’s mocking him. sometimes he touches the handle like it might give him a sign. sometimes he almost washes it and puts it away, but doesn’t. not yet. not when you might still come down. not when the ghost of your presence still lingers in the air like perfume.

he starts narrating your morning habits in his head like he's in some tragic sitcom. “there she goes. my legally wedded stranger. master of mug placement. destroyer of peace.” he doesn’t say it aloud. mostly because you’d probably throw a pillow at him and then he’d have to feel something about that.

you’ve filed for divorce again. that’s five now. seven, if he’s honest. twice were his. he still doesn’t know why he ripped them up. they sat on the edge of his desk for days, heavy and clean and final. and then one night, he came home soaked in rain, looked at the envelope, and tore it to shreds like it meant nothing. it meant everything. he couldn’t breathe with it there. couldn’t sleep. couldn’t stop hearing your voice, even when the house was dead quiet.

maybe he’s just tired. maybe it’s the quiet way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. maybe it’s the way you always buy him those god-awful sunglasses, even though he hasn’t worn a pair in years. he lines them up on his desk like trophies. he doesn’t know what he’s competing for.

he doesn’t eat unless you cook. says the clan's food makes him sick. lies through his teeth. you roll your eyes every time, muttering, “go starve then.” and he almost does, until you slide a plate across the table an hour later. he stares at the food like it might vanish if he breathes wrong. he doesn’t say thank you. you don’t expect him to. but sometimes, he finds himself eating slower, like the warmth might linger longer that way.

“i’m not your maid,” you mutter once, shoving a bowl of miso soup toward him without looking.

“could’ve fooled me,” he replies. you hit him with a rolled-up magazine. he deserved it. he actually smiles into his spoon.

he didn’t know how to be with someone. he still doesn’t. no one taught him gentleness. no one told him how to reach across the silence and say something that mattered. he grew up with expectation in his bones and solitude in his chest. you grew up dreaming of something else. something soft. something kind. he wonders what version of yourself you had to kill to become the one sitting across from him now.

on bad days, you don’t speak at all. the tension hangs like wet fabric, clinging to everything. the walls feel closer. the air feels thinner. you text like strangers. argue like enemies. sleep like strangers, too. and yet… you still leave the porch light on when he’s out late. he still puts your laundry on the drying rack so it doesn’t wrinkle. you refill the coffee beans. he folds your sweaters when they’re left on the couch. no one mentions these things. maybe because if you said them out loud, they might count as hope. and hope, in this house, is more terrifying than anger.

sometimes he wonders if you even remember the day they told you. the day they said, “you’ll be marrying gojo satoru.” did you cry? did you laugh? did you try to run? he doesn't know. never asked. maybe he didn’t want to know. maybe he was afraid the answer would make him hate himself more.

he remembers the first time you touched him. it wasn’t romantic. just a hand on his wrist, steadying him when he almost tripped on the temple steps. but it lingered. it stayed with him longer than it should have. maybe because it felt real. because it was the first time in years he didn’t feel like a ghost inside his own body.

the first time you made him laugh was when you shoved a whole rice ball in his mouth mid-argument just to shut him up. he nearly choked. you didn’t apologize. he thinks that might’ve been the moment he fell a little in something with you. not love. not yet. but something dangerously adjacent.

he started doing small things too. placing your phone on the charger when you fell asleep watching dramas. hiding your favorite snack in the cabinet behind the protein powder because he knew you’d never look there. writing your name on his calendar, next to his meetings, like it was just as important.

this isn’t working. he knows that. it’s not love, not the kind that grows with laughter and time. it’s something else. something quiet. something fragile. it’s the way you both keep showing up, even when you have every reason not to. like a game of chicken no one wants to lose.

but for some reason, when the elders ask about the paperwork, he always shrugs and says, “she must’ve lost it again.” and when you’re alone in the same room, you always say the same thing. your voice is flat, practiced—but your hands tremble when you pick up the mug, and your eyes flick to his like they might say something your mouth won’t.

he wonders if you’re lying too.

and if you are, he wonders what it means that he hopes you are.

[blueish-bird]

Logic’s album College Park why are there skits built in to the last half of the majority of these songs? why are they not separate tracks? im enjoying the saxophone on Clone Wars III only to be forced to listen to a drawn-out staged Carl’s Jr. drive thru order. in what context is this relistenable?

[captainofallships]

Jeremy Knox and Jean Moreau- they are having the same argument over an over again- stuck in a time loop

“Please leave the card board dog out of my room.”

“Barkbark Von Barkenstein is a friend.”

Used this one !!!

I really had a time picking out shirts. And then I realized some of the phrases were from actual bands and I googled the bands I don’t know for “controversy” and then learned horrible shit so I’m just ignoring that and pretending it’s just a misunderstanding on Jean’s part. You know… like with me.

Yes the gay don’t panic shirt Jean is wearing follows the low cut tank top- and the gay panic is there.

And then they switch places because the shirts were mirrored and I didn’t have an easy fix. So that’s an eyesore. I should have done more but I found this fulfilling enough.

Enjoying giving a sad lad some color.. his first color is grey and he’s so happy about it.

[radioactive-cloud]

will i ever stop feeling so awfully jealous and miserable over people actually living their lives