#{ At least one of them is trying to keep him alive }

[tteokdoroki]

˗ˏˋ 💎  JJK MEN AS OVERPROTECTIVE GIRL DADS gojo, sukuna & geto .ᐟ

⋆˙ ᯓ★  about ! “a little girl’s first love will always be her father." three scenarios in which the daughters of three jjk men introduce their boyfriends to their fathers. ( 5.7K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. video banner. not beta read. sfw, fluff, angst if you squint, no-curses!au, mentions of pregnancy, children and babies, the children have no names, some family issues, married life, domestic bliss, husband + father!jjk men, mother + fem!reader.

sonic says ! hello everyone !! i wanted to try my hand at some head canons and scenarios, i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so put a pause on working on kinktober to write it lol!! hope you enjoy <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ 

ᯓ★ SATORU GOJO:

before meeting you, satoru gojo had never been fond of a family dinner. 

in his childhood home — they were cold and quiet, pockets of clattering cutlery would cut through painstaking silence and distract from the loud emptiness of the seat at the head of the table where his own father was supposed to be. his mother, often solemn and sunken in the shoulders, never spoke. never cooked and slipped small bites to her son in between preparation or steps.

they had staff for that, they had staff for everything.

to keep the household clean and together. to keep him fed and breathing. to keep him alive. all requirements felt almost clinical, the environment in which he was raised almost like the white walls of a hospital — without a trace of love needed for a child like satoru gojo needed to thrive. 

even if he had all the money in the world, he hadn’t a drop of love. he wasn’t ever sure if he was capable of the warm and fuzzy emotion, didn’t know if it was something his heart could ever open up to — sealed in by layers of cool, cold concrete and cement. kept in a safe without a key. at least until you miraculously found it and melted the thick layers of ice blocking satoru’s veins. you brought back colour to his cheeks and light to his eyes, taking up the space in his heart where his family had left a swirling, black void. 

to satoru, you were a saving grace. his everything… and he swore he’d never be like his father; who left his wife unhappy and empty, like a abandoned shell. he promised; he’d do much better than his parents ever did. especially when you found out you were pregnant, even more so when your little girl came into the world with plentiful white curls and lashes, screaming at the top of her teeny tiny lungs. 

at the time, you were sure you’d never seen satoru gojo so in love ( and so teary eyed too ) — but you knew what becoming a parent meant to him. what it meant for the new life you now shared.

but now, having met you and married you and created life with you — satoru had found a new appreciation for family dinners. they were a sacred event, a special time for him to keep up with the lives of his children and let them know he was there. present. 

it wasn’t a time to be imposed on and certainly not by meddlesome boyfriends brought home by sixteen year old daughters.

“so kid, what’s your 401K look like?” 

satoru carries a look of disdain, his nostrils flared, blue eyes narrowed and perfect pink lips curled in an unhappy frown. 

the young boy opposite him, a little scrawny and awkward, shrinks underneath the white haired man’s intense gaze — if you squinted, you could probably see him shaking like a little leaf in the intense wind from across the table “um… i don’t know?”

“hear that little guy? no 401K… how’s he meant to take care of your sister. yeah, yeah.

you’re right, i’ll give him a chance,” he mutters to the baby boy snoozing happily in his arms under his breath, engaging in a one sided conversation before switching his focus back to his daughter’s…sorry excuse for a partner. “okay then… finances, clearly not. academics and common sense —“ pausing,  the white haired father of two clicks his tongue, pushing it into the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek as if to feel his next words out in his mouth. “do you even know what a bouquet of flowers is, kid? a corsage? gojo women don’t play about their flowers, yanno.” 

“sir—“

without giving the boy a chance to speak, gojo drops his intrusive gaze under the table and back up again — pointing an accusatory finger at his little girl’s partner. “your top button’s undone and your shoe laces are untied. you might wanna fix that! if you care about my daughter’s safety!” he turns his nose up all petulant like a picky toddler being forced to eat his veggies, he even sticks his tongue out for good measure. gojo’s eccentric movements nearly jostle his sleepy son in place. the baby whines and gurgles a little bit, only soothed by a pat to his back from dad — who repositions him to snooze over his shoulder.

in a silent, quieter gesture, satoru uses two fingers to point between his eyes and the boy’s. almost as if to say ‘i’m watching you.’

catching him in the act, the eldest gojo daughter bounces into the room carrying plates of steaming hot food, exhaling with worm down patience evident in her body language. “daddy please, you don’t act like this normally. stop messing around.” rolling her eyes, she sets the dishes down, freeing up her hand to smack the back of her dad’s clearly empty skull. just like her mother.

“well sooooorrry for being a good dad and caring about your wellbeing! who you’re dating! who you’re bringing into our bloodline!” gojo rebuttals with petish grunts, unable to cradle the back of his injured head like he does with his son.  

and as if by magic, you, his beautiful and loving and gorgeous wife appear with dinner plates in hand to double down on a scolding the white haired man. amused, you also swat at your husband’s head and tut down at him. “satoru? what are you doing?” there’s something about the way you tease and tell gojo off that always makes his heart race, even after all these years of marriage and raising his kids. he loves you, his family so much. he almost keens into your touch like a pathetic dog, until your daughter starts gagging at the sight — slipping into her set. you were supposed to be watching the baby. not interrogating the poor kid.” 

“we’re having a heart to heart, babe,” gojo swoons, clearing his throat as his head bobs in the direction of his daughter’s boyfriend. “jimbob here was just telling me about his 3.4% grade point average.”

“it’s hiro sir! and uh… 3.5% sir.” the boyfriend in question chirps shyly.

you know that your husband feels… almost threatened by another man entering your daughter’s life — they’ve been practically inseparable since the moment she first opened her eyes. to give up the duty of loving and protecting her and pass it onto someone else is probably what scares him the most. “that’s pretty good hun!” you comment absentmindedly, hoping to pull satoru away from the conversation.

“no it’s not! our daughter has a 4.0%.”

“s-she was failing in math, i was tutoring her.” the boyfriend hopefully interjects again, whispering next when the baby stirs at the dining table. “i hope that makes up for my 401K sir. i-i also work part time to save for college and—!” 

“haha — no i wasn’t!” the younger gojo girl tenses in place, elbowing her date in the ribs not so discretely from under the table. it’s this interaction that makes her father smile, only briefly, before you scowl his way.

“i thought you told them we met at a tutoring session.” 

“you were failing?” you raise a brow, taking your own seat beside her father. 

“see! this boy failure is a bad influence on our daughter!” a glare settles on the slopes of satoru’s angelic features, mirrored by your child’s unimpressed expression across the table. in his arms, your youngest fusses about as if he senses the mounting tension at the table — earning a bounce or two from daddy, who turns your way all matter-of-factly like. “see, this why he doesn’t have a 401K”

“why would a teenager have a 401k, satoru!” comes your 

“i had one when i was his age.” satoru shoots back and the kid sinks nervously in his seat. the poor boy looks as though he wants to disappear, squirming in place like he’s no better than a worm on a bait hook — it’s torture being interrogated and inspected by someone so close to the person you love most, but even he knows how important satoru’s approval is to your daughter.

she wouldn’t say it now, not when she was all grown up and finding her way out in the world — but she idolised gojo, all of her fondest memories are painted in his colours. shades of sapphire and azure like his vivid eyes, snowy white from his hair that almost rivals the clouds in the sky — the backdrop to days spent riding her father’s shoulders through the big wide world, racing down grassy green hills and wasting the hours away. she wouldn’t admit it here, today, but she never wanted to leave those memories. leave her father behind in her youth — it was written on each dip and curve and highlight on her youthful face, she wanted her father to move into this next phase of life with her too.

“daddy, you were a trust fund baby with shit grades and no prospects until you met mum,” she huffs but her words hold no malice, even if the sass brims over the edge of her tone like an emotionally charged, overflowing glass of water. you’d chide her for cursing — but you know she means well, stubbornly expressing her desire for approval to her man child of a father. “a loser, if you will.” 

gojo slumps, the rosey petals of his plump lips pushing into an age old pout. “how could you say that about dear old dad?” he whines, as though he’s a wounded animal. 

“well she’s not wrong, baby. you were a loser satoru, you still are.” the words are fond and light hearted on your tongue, a similar state to the wisps of a smile that trace over your own lips. leaning in close, you tickle the nose of the gurgling baby boy in his arms, heart heavy with affection — grateful that the one interaction you had with your husband all those years ago ( when he was a scrapier and misunderstood ) led you both to the beautiful chaotic family you have together now. “a hot one at least.” 

“gross.” your daughter groans and buries her embarrassed gaze in the spread of food on the neatly laid table — grabbing a plate and piling it high to cope.

her boyfriend chuckles nervously, wanting nothing more but to eat and do the same. desperate to hide from gojo’s intimidating aura, but too afraid to cross another one of his ridiculous invisible lines. “i think that’s very sweet mrs gojo!”

the brief moment of peace in the war of dad v boyfriend is then interrupted by the white haired man’s temper tantrum, realising that his only daughter is still in the room. “don’t push it kid.” the father of your children all but wails and finds something else about the young couple to pick apart. “you’re sitting too close together! move apart!” 

“daddy—!”

“w-what?”

“i said move it or lose it kid, before i keel over and die of heartbreak.” “betrayal. my own daughter, leaving me for someone else.” 

the two separate, shifting their chairs away from one another despite never actually being too close. you share an empathetic look with your eldest, empathetic to your husband’s actions. you both knew he wouldn’t handle the meeting well, but this was beyond your whilst dreams. the young couple’s hands remain intertwined under the table cloth as the meal begins properly, and when satoru notices, he doesn’t comment — biting down hard on his unhappy tongue. he knows all too well what it’s like to love against the odds, his father in law hardly wanted him around you. it’s not like he wasn’t aware how bad he was for you, how your standards might have even dropped for the man to be with him. but you loved satoru with your entire being, wholly and against all of your own parent’s wishes. 

in a way, the dinner tonight reminds him of himself meeting your father for the first time — how he had to work for his approval too. prove that he was more than just a spoilt brat. too caught up in the memories, the odd sense of loss threaded between his every breath and the love he holds for his daughter settled in his lungs — gojo almost kissed the way you whisper to him adoringly, head drooping to rest on his shoulder mostly to look at your baby but partly to comfort him. “you’re being dramatic satoru. look at them, don’t you just love young love.” 

and he does, he looks, really looks — softly staring across the table and through the haze of his own judgement, noticing how happy his little girl looks all wrapped up with her boyfriend. all he’s ever wanted is to keep her smiling, give her a life that his parents couldn’t give him, he feels all of his resentment and fear or losing his daughter melt away like a plain sheet of paper dissolving in water. he loves her too much to not let her be happy, his baby. his little girl. 

“no, not at all,” satoru finally relents with a wobbling voice and silvery tears that dot his vision — shaking his head back and forth to stop them from dropping onto his sleeping son gathered in his arms. “w-why would you say that? god, is it allergy season? my eyes are killing me. they’re not cute at all, why would you say that i’m crying?” 

your teenage daughter glances over, relief evident in all of her identical gojo features. “no one mentioned you crying, daddy.” she coos softly in an attempt to console satoru.

it doesn’t work, he starts dry heaving and sobbing. which is new for her, he hasn’t cried this hard since her baby brother was born.

the kid scrambles into his pocket and damn near stumbles over the table in order to hand your white haired lover a tissue. “i don’t think you’re crying sir!” 

“shut up!” gojo sniffles dramatically, putting on his best theatre kid act and drapes himself ( and the baby ) all over you. “shit, is this cushioned tissue? three ply?” pale, deft fingers swipe at the blue pools of eyes which well with tears while the kid nods over enthusiastically — desperate to please his girlfriend’s guardian. “good stuff this is… but this doesn’t mean i approve of you for my daughter!”

“gojo!” 

“whaaaaat!? he doesn’t have a 401K!”

ᯓ★ RYOMEN SUKUNA:

if you’d told sukuna, almost a decade and a half ago, that he would end up with a life shrouded in domestic bliss — he would have laughed in your face. maybe even called you a cunt whilst telling you to fuck off. back then, when he was younger and the spirit of ambitious fire burned brightly in his veins as though he had petroleum for blood, the pink haired man never dreamed of settling down. buying a house. getting married. or having kids.

he was as untameable as a wild horse, with only one goal in mind. to open up his restaurant and get his family out of that shithole town by all and any means. he’d cross whatever rivers he had to, climb whatever mountains he needed to — push past societal hurdles that judged him for the pink in his hair and the thick ink on his body. ryomen sukuna did not care. not about anyone else, only about his goals.

at least, until he met you. 

in many ways, you were a blessing to the world where sukuna was a curse. his complete opposite, the day to his night. though the worlds and lives you came from were completely different — 

nowadays, the man is a little softer around the edges and weaker in the heart — they say that’s what true love does to you.

a set of keys jingle at the front door, followed by the dull thud of trainers on the shoe rack and footsteps on the mahogany wood floor. sukuna hardly looks up from the article he’s reading — something about the best recipes for autumnal vegetables. who would have thought, ryomen sukuna, reading up on gardening. he would tell anyone who asked it was for his restaurant, not because he actually enjoyed it. would make him look soft. 

“hey, i’m home!” the voice that calls to him is sweet and youthful, a dulcet symphony that tugs paternally at the pink haired man’s heart strings. “is ma here?” 

sukuna smiles to himself behind the newspaper, inhaling its fresh ink scent. “in the kitchen, workin’,” he replies absentmindedly, listening to his daughter skid down the hall after dropping her backpack. “oi squirt, you ain’t slick. you know what day it is, report card. now.” 

there’s a dramatic sigh that follows footsteps trailing back into the living room. sukuna’s daughter, his pride and joy clings onto the doorframe with a scowl that could very well rival his own, ruby red eyes twinkling with annoyance — she’s in a rush to chat with her mother after school, he knows, but he can’t help but to tease her just a bit. “s’in my bag, can i go now?” she whines impatiently but takes off at the first gentle nod from her father in reply. 

but the pink haired parent’s peaceful evening is quickly turned upside down at the discovery he makes in the bottom of his pride and joy’s bag. no matter how much time has passed, how many decades have gone by in which he’s been a father — nothing could prepare him for this new challenge, the new wave of emotions that come with having a tween daughter and swirl hotly in his chest.

“what the fuck is this?” he announces with a foul snarl, slipping into the kitchen where his girls chitchat idly over a test batch of cookies sukuna had made earlier in the day. for his restaurant of course. not because he’s a doting husband or loving father. he’s got an image to uphold and it’s not one of domestic bliss. 

his daughter chirps, not looking up from the sweet treat she picks apart and pops into her mouth — seated on the kitchen island while you work away on your laptop. “what’s what, daddy?” her innocent nonchalance about the older sukuna’s discovery almost makes him pop a vein. “also, ma told you to stop saying the f-word. so, swear jar.”

the hulking man with the contrastingly soft pink pokes his tongue into the soft epithelium of his cheek, his jaw ticks and a playful frustration tingles throughout all four of his limbs. the swear jar was something you’d brought into play as soon as [daughter name] had learned how to talk, afraid that your rough and rugged husband’s potty mouth would rub off on her young impressionable mind. every time a cursed word falls from between ryomen sukuna’s lips, a couple hundred yen is popped into the jar as punishment. the thing was practically full by your baby’s third birthday, so you’ve been putting it down as her college fund ever since.

paper rustles between deft and tattooed fingers as sukuna reveals not a report card, but a crinkled note like the kind passed back and forth between distracted kids in the middle of that one class before lunch. “don’t play dumb with me, squirt.” ryomen holds the note up to the light so that both of his girls can see, blood diamond eyes squinting so he can inspect it better. somebody get this guy his glasses. “‘do you want to go out with me? tick for yes, cross for no.’” he reads out loud, each word leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, his frown so deep that lines of disapproval form on his well-aged face.

thoughts of the once all-important report card vanish into thin air, the relaxed aura in the room replaced with a palatable tension that not even your husband’s finest knives could cut. your precious baby girl shoots up from the counter to scramble with her dad over the note in hand. he holds her back with a large palm to the forehead.

“oh my god! you weren’t supposed to see that! daddy, give it here. please!”

“fat chance, squirt,” the tattooed man retorts. “you passin’ notes in class? that why you’re hidin’ your report card?” 

“you can have my report card, when you give that back!”

with the two standing side by side, the resemblance strikes you as clear as day. they share the same hair, same scowl and same rugged intonation to their voices. they’re both yours, your entire world under one roof. before they can blow said root off, you stand between the elder and younger sukuna — turning to your husband with hooded eyes and a gentle hand on the centre of his broad chest. “oh ryo,” you coo in flirtation, slowing his train of thought as you sneakily swipe the crushed paper from his grip. “shut up ‘n let me see that.”

your daughter gags behind you at the display of affection, contrasting with the amused smirk you share with your long time lover. after all this time, marriage and the perfect kid, you’re still able to make a fool out of him — make sukuna’s heart skip a beat and a heat he refuses to acknowledge crawl up the back of his neck. he’s gone soft, for you and his family. for now, for you, he relents on taunting his precious little girl. 

casting your gaze over the note, you grin at the pink-ink chicken scratch scribbled across the page. it’s sweet and endearing, reminding you of young love. “did atsushi finally ask you out?” you ask tenderly, handing the paper back to your daughter who cuddles it to her chest like the  physical version of a precious memory. 

a bashful expression lines the contours of her face, seeping into features you’d recognise from your husband on her. sukuna would argue that she has the shape of your eyes and your beauty too — but all you see is a culmination of love. “ma you were so totally right, playing hard to get really works!” 

she gushes dreamily over her crush like it’s puppy love, biting her lip and bouncing on the spot. 

“like a charm, every time.” comes your entertained response, much to your husband’s dismay.

“you weren’t playin’ hard to get with me…” sukuna questions rather than states, trying to piece together parts of the gossip that he’s missed. an anxiety corners the beat of his heart at the thought of his daughter dating, something in which the burly man never thought he would be afraid of. the world had been hard on sukuna; he only worries that it’s not as safe for his pride and joy as it were for him.   “never mind that; the brat asked you out with a piece of paper?  y’better not have said yes. we have standards here.” 

his words make you roll your eyes with the hint of a smile. ryomen almost reminding you of your own father around the time you’d met him.

your daughter scrunches her nose petulantly, gearing herself up for a witty reply. “well ma married you, so her standards can’t be that high.” she snaps, earning a stifled laugh from you and an unimpressed grunt from her hardheaded dad. “and no, i didn’t. told him he needed to ask me out  properly. face to face. with words. he said to meet him on the running track tomorrow at lunch for a surprise!”

pulling her into a hug, you kiss her round youthful cheek. “oh baby, i'm so happy for you!”

“well i ain’t! show me the damn kid, need to see what kind of pitiful brat wants to ask out my little girl,”  sukuna crosses his arms and grumbles to himself, black ink tattoos flexing menacingly as he does so. almost as if he’s preparing to threaten the kid before even meeting him. “whatever happened to askin’ for permission to court or whatever. he should have been on my doorstep asking for your hand.” 

“firstly you would have said no, and secondly this isn’t the olden days, dad. nobody does that anymore.” your cheeky daughter chides him loudly, her words slipping over her snarky little tongue. like father like daughter, the way they snip and snap at one another has an uncanny resemblance.

tilting your head upwards towards your fuming husband, you laugh breathlessly in a way that washes away his anger.“she’s right ryo; though my dad hardly approved of you either.” you say softly. even now, you make him feel weak in the knees and dizzy in the mind, like he’s so anything for you. whoever dates his daughter should feel the same about her.

“i freakin’ earned it, didn’t i? 

“just barely.”

sukuna huffs but settles a hand on your waist from behind and his head atop yours. he needs to soothe himself somehow, his daughter is growing too fast. “stop ganging up on me and lemme see the damn kid.” 

“here, isn’t he cute.” 

lips downturned, sukuna craned his neck to look at your daughter’s phone from over your shoulder — scrutinising the instagram page that she’s opened now offering the kid his only child has taken an interest in like a lamb at the slaughterhouse. “brat looks like a noodle.” haughty laughter fills the kitchen, reverberating against the bones and organs in ryomen’s chest and buzzing right though your back. “you’re right i woulda said no as soon as he fuckin’ turned up!” 

two sets of scolding eyes similar in shape, belonging to the two girls he loves the most swivel around to face the pink haired man disapprovingly.

“ryomen sukuna!” 

“daddy!”

“yeah yeah, i know. swear jar.”

ᯓ★ SUGURU GETO:

“my love, were you aware that our little munchkin has a boyfriend?”

suguru looks up from the bubbling pot of child friendly pasta sauce on the stove. if it were just the two of you having dinner tonight, like it was merely three (nearly four) years ago — he would have planned for a more adventurous meal. perhaps sought out a bottle of fine aged wine for you both to enjoy on the balcony and even gotten a dessert to sweeten the date in. but now, you both had more than two hungry tummies to worry about, and bottles of wine could only be purchased when the little one was off with her uncle satoru.

“no, i wasnt. i don't believe that’s come up in discussion before,” your dark haired lover turns his narrow gaze to the giggly little girl swaddled in your arms — her chubby cheeks and dark, curious eyes just peeking out of the fluffy duck-themed towel you’ve wrapped her in. bath time is usually after bed, but someone got into the paint pots at nursery school and managed to get blotches of blue streaked through her hair and under her fingernails. “care to elaborate sweetheart?”

suguru taps the wooden sauce spoon against the side of the pot and swipes his hands on a nearby tea towel before allowing them to rest on his hips, look of faux irritation settling on the contours of his face and slopes of his features. thin brows draw together like closed gates in the middle of his forehead — the expression earning airy light and squealed laughter from your baby girl.

“nuh uhhh! not my boy-fend!” she babbles her way through the big girl word, missing a few syllables here and there, but geto still grins with pride — happily leaning forward to press enthusiastic kisses to his little angel’s damp forehead. “no boy-fend papa!

bouncing your daughter slightly, you cock your hip out to hold her weight and cheekily roll your eyes. “such a daddy’s girl, lying to him already? he’ll let you get away with anything if you keep that up,”  though you muster up a pout to rival the toddler’s, the uncanny resemblance warming the cockles or your husband’s heart, your tone is playful and adoring — it’s lilt full of love for the baby girl you made together. you pinch her chubby cheek, waggling it from side to side as more of her childlike laughter tangles with the scent of pasta in the air.  “we bumped into the fujioka boy and his mother at the gates this morning, he held her hand all the way up to the classroom. it was quite cute. you had to be there, love.” 

“i’m sure,” he responds, gentle mirth and protectiveness swirling in dark framed eyes.

you relay the information to your husband as though it’s hot gossip fresh from the press, whispering over your dark-haired daughter’s head not so secretly. even with the hair and eyes to match suguru’s, she’s still just as much your carbon copy as she is his — he tends to say all of her spirit comes from you, not to mention the way she laughs and smiles.

shaking her head between you, both — your baby chimes in brightly. “noooo mama!! boys are gross, i don’ hold hands with boys.”

this time suguru manoeuvres to pinch her other chubby cheek, clicking his tongue as he does so. “not even papa?” he pretends to pout, crouching down with his hands on his knees to coo into her sweet little face. 

“nuhhh, papa isn’t gross!! papa is my favourite boy!” she quickly tacks on with a dribbly smile.

“that’s right. i’ll be the only boy in your life always, just you and i princess,” your husband reaffirms with a firm shake of his head and presses a promise in the form of a kiss to your daughter’s nose. her chubby little hands, still wet from bath time, smack either side of suguru’s face and keep him close — close enough for her to plant a soggy smooch onto his forehead affectionately. a wet kiss only a father could love. “that settles it, i’m no longer sharing my kisses. papa says no boyfriends until you’re ninety.”

once your two loves are done sharing their candied affections, you seat your daughter on the edge of the kitchen table to allow geto the room to finish up with dinner. the comforting symphony of baby babbles and kitchen utensils clanking and food boiling fills the steamy air, it makes you smile. it feels like home. “oh come on suguru, they’re only three. don’t you think it’s the tiniest bit adorable?” you say with a sing-songy voice, entertaining both your little one and her father.“they even share their animal crackers during break time and crayons when it’s time to colour, one of the supervisors told me.”

with his back now to you as he stirs through the pasta sauce one final time, you hardly miss the way suguru’s shoulders tense at the mention of the little boy your girl has taken a liking to. he wouldn’t dare frown about it in front of her, what upsets daddy upsets baby too. that’s why he’s always smiling for her, and you find the man’s subtle jealousy endearing. it’s always supposed to be suguru and his princess, with no room for anyone else ( aside from you, of course ) 

“nope, no boyfriends. no amount of cuteness can convince me otherwise.” voice falling tight and flat, suguru reaches into the cupboards for plates and bowls to dish up his lovingly prepared home cooked meal, slamming them into place at the table with a little less patience than before. 

the idea of some… little boy chasing after his daughter’s heart? over his dead body.

“boy-fends are gross!” but your daughter is forever a daddy’s girl, furrowing her brow and crossing her tiny arms in an act of defiance — supporting her papa’s cause. boyfriends are bad! 

fuelling her excitement and even more support for papa — food is served shortly by your husband, who plates up as best as he can with toddler safe dinnerware. you adjust your little girl into her high chair at the table, giggling to yourself softly when she cranes her neck to keep an eye on suguru. “does that mean papa’s gross? he’s technically mama’s boyfriend.”

“husband, love, there’s a difference.” 

three plates of hot, aromatic spaghetti are organised in a table — each a domestic reminder of the family suguru geto has been blessed with. in that moment, he thinks he would be happy if he spent the rest of his life as just the three of you. briefly his mind wonders to setting a fourth place at the table in a decade or so’s time, once his daughter truly is old enough to date. the very thought makes him feel ill. 

round, doe eyes dart between you and suguru as you take your seats either side of your darling daughter at the table — she mimics you both with fumbling little fingers that reach for her baby fork and concentrates as she attempts to repeat your husband’s words. “can i have a husbsband-love?”

you laugh and kiss her cheek, helping her to gather a bite of pasta on the full end of her fork. “husband. just husband, my love. make sure you blow on your food please!” she follows your instructions with a comical air, cheeks puffing and breath huffing while you explain why her father is a second away from blowing his top. “good girl. husband’s aren’t for babies, baby. and i think papa might not like it if you got one now.”

“if you got one ever!” suguru interjects, eyes narrowing while he fights with his lips to avoid a scowl. “the answer is still no, princess. no husbands and no boyfriends until papa is old, cold and in the ground.” 

now that your hands are free, you grab the nearest tea towel and wind it up in your grip — launching its tail end at geto as though to swat at  him. he jumps in surprise and your daughter shrieks in amusement as she begins babbling again. “don worry, papa!. fujioka is  no my boy-fend!!” she says over food in her mouth and happy tummy. geto wipes over her face again. she’ll definitely need another bath later. “hasegawa is!!”

the pair of you share a look and this time, you really think suguru might just throw in the towel. 

how could he compete with pre-school love and paint pots shared over playtime gossip? 

“two boyfriends? oh god, love… i think need some air.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[goldenroutledge]

never say goodbye

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: you remind daniel of who he is when he needs it most.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, swearing but a happy ending (i tried)

a/n: self-indulgent to unbreak my heart a little bit. if he really leaves for good, the void will never be filled. there will never be another danny ric :,)

i listened to michael giacchino’s bundle of joy from inside out while writing this. if i could put my feelings into music, it would be this <3

Your heart aches seeing the expression on Daniel’s face; painstakingly bittersweet in showing his signature smile even when it kills him. It gives you at least a little comfort knowing that no matter what happens, nobody will take that away from him. As he recounts his time in Formula 1 in the interview, it is clear that his journey here has not only been a mere time in his life but it is a part of his being. The ebbs and flows, the triumphs and defeats he’s experienced over the last decade condensed into a few short yet symbolic sentences.

This might be the least talkative anyone has ever seen Daniel Ricciardo, who's otherwise radiating relentless positivity to a point that is undeniable. You know that’s still alive in him somewhere underneath it all. Maybe that’s part of why it hurts so much, he is someone so undeserving of such treatment, to be dismissed this way. Everyone can feel it, and even under the night sky of Singapore, the paddock is enclosed in its own bubble. When the bright lights go down and the noise turns to silence, you can only imagine how he’ll be when it’s just the two of you again, knowing that those with the brightest smiles hold in the heaviest tears.

It’s impossible to miss the solemn glances toward him or the way the interviewer’s eyes match the look in Daniel’s, searching in the dark for an end to this nightmare. Even from afar you can see the way he’s holding back tears, choosing his words carefully to keep the dam from breaking just a little bit longer. He musters a smile and a nod at the end of his interview trying to convey that it's going to be okay, he is going to be okay.

Before you know it he’s making his way back to the team’s hospitality. Claps and cheers interrupt your thoughts, and you glance around to see his team members and friends now surrounding you near the entrance. It’s hard for everyone to see him this way but they also can’t help but be astounded at the way his head is still held high. He thanks each and every one of them with gratitude, before locking eyes with you at the very end.

Unexpectedly, your eyes are filled with tears at the sight of him. A quiet sob leaves your lips as he scoops you into his arms, swaying you both soothingly. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear and for reasons you can’t quite explain. I’m sorry I can’t keep it together. I’m sorry you have to be so strong. I’m sorry this is happening to you.

Daniel knows everything you mean by that, and feels his throat swell up, pressing a long kiss to your cheek instead. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting yourself take in his embrace for a few moments before it’s over. A few tears fall down your cheek and you’re not sure who they belong to.

After a deep breath you pull away from him, returning a kiss to his cheek along with a proper smile of reassurance. As deeply as you feel for him right now, you feel just as much of a responsibility to make sure he’s taken care of.

“Meet you at the hotel after your debriefs?”

Daniel nods, eyes solemn as they drift behind you into the hospitality suite. He sighs, knowing what’s ahead of him. You figure it would be nice to give him a little time to himself, to stitch up his remaining wounds and take in what could be his last moments as a Formula 1 driver. To say a sudden goodbye to this paddock, his second home for the last 13 years, and to say goodbye to all of those that have been beside him, who have become a second family over those 13 years.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

Daniel gives you one last smile of reassurance, knowing that no matter how many times he tells you he’s okay, you won’t believe him. He pecks your lips softly, walking inside and waving to you from behind the glass door. You wave back, still struck with emotion, feeling like a parent sending their child into their first day of school. Instead of the moment being a new beginning that’s filled with hope and joy, it’s a moment of bittersweet ending filled with sorrow and sadness.

You can only hope that whatever’s waiting for him on the other side of this, he’s happy. You make a promise to yourself that you’ll be there through all of the grief and the restlessness it will take for him to get there.

-

Back at the hotel, you sit quietly for a while, gathering your thoughts. It certainly wouldn’t be in your best interest to scroll through the endless articles and videos of a heartbroken Daniel giving interviews. Though seeing him secure both the fastest lap and driver of the day makes you smile. P1 or P18, he is beloved by everyone inside of the paddock and out. He infects others with a unique energy that can’t be replicated. One could only dream to help him truly understand that.

The unzipped suitcases in your hotel room were taunting, as if they could know how badly you didn’t want this to be the last time you both have to pack up and leave a race weekend. But the thought of Daniel coming back and having to do all of this himself was even more painful. Begrudgingly, you began to organize the contents of your luggage.

Underneath one of Daniel’s hoodies were a collection of bracelets and trinkets from fans given to him over the last two weeks. Yet another reminder of something he’d be saying goodbye to. These gifts weren’t simply material things. They were symbols of the love and adoration people had for Daniel. They were a representation of the inspiration he gave to so many around the world. And not only to them, but to his friends, his family members, and to you.

This moment felt like deja vu as you vividly witnessed him say goodbye once before when his time ended at McLaren. And then the spark of hope began to glow brighter once again when he was welcomed back to Red Bull as a reserve driver, and then as a driver for RB.

It was a journey you’d been capturing for quite some time now on your own camera, moments that you weren’t ready for Daniel to see just yet. Of course the end of his career was bound to come, but you believed you’d have more time and you’d have more experiences turned memories for him to look back on. You find the camera in your handbag before gathering your laptop and USB. If now wasn’t the right time, you didn’t know when it would be. The clock tells you that you only have a couple hours, maybe more depending on how long he spends at the track. Thanks to the extra surge of emotions you’d been feeling tonight, the memories from your camera and a video production class you took in school many years ago, you’re able to pour it all into a little gift for him.

-

After watching it once through, you uploaded it onto a spare flashdrive. Luckily you had one that would’ve otherwise been used to store photos for daniel3.jpg.

You barely noticed that hours had gone by, the clock now reading 1:46am. Your heart breaks for Daniel. Despite being apart from him you know how he must be feeling. Yet above it all, you knew he’d be leaving with a smile.

-

The door clicks open.

Exhausted, Daniel drags his feet inside. He’s relieved to see you stayed awake for him. There’s nobody he’d rather be alone with right now. Without a word, he relaxes into your arms that are open and waiting for him, and his for you.

Unsure of how to start the conversation, you decide that you should let the video you made for him speak for itself. You hold him for as long as he needs, feeling his breathing steady into a calm rhythm.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it underneath this hoodie?” He teases suggestively, lips curling into a smile. He tugs at the bottom of the fabric to emphasize his point.

“Later.” You quip, taking his arm and patting a spot for him to sit next to you.

He looks utterly confused yet intrigued when you hand him a flashdrive, but puts it into the laptop anyway. “What is this?”

“You’ll see.”

Daniel clicks the play button on the black screen. The sounds of soft piano music is the first thing he hears before a picture of himself as a child illuminates the screen.

The voice of an interviewer plays over it, asking: “What would you tell your younger self?”

“Enjoy the butterflies, enjoy being naive, enjoy the nerves, the pressure, people not knowing your name… all that stuff. Enjoy the process of making a name for yourself, getting faster and faster with each lap, and meeting some great people along the way. Embrace the good ones, stay focused.”

A collection of pictures plays in sync with the audio of Daniel from his youth to now, edited in a perfect sequence. The clips show his best moments; his podiums, his shoeys, his radio messages, his laughs shared with fellow drivers, him riding into the Austin Grand Prix on Horsey McHorse, his fans cheering as he walks through Albert Park, hugging his niece before a race.

“You got to the dance in the first place doing what you do so don’t change too much. Don’t forget what got you here. Earn the parties, earn the drinks. Bring friends along, bring family along, don’t assume they’ll be a distraction, they might be something to take the weight off your shoulders on a race weekend, they’re also people to enjoy the moment with and to celebrate with, so don’t be afraid to surround yourself with people you care about and love.” The clips showed moments in the paddock with his fans, friends, family, and with you, always cheering for him.

The video shows him again, smiling wide as he reflects on some of the best lessons this life has shown him. “So, yeah. Get after it.”

Soft piano notes play once again, detailing ambivalent sounds that are yearning and wishful but also bring solace. Daniel is focused on the screen, so much so that he doesn’t pay attention to the tears that have started streaming down his face. In his eyes is love and gratitude for the journey he’s been on, and to you for reminding him of it in such a meaningful way. Your head rests on his shoulder carefully and you’re anxious to know what he’s thinking.

“You made that for me?”

“Mhm. I’ve been wanting to do something like this for you, I just didn’t know when it would be a good time to show you.”

“I guess there’s no better time than now, right?” Daniel mumbles, looking at you with admiration.

“I know you’ve been unsure of yourself for a while. And as much as I want to, there’s nothing I can do to change that. I don't always know what to say, so I thought, there’s no one better to tell you who you are than you.”

You take his face in your hands, gently brushing away any spare tears.

“But what I can tell you Daniel, is that I love you. I know you don’t want to be sad because you think you’ll be letting everyone down, but you could never let me down. You can be happy or sad or angry, you can shatter these lamps on the floor if you need to and I won’t be disappointed. If you let me, I’ll help you pick up the pieces. Whenever you feel alone, just remember you have me.”

Daniel can’t deny the way his heart warms at your words, an abundance of love and sincerity behind them. He tilts his head, pressing kisses to each of your wrists. “I love you, too. Even if I don’t deserve you.”

You scoff, harmlessly nudging him in response. “Shut up, they don’t deserve you. Fuck them all. That’s why I did that, to show you that there’s actually no one more deserving than you.”

“Yeah. Fuck ‘em all.” Daniel chuckles, looking down to hide the blush on his cheeks. You both sit there in a comforting silence, happy to be hidden away from the outside world for the night. With both of your busy schedules keeping you apart, times like these are especially important. There’s nobody you’d rather come home to, there’s nobody else that feels like a safe haven away from the cruel world that’s now turned its back on him.

“I can’t thank you enough, honey. I love you. I don’t know what the future holds… but I promise I’ll never take you for granted. How you always stick beside me, I’ll never know. It might be the end of an era in my career but I could never forget that I have you. You have me, too. When it comes to this,” Daniel gestures between the two of you, “I wouldn’t even know how to say goodbye.”

“And you won’t have to. We’ll never say goodbye.”

Your eyes twinkle and you press your lips to his, kissing him with a passion that can’t be put into words. Perhaps he didn’t get the fairytale ending he wanted and deserved in his career, but what he has here with you could easily pass as a fairytale of its own kind. It's what allows you both to sleep peacefully, knowing that whatever lies ahead, the only goodbye you won’t have to make is to each other.

a/n: comments, reblogs, and feedback is greatly appreciated! stay strong dr3 nation 💌

[possessionisamyth]

Not to kick a dead horse, but there is a way to make Pier's death genuinely very loaded and tragic that fandom consensus just seems to continue to miss! I've never seen a take about Piers's death being about PIERS, but all about "ooohh chris lost a good one" and how the two are not able to fuck anymore. But I am going to free you from these shackles while I zero in on Chris' comment of

"I wanted him to replace me."

Surely Piers was being trained to take Chris' job ideally after a decent retirement party, but neither of them get that luxury because Edonia happens, and Chris is gone. The beloved captain has vanished, and the person who's supposed to take his job is right there, so they give it to him. It's Piers responsibility to not only be a face of what the BSAA represents, but also the heavy shackles of expectations are slapped onto him.

Everyone wants Chris, which means Piers can't be himself nor figure out how to run the same jobs his way. No, it has to be Chris' way. There's no time for anyone to adjust and shift gears either with the C-Virus outbreaks, the terrorist attacks from Ada*(Carla), and the search party he shambled together to locate the missing Redfield. So he tries his damnedest to fill Chris' shoes and suddenly realizes just how out of his depth he is. There were so many reasons people called Chris for certain tasks, even tasks Piers hadn't known about and definitely hadn't been trained on, that Piers never saw. There's no mentor to dial. No reference other than fellow soldiers saying things like, "We don't know how, he just got it done," which is the least helpful thing in the world. Hell, there's barely any notes to go through when he searches Chris' office for a semblance of a hint as to how he should do this job.

Maybe it turns out Chris was doing his best to gently ease that heavy mantle into Piers' hands. It's why his scheduled retirement seemed so far away at the time. Perhaps, after one comment too many where he'd been accidentally addressed by the name of his captain for the 50th time, Piers breaks. He can't do this. He's not ready for this. He needs the one person who did all this back by any means necessary, so he drops all the work and joins the search party. He verbally harasses an amnesiac Chris into coming back because maybe it isn't that bad. Maybe Chris just needs a reminder of what he's been doing everyday for literal years and things would be back to normal again.

But it's not. It's messier. It's uglier. This isn't the Chris he worked so hard to fight alongside. There are glimpses of him in there, but most of the time in China, Piers feels like he's working with a stranger. People die, and Chris keeps pushing forward no matter how much he's shouted at, and Piers feels like this is all his fault. The deaths are his fault because he couldn't buckle down and do what Chris originally wanted him to do. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him.

So when they go to that underwater facility, and their backs are against the wall, there's the looming sense of failure and a terrifying amount of pressure. If they get out of this alive, who knows when Chris would be back in shape to work again if that ever happens. Piers would have to be responsible. He was already responsible for the squad he gathered to take up this job, and they were skewed into pieces around downtown Lanshiang. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him, and Piers failed on all accounts. He couldn't get Chris back the way he was supposed to be. His squad was dead. The responsibility he'd have to take up if they made it out alive would be nigh unbearable, and then he gets infected.

He gets infected and suddenly the decision is so easy. To let go. To hope for the best. To be the one left behind when he was supposed to be the one moving towards the future. Another glimpse of the Chris that Piers knew is seen, a more confident glimpse wherein Chris does everything he can to try and save him. And Piers smiles when Chris fails. When he saves Chris. When he seems to finally do one thing right after things never seemed to stop falling apart.

It's the last thing Chris sees. That smile and the ever encroaching weight of immeasurable responsibility that'll grasp him tight as soon as he breaks the surface. The weight Piers couldn't take from him, and maybe never wanted in the first place.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Have i said this already

I cant remember 💃

What if nightmares spouse was still alive, or like...became alive AGAIN when nightmare has killer

Like, killer can see nightmare being affectionate with his spouse and vice versa

Basicallg what im saying is what if killer used that as an example of how to show affection and did it with color

Imagining killer just cooking a human heart for color and giving it to him, or like... purring loudly whenever color is near because he could always faintly hear nightmare purring when his spouse is near

And gifting the limbs of someone who bothered color, because nightmares spouse would frequently kill and make little artworks of the bones of someone who bothered nightmare

Hell, maybe even try to make a little artwork too. Or like carve something out of the bone that he likes, like a lil cat

Bone cat

That idea is both hilarious, terrifying, and cute. I mean, he already keeps entire jars of souls for study and presumably scoops up blood and monster dust also for study.

Realizing that some of what he’s already doing can be used as affection would be a prime light bulb moment lmao.

Like, he spends hours of his days making color the perfect jar—carefully placing the souls, blood and dust of Color’s enemies (or at least who killer thinks are color’s enemies) into a jar and decorating it all pretty with glitter and ribbons and of course placing little upside down heart stickers on the jar (don’t ask him why it was instinct) and its beautiful and killer is sure color would love it because the boss and the boss’ lover love it.

And like the jar is probably heart shaped and looks something like this

So from Color’s perspective, Killer walking up to him with the jar is the equivalent of something like this

Until Color actually gets a good look at it and then just stares, and killers like “do you like it? 🙂” and he’s all squeezing his hands together in front of his chest like this

{art by rahafwabas, edited by me.}

And then Color has to ask why he gave him this—souls and hearts and blood and dust specifically—and then killer explains about nightmare and then color’s like..”yeah, okay. That makes sense. Of course they’d do that.”

And then Color has to explain that Nightmare and his lover are not exactly the picture of a typical relationship nor what’s considered appropriate to give others, and if killer gave this to anyone else they’d probably be creeped out by it. (Which killer of course keeps in mind, because he loves creeping people out lmao.)

But then Killer’s like..

“..so do you not want it?”

Now here im not sure how exactly color would react—his souls would probably have a lot to say on this. The fact that Killer hurt and killed people for this gift, that Color has to set an example and maintain his integrity— but also how killer very obviously put a lot of thought and hard work into this gift for them and it’d be rude to throw it away.

And yet another part of color is mindful of the fact that this could very well be another of killer’s little morality and boundary tests—trying to test what color is going to do, chose kindness and not hurting killers “feelings” or maintaining his integrity.

And i think maybe a good compromise would be color giving the jar back with a kind, patient smile, and requesting that he hold the jar for him—keep it safe for him. And instead, he’d like to show him something he likes to make as gifts. (And therefore likes to receive as gifts.) and then maybe color makes use of the jar stuff to make like, some of those sand container jewelry like these:

Or perhaps Color further compromises by making one of those blood vial necklaces, appeals to killers idea of a gift with something more consenting and harm free because its vials of killer and colors blood freely given.

Something like this, but imagine Killer’s blood is something more thick and dark like Determination, while Color’s blood is like a darker version of his flames; changing colors and glowing softly in the jar.

{ @brokenramunebottle }

[imavikingo]

I was thinking on when Steve lost Bucky for the 3rd time (1st when he was drafted, 2nd when he was told he was MIA, 3rd when he fell) he tried to get drunk to forget, right? If he did that then...

What did he do when he lost him for the 6th time? (4th when he escaped, 5th when Bucky was in cryo, 6th the snap)

I mean technically Bucky died twice, but Steve lost him six times already.

And of he tried to get blind drunk once of those times- did he self-harm in other ways too?

To dull the pain? He can't get drunk, he heals quickly, he can't die easily either, so what did he do?

He wouldn't want to die when he knows for a fact that Bucky is alive ofc, but I can't see him acting normally or without a little bit of reckless energy.

To dull the pain and disappoinment (he can't feel like that, that's Bucky's choice -Cryo-. But how it hurts him tho).

(unrelated to this line of thought but it is relevant to the idea regardless)

That's why I can't fathom the idea of Steve abandoning Bucky in endgame.

He lost him 6 six (6) times already and he just... Went away? To a woman he only kissed once? After all he did for him, the pain and loss?

Even if you don't ship them, you have to think that to be really ooc on Steve's part. Everything in his character arc in the MCU is related to Bucky (and loss). Yes he liked Peggy, but he didn't suffer nor mourn her the same way he mourned Bucky (She was alive, but had dementia and was also very old, and had her own life).

His feelings for Peggy were more a "what if" and lost possibilities than anything.

She was an idea, a fantasy (that's why Wanda used that when fighting with him, right?). Not something real.

He wanted to be with her, but he didn't really knew her or love her (at least I don't think so).

She was the first woman that saw him for him after all. Before everything. But that's it.

He liked her for that (and her strong personality too) but did he love her? He didn't try to get on dates after he was defrosted because he knew people would only see Captain America, not Steve Rogers. He needed to represent an ideal and knew no one would understand (the pain, loss) and have the patience to be with him. That’s why he also highlighted the shared life experience thing.

So she was comforting, reassuring in a toxic and unhealthy kind of way (memories and fantasy aren't healthy when used like that). But still a what if and lost opportunity. He had to let her go at one point. And he did(!) But they had to fuck it up…

I mean... it's the same thing when you're still hung up on an ex. You want to think of the possibilities, the what ifs, the "what could have been" But when you go back to them nothing is like you remembered, nothing is like you wanted and you are dissatisfied and disappointed.

(Because all of that was in your head, it wasn't real).

And besides, he knew she had a life of her own (a fulfilling one at that) so what, he was selfish enough to fuck that up too? Without helping HIM? Without saving HIM? Abandoning HIM? After just being brought to life? After grieving him for another five years? Bucky was his best friend, his companion, his best pal…

He wouldn't do that to him. He would die before hurting Bucky (as they already stablished for most of the fucking movies) He even was like “You don’t understand” when Peggy talked to him in the bars ruins.

I think in canon (not ooc/EG)Steve would entertain the idea, but would decide to just keep it as that: An idea, a fantasy. And move on like he already did before.

Also the idea that it was a Peggy from an alternative universe is flawed because he abandoned HIS Bucky, even if in the other universe he helped or whatever.

In HIS UNIVERSE he abandoned his best friend? Not believable. And the logic of “oh it didn’t change their timeline because it was another one” is also stupid.

They already fucked up with Steve fighting 2012!Steve and also telling him about Bucky (creating another universe more than likely). And they were supposed to be undetected. Not create new universes. Thats also why I’m so keen on the idea of Steve being in a prison or something. He already fucked up once, twice if you think he went to the past to stay.

How can he be free while fucking up the timelines? Yeah, nah.

Also… they implied Steve can’t age in a movie if I remember correctly…. How did he become old?

And the idea that he went to Peggy because “Tony told him to have a life outside of captain america” is fucked up. So what? He relates his Bucky’s existence with work? FUCK OFF. Endgame Steve is fucked up and the worst character assassination I’ve ever seen.

They were just too annoyed with the fans because we ship Stucky (even tho they used that to promote the movies in panels and stuff, hypocrites -​I remember clearly the producers? of the movie talk about gay characters and the actors talk about Stucky in those panels for then…be one of the russos in like 1 second and have that shit ass, fuck ass ending for Steve and Bucky. That shit was vile-).

im also annoyed with some people that now shit on Steve when umh… did you see the movies? The other movies? Not only Endgame? (Btw the only one that got a “good ending” was Tony because he died as a hero in front of everyone -even tho he didn’t want to help at first because he had a good life, the ONLY ONE OF THEM might I add-, everyone else got worse, is dead or they’re neglected and treated as haha funny character or haha funny moment)

Im all for ships and ideas and headcanons (even when I hate them with passion, you do you) but don’t try and use this character assassination as an excuse to shit on Steve. If you NEED to shit on a character for your ship to work, then you’re not doing a good job at it or your ship sucks. Idk what to tell you.

[indie-fanfics]

Pondering J Oneshot

CW Mentions of death and body horror, Standard MD stuff

J stared out. Out at the cold, barren landscape of Copper 9. She stared out, thinking. She was doing more of that lately. Especially about the past. She normally refused to think about back then. What was the point? But now, there wasn't much else to think about. Her and "Tessa" were on the down low, trying to figure out where the cabin fever labs were hidden. And she'd done enough thinking about that, about "Tessa" and her orders. "Tessa," yeah right. J knew it was Cyn, she'd known for years at this point. The horrible little thing kept her believing, hoping, praying even that Tessa was still alive and that's who J was communicating with over the relays. But eventually, as the little things added up and the contradictions complied on themselves like a pile of bounced checks, things clicked for J. She spent weeks agonizing over what she would do, even to the point where V started to get suspicious. In the end, it didn't even matter. Cyn didn't care, it only threatened to do anything if J told the others, and only because that could serve as a memory trigger. And while N had no memories of before. V had just enough to keep her loyal. She paused in her thoughts for a moment, glancing around the perimeter for any potential threats and checking her oil level. She'd need to feed in a few hours. There was only strong winds around her, blowing her hair every which way. J took a few deep breathes before going back to her thoughts. V, poor unsuspecting V. She remembered only a few things from Earth, mainly their time as worker drones and Cyn's "promise," honestly it was a lot more of a threat. But all V focused on was making sure things didn't get worse. N didn't know anything, of course, the idiot would just try to find some stupid way of fixing things that would only cost them time and Cyn's patience. J would know, after all. This was the second exo-planet they had been sent too, the first being somewhat of a test run for Cyn to train her little puppets. Both N and V had near equal memories of earth, minus the killing Cyn had them do when it destroyed the planet. It was a relatively barren planet when they got there, having been one of the first planets and mined almost entirely bare. Full of older drone models too. Programed, like almost all drones, with little sense of self-preservation. It was easy to take out almost all of them, as well as the few humans there that were managing the drones. However, the memories soon started to get to the other two. N became somewhat obsessive with getting back to Earth, wanting to help save Tessa and defeat Cyn. Still naive and stupid as ever. V backed him up on that, surprisingly, but was smart enough to agree that they should at least pretend to follow orders. J rolled her eyes at their plan, but a seed of hope remained that she couldn't quite kill. Cyn, however, found out, turned out the thing was able to listen in on them while they talked. It took control of N and broke his body open from the inside as the Cyn-controlled core forced it's way out, using the material of his corpse to create the an eldritch monster. It forced J to watch as it killed V. Saying that the she should see what happens when the job isn't done right. J still saw those memories whenever she went to sleep. Maybe it was Cyn, maybe it was her guilty conscience. Not like she knew either way. J had to watch as her friends coworkers were killed in front of her. She had to watch what happened when she didn't take control of her team and force them to follow orders. She wasn't going to let that happen again. Every time they tried something, it failed. Every time they failed, they were punished. Every time J didn't do what she was told, she was punished. She didn't care if Cyn tricked her at this point, it was too late for her to try to switch sides again. She was done.

[levemetal]

Day 2: Timeloop / Xiao Qi and Jiu Ge

I am cringe and I am not even free

Feel free to reuse this idea but 24 hours are not enough for me to finish an entire comic. I could have taken the simpler prompt but nOOOOOO timeloop is too tempting. Past me why are we like this

[quietwingsinthesky]

of ten’s companions, if the doctor couldn’t handle losing them and crossed his own timeline to trick them into traveling with future!him instead of past!him so that he’d have a little more time with them:

rose would do it. first because bless her but she has the situational awareness of a rock, and legitimately would not realize this isn’t her doctor until his facade starts to break down and he starts bleeding grief-laced love for her at every turn. but once she does realize it, she’s both deeply sympathetic and a little scared that she could make him into this. it’s a lot to be confronted with having that much power over someone, to break them so thoroughly. rose would try to get back to her doctor, but while she’s with the future version, she tries to do what she can to ease his pain. (she also tries to figure out a way to subvert her fate. she fails.)

i think martha would be harder to trick. she can smell desperation on the doctor like a bloodhound. she is so tapped into the fact that this man wants to off himself so bad and that she’s 90% of his self-restraint, so present her with a doctor who is lacking that and she’s onto him immediately. however, assuming he gets her to come with him, explains why he’s doing this, there’s like. a minute where she’s kind of. not flattered exactly, but surprised, giddy with the realization that he’d come back for a little more time with her, especially if this is early season 3 martha. which would all come crashing down around the time that he reveals that he wasn’t pushed to this by losing her to some tragedy or her death or anything- but that she chose to leave. that is the point at which martha goes ‘oh i need to get the fuck off of this tardis right now’ and ghosts the past!doctor that she was also traveling with because holy shit, man.

donna, like rose, is easily bamboozled into following the wrong doctor home, provided that he shuffles her along into his tardis too fast for her to argue. but she catches on far quicker than rose does. like, three minutes tops of watching the doctor move through the tardis in a way that’s definitely not enthusiastic piloting and looks more like guilty panic. and then she yells at him for lying to her. and she yells at him for kidnapping her. and then she stops yelling because he’s gone sort of still and quiet and his eyes are just broken. and he doesn’t explain himself, he confesses. donna is going to try to stay with him after this btw. because how do you go back to looking your best friend in the eyes when you know he’d take everything you’ve become away from you, even to save your life? and this is still the doctor, he still did that to her, but he regrets it. regrets it so much that he can’t live with it, he’s breaking time and space just to hear her say his name again. and donna doesn’t want to lose him anymore than he wanted to lose her.

[localguy2]

Might be a bit of a weird thing but I want to see Kai's sudden anger sprouts or emotional outbreaks to come back, or basically some aspects of pre S8 Kai.

I want to see Kai motherfucking smith be mad at anyone really.

The Merge just happened and fuck me his family is scattered again, they're probably just as worried and confused and scared as him and he's sick of everyone he cares about getting constantly in danger, intentionally or not.

And then he meets Lloyd, or Nya, and he's sorta relieved but at the same time, the others are still missing out there somewhere.

So he gets clingy onto them, "if I can't find the rest I have to keep the ones I have close me to safe."

Of course this comes from worrying over the others and their safety, and if the name "Imperium" and if their nindroids and Vehicles and genrals are anything to go off of, they're an absolute force to be wrecked with.

Doesn't help either that there's the responsibility now of ensuring Sora and Arin (and Riyu) are safe as well.

And the moment I want to see him have an anger or emotional outburst is in a scenario where Nya makes a one off comment about Kai being overbearing and protective of them.

And Kai just snaps at Nya.

He goes on a large fucking tangent about how he's always had to stay calm in clearly shitty situations, because they as a group just keep getting separated time and time and time again, danger around the corner at any given moment and he's tired of it.

And it would especially hurt him that the comment comes from Nya out of all people, because not too long ago she was still one with the sea, he had to sacrifice his entire childhood just to raise and protect her, and he knows to respect her boundaries and beliefs but in his mind the last time he went too soft it ended up with her sacrificing herself for them.

And he doesn't want to go soft nor can he because at any given moment, one of them could give their entire being just to save the others, and he's seen it way too many times, so he just can't.

[douglasfeiffel]

i am really enjoying impact winter but yet I find myself wondering the same thing I wonder when consuming most vampire media: if the vampires can control how much they drink from someone, why don't they? It's hard to see the vampires we're supposed to see as good people as good people when they're murdering non-vampires left and right when they could. according to the story itself. just not do that

[archersartcorner]

Thought of an AU awhile ago where Weatherall n Prilbus somehow manage to survive and team up to enact both their desired revenges against Norman and Skip, didn’t draw anything for it then but saw a recent post in the tags that reminded me of it (op of that post if u see this, I am shaking ur hand rn!!!!!!!!) so here’s a thing! It feels so so unlikely that this would happen in canon but it ALSO feels like some absolute whack sci-fi plot twist that COULD happen ykwim? Some “I AM your father” ass bs LMAO

[torchickentacos]

Ok so far my experience with House MD is "everyone here sucks on pretty much every level possible. why do I love them so much"

[theinfinitedivides]

just read some of the newest updates on Yoo Ah In's case and God. Jesus. we really were this close to waking up and hearing he'd taken sh*t into his own hands or something what the f*ck

[carpthecarp]

I need to talk about my robins

[bigeloo]

You've seen mold dude

now get ready for

moss man

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

girl help. secret life bigb. i am thinking about him again.