Sukuna—being a tough guy—always had a rough exterior; but when it came down to his daughter? Ah, he could loosen up a bit. Especially now that school was starting up, his cortisol levels were starting to go through the roof.
"Do you have your water bottle?"
"Uh huh."
"What about your lunch box?"
"You packed it for me."
"Where's your backpack?"
"Daddy!" the little girl giggled. "It's on my back!" And as if to give a proof, she twirled around to show that the glittery rainbow backpack was, indeed, on her back.
You put a hand on Sukuna's arm, laughing, "Honey, you're making it sound as if our baby's going on an expedition to Antarctica."
Sukuna, frowning, turned to you, "She might as well be. You don't know how dangerous Kindergarten can be."
"Oh yeah? Well, luckily, our girl is a tough one just like her daddy, isn't she?" you pinched your daughter's chubby cheek.
In response, the girl let out a confident "mhm!" whilst pretending to flex her muscles.
After you dropped off your daughter at school, you turned to face your husband with a grin on your face. "See? Easy peasy. There was nothing for you to stress about, babe."
"No. No, you don't know how vicious these little five year olds can be. If I had to, I would—"
You covered Sukuna's mouth with your hand, "Don't tell me you would go beating up little kids."
"I don't care if they're fucking five," Sukuna removed your hand, "if they mess with my baby, I'll—"
You watched the widening eyes of nearby parents of said kids, and quickly interjected. "Okay, okay, I think that's enough. We should be going now," you laughed nervously, leading your husband to the parking lot.
"Do you want to hear what I'd do if someone made our little girl cry?" a very genuine Sukuna asked.
"Ryomen, please, let's not."
Okay, maybe Sukuna was still as rough as always.
6K notes
·
View notes
Bruce: "One second I'm going to open up the files and show you."
Clark, wincing at the bright lights: "You okay if I turn some of this off?"
Bruce: "Go for it. Okay so here-- *bats rustle above and Bruce freezes, slowly glancing up* --uh, here you can see the evidence from the blast."
Clark, touching the screen: "There, that's what I saw at the crime scene. Is that from the shrapnel or something else? Bruce?"
Bat flaps overhead and Bruce flinched a little, distracted: "Huh?"
Clark: "Are you-- how can you still be afraid of bats?"
Bruce: "I'm not afraid of bats." *more chattering and flapping and Bruce nearly ducks* "For fuck's-- Clark, does it sound like they're closer to us now? Stop laughing."
3K notes
·
View notes
Deadpool keeps calling Logan peanut, for some reason, which is admittedly a very cute but random nickname... Right? Well, not at all.
It's a fucking reference to the greatest showman.
And i only had that realization of the century now, a week later, while listening to "The Other Side"
285 notes
·
View notes
More Clone^2 or just Damian Clone Au because these two have my heart rn.
————
“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.
“Asm- asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.
There is a sharp jab to his leg.
Danny thinks this means he’s winning, and he grins goofily.
(He’s not, he did the pronunciation wrong. He has to say it again.)
Where he is, is his room. It’s nearing midnight, and him and Damian have been sitting in his room for the last three hours.
He has books about learning arabic sprawled at his feet, from beginner’s books to advanced, he got whatever he could get his hands on that would teach him Arabic.
And Damian, little Damian who has finally taken it upon himself to settle down over these last few months, has decided that he doesn’t really like the way Danny is teaching himself.
“Your pronunciation is bad.” He told him through the translator Danny downloaded onto his phone. And then he sat down onto the ground and pointed at the floor and said “‘Ardia.”
And then wouldn’t stop until Danny said it in a way that he liked. He moved on to the next object. And then the next, and then the next. And so this has been their dynamic for the last two weeks. They’re finally moving on to proper sentences.
(It’s not fool-proof, and that’s why Danny still has his books. Damian doesn’t know every word, and knowing words doesn’t mean he knows how to string them together into a sentence.)
(But never let it be said that Danny is not a quick learner when he sets his heart to something.)
“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.
“Asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.
(“My name is Daniel.”)
Damian nods, satisfied and sated. He points to himself, puffed up like a peacock showing off its feathers. “Asmi Damyan Alghul.” He says, “‘Ana abn aldam.”
(There’s a flicker of uncertainty on Damian’s face, a slump in his shoulders that exists for only a millisecond. It’s a look on Damian’s face that Danny sees on his own whenever he looks in the mirror.)
(A question of identity, an ‘I think’ - am I really who I say I am? Doubt comes in with fickle tongue.)
Danny - much to his own surprise - is able to piece together the second half of his sentence on his own. It’s slow, assigning words to translation, but he learns it.
(“My name is Damian Al Ghul. I am the blood son.”)
The blood son - he can only assume he means the blood son of Bruce Wayne, of course. He shares the same face as the very public figure’s youngest boy.
And Danny shares the face of the youngest boy’s father.
And much like him, this Damian was younger than the original, thirteen year old one. Much younger.
“Marhaban Damian.” Danny says, a sly smile creeping up his face. “Asmi Danyal Fenton —” his eyes glance to one of his books, a list of greetings going down the page. He finds one he’s looking for. “Tasharafna.”
(“Hello Damian, my name is Daniel Fenton. It’s nice to meet you.”)
(He’d hold out his hand in a customary, playful handshake, but his palms still sting and hurt from his last encounter with Damian’s blade. He’s got them half curled at his side, unmoving as much as possible.)
Danny got the last pronunciation wrong, much to his amused delight. Damian’s face darkens and his smug expression falls away into a scowl.
“‘Ant aldajaalu, wanha ‘tasharafna.”
(“You are the imposter, and it’s ‘tasharafna’.”)
And so here they go again.
569 notes
·
View notes
"If Megatron has one weakness, it's his inability to grant Starscream the respect he deserves, not for his considerable abilities or his cold-blooded ruthlessness, but for his dogged refusal to cease making attempts to wrest power from Megatron. Starscream isn't really even smart enough to make a secret of his ambition, and his vanity won't tolerate anything less than total command. Guile and treachery are his undoubted talents, but he lacks the patience for a a truly grandiose power play."
220 notes
·
View notes