OlderDad!Bakugou who gets a haircut and his baby doesn't recognize him and he doesn't want his dad to pick him up 😭😭😭😭😭😭
Bakugou has a cry in the bathroom and you have to spend the rest of the night consoling him.
Also Hiiiiiii, miss u, hope youre gooooood
head in my hands bc of this, just thought abt bakugo growing out his hair a little bit right after baby's birth...takes him months to go and get a real haircut cuz he doesn't wanna burden you more than he already has and by the time he's okay with the thought (but only for "AN HOUR MAX," is what he says), he has a mullet thing going on and all this scruff on his chin🥺🥺🥺
so he gets home with his regular ol' haircut, maybe a little shorter just to account for ... not wanting to go again so soon, and baby's HOLLERING bloody murder as soon as they see him and refusing to be taken out of your arms, doing that thing where they're flipping their face back and forth to dodge a kiss...
it's so tragic bc not even a little cheek nuzzling helps to calm them bc bakugo's CLEAN SHAVEN and smells like aftershave instead of like dad when he tries!!!!!!
and after, you watch him kinda sulk into the bathroom, thinking like aw yeah thats a bummer but also pretty funny, too (esp bc the haircut does look good🫣🤓), AND HE DOESN'T COME OUT FOR LIKE an hour???
....until you finally have to ask him if he's okay in there and you're opening the door to him sitting on the toilet seat, arms crossed and red cheeks a little streaky with tears...
LJFKASDJFADSJK it's the cutest, most sad sight you ever did see!! ofc Bakugo tries to deny it, but the way he tears up again (after you're done assuring him he did nothing wrong) when his baby finally realizes it's him and smiles (and then how he refuses to give them up again until bedtime) has his ass. EXPOSED.
(i love and miss u more than air, earth, water, dirt + HOPE YOU'RE GOOD TOO BESTIE ILY)
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When I was a little child, there was a particular library book I checked out week after week, endlessly renewing it as much as I was able. The book, How to Raise and Keep a Dragon by John Topsell was a quasi-nonfiction guide to, as you guessed, rearing different species of dragons. I loved it. Tiny-me had plans.
As an adult, I tried to buy it a few times. No dice. The book was so old that no mainstream bookseller stocked it. Even when I tried niche websites recommended by various booksellers and librarians, I still couldn't find it. It was sadly lost to time, apparently not popular enough to make it into the archives.
But.
My best friend had a copy of that book. We're going to call her G, for several reasons not relevant at the moment. I was discussing my search with G one day, for some reason I can't remember now. She got a funny look on her face, asked me a few questions about the cover, listened to me do a very poor job of explaining with my hands how the hardcover copy had included a real gemstone in the dragon's forehead, and then went off to fish it out of her bookcase.
I was Gobsmacked.
I should not have been, given that the history of shared childhood books between us both would have made a circle with ragged edges, more so than a venn diagram, but I digress. The book came home to live in my house for a few months, and I was delighted by the chance to read it again.
Do people remember those type of books? Dragonology, Egyptology, The Stone Age - a way of introducing children to non fiction. They very earnestly spoke about the responsibilities needed to raise dragons, the practicalities involved. There was a record of registration you could fill out, if you had carefully considered the information to your self and felt you were responsible enough to to go through with adopting a dragon.
I vaguely remember filling out some of the riddle and puzzle questions in the Dragonology books. I would never have written in John Topsell's book, it was a library book.
But.
When I re-read G's copy at home, smiling over the familiar artwork, I was surprised to turn the page and find the painstaking, somewhat-wonky handwriting staring back at at me. Baby G, with her name spelled out in freshly-joined but still-not-quite-got-the-hang-of-this-yet cursive lettering. Baby G had filled the registration out in her best handwriting, in glittery green gel pen to denote the importance of the document. This was compared to the earlier, less important checklists done in plain black ink.
I read the registration certificate. Smiled. Smiled some more at the names listed for G's dragon, her dam, and her sire - Eragon was also a great book. Go off, Christopher Paolini.
Breed; standard Western Dragon. The box 'miniture' was ticked, to show that G's dragon was of the minature specic variety, rather than a full size dragon. This was, as she would later explain to me, chosen on the basis that baby-G felt it was the more financially responsible choice. Also so she could keep her dragon in her house with her, but we're not there yet.
I looked at that certificate. Looked at it again. Looked at the calendar, and then looked at the sewing machine I had just been given for Christmas.
G celebrates her birthday in January.
The template came first. I studied the different images of the standard western dragon through the book, picked my favourite, and re-drew it to a significantly larger scale.
Inking the design to the fabric, four times over probably took the longest.
I very subtly asked G the next time she was over (after hurling all dragon-related materials in a panic into the depths of my wardrobe) what type of colour dragon she would have, should it come up. As G later said, that type of question from me truly did not register as anything other than a question asked from theoretical interest. I transitioned the topic as discreetly as I could after she answered, and delightfully, my sneakiness went in one ear, out the other, and she forgot I had ever asked until several weeks later.
I enjoyed painting them.
Don't ask me how many mistakes I made through this process. So many. I do already know how to sew, but it's been a long time. I'd been meaning to get back into it for a while.
Given that various aunts and grandmothers and my mother had a knack for calling when I was up to my elbows in either paint or pins, it became a family affair. Each of them peered at the project through face time and offered their advice.
Some of the advice I took, some I didn't. No regrets about sewing it in pink thread. Considerable regrets about accidentally slicing one of the feet in half and having to fix that.
In the end though, she was finished.
I carefully pinned on her name tag, with the name baby-G had chosen with a little blue ribbon. A collar was unacceptable, this is a dragon, people, come on. Dragon's don't wear collars.
I put the book in the box, open to the registration certificate, and put the dragon on top. Wrapped the whole thing up with a bow and then refused to touch it before I sent myself mad trying to fix details that didn't really need to be fixed.
A bit late for her birthday, sure, but there we are. We'd gone for a trip off to nowhere for a weekend, to go try wine made out of blueberries and hike up a waterfall. (And climb on it. And swim in it. It was a very good waterfall).
I gave her the box, informed her she wasn't allowed to keep the box, just the contents (it was the only thing I had that was big enough for me to keep all of my A3 portfolios in, it had only been temporarily-repurposed as dragon housing), and then left the next bit up to the gods.
A surprise, sitting un-awaited for some 15 years in amber, to catch up to baby G and adult G together.
Happy Birthday, baby and adult G.
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