#and his parents love him too

[weirdohasleft]

‘Two years ago, Bruce Wayne lost his son, Danny, to one of the Fentons' botched inventions. Return to present day, he's come to another universe to retrieve something from Fenton Works. There, he finds another version of his son, alive and breathing.

If Bruce could not keep his son, thanks to their incompetency, why should they keep theirs? ‘

Small angstly lil writing piece that is directly inspired by this fanfic because I can’t stop thinking about it Danny somehow running away and going back to his old home in some childish hope that something was there for him.

The doors are locked and the windows are barricaded, the inside is empty when he phases through the door. Not even the basic ghost defences are active to try and chase him off. Dust lingers over every surface of the house, Danny spots a few faded and discarded papers littering the rotting floor. He stands in the doorway for too long. This house is too quiet, too dark and too cold. It’s dead.

He steps forward despite this. As he quietly stalks down the too silent hallway, the boy feels like a ghost haunting somewhere more lifeless then he is . Traveling deeper into the hollow corpse of something that mimics his long gone childhood.

He’s not sure why he climbs up the familiar stairs that groan under his weight. He’s not sure why he stops in front of a door that should be alien to him. He’s not sure why he turns the knob with shaking hands and steps inside. Nor does he understand why he spends so much time simply staring at the abandoned room. Yet, it’s not as empty as he thought it was. The stripped bones of a bedroom are laid bare in the middle of the room. It’s not much, just some threadbare furniture thrown around. But there is one item that stands out, one thing that lays abandoned and forgotten along the wall. Thrown harshly at the wall in a fit of emotion before being left to rot.

Danny finally understands why he’s here when he softly steps closer and picks up the once discarded thing. He concedes that he must hate himself when his mother’s goggles stare back at him.

Danny distantly hears a child wail as something wet lands onto the broken surface of the lens

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[monakisu]

light gets it from his mom… “it” as in “two-faced backstabbing snakery” ˘ᗜ˘🐍

(late) gift 3/3 for my secret santa @llawlieta !!! for ur prompt of yagami family Fucked Up goodness ( ͒•·̫|💚🍭🎀 hope u enjoy!! HAPPY HOLS! * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 10

Danny groaned, blearily raising his head from the nest of blankets and pillows he had made in his apartment. He had smelled something strange.

Something strong enough to wake him from his sleep. Danny got up and stumbled to the front door, cursing his luck for getting a fever so soon into his interdimentional road trip.

Peering out of his open doorway he saw a little kid shivering in the cold, badly hidden behind two trash cans in the mouth of an alley. Danny didn't think twice. In fact he didn't think at all. It wasn't uncommon for an Omega to smell a child who didn't have the scent of another Omega on them and immediately claim that child as thier own, and seeing as his home dimension had exclusively Omegas...let's just say there's a lot of drama in family court and a lot of laws pertaining to this.

So of course the next thing Danny knows is that the kid was bundled up inside his very soft and comfy makeshift nest before Danny passed out.

For the next week Danny had this mysterious fever and he acted like a parent on autopilot, barely conscious as he instinctually cared for the little boy. He made them food and cut them up into tiny bits to feed his baby and if it was handfoods like pizza rolls or sandwich triangles, Danny would hold him in his arms and rock his back and forth, humming softly as his child ate.

Eventually his heat ended (note that omegas from his world don't have heats, they don't have alphas and so they don't even know what a heat is) and Danny was very surprised he has a child in his house. But he and the baby are very emotionally attached to one another. When Danny asked what the little kids name was (and man this kid was little) the kid stared at him in the way little kids do before muttering the world "Clone" followed by what sounded suspiciously like a serial number.

Danny decided, nah. His kid now. Sucks to be the bioparent cause Danny doesn't wanna share.

Somewhere in the city, the bats were freaking out. They had raided a lab and discovered not only had one of them been cloned, but the clone had escaped and no one knew where it was. Cue panicked parental frenzy.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Stephanie Lauter is initially defined by her archetype as the popular girl in high school, but she must have been so lonely before Pete. Her mother is dead. Her father hates her and makes no attempt to hide it except to protect his reputation, constantly insulting, belittling and exerting authority over her when he isn’t busy with politics. She talks back to him, but doesn’t deny his descriptions of her. Miss Tessburger is the same. Her apparent friendships with the other cool kids, the kind of people who openly state the belief that looks are everything (not so different a paradigm to the one her father lives by), seem to be shallow and distant. Max rules the main popular clique with an iron fist to the point that they all stop bullying immediately and the school’s rigid social hierarchy crumbles once his influence is gone; and yet despite him having enough respect for her to try to protect her from what he believed were the undead during the prank, she was unaware of how big a problem his bullying was until she saw what he did to Pete, so she can’t have ever been that enmeshed in his circle. She dismisses her kindness to the losers as “the bare minimum” rather than lean into the potential for real friendships with them or leverage it to have power in this new group. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to mislead them into thinking that she’s worth their time.

She’s cool because she acts like she doesn’t care about anything, and why would she? Life has never given her anything to care about. In fact, it’s punished her for caring. No matter what she does, her dad tells her that she’s worthless and stupid, so she stops trying to do well in school and starts sneaking out to parties full of alcohol and following through on flirting with the football players. She might as well make her body feel alive, as she can’t fix the fuck-up in her skull. Her phone is legitimately what she cherishes most in life. It can’t love her back or hug her or make the real world better, but at least it gives her an escape. It’s her space to control. Her pictures that she likes to look at, her music that drives her dad’s words out of her head. Her private conversations with people she chooses. At least it’s hers. (It isn’t. Her dad has been bugging it since she was twelve.)

Then Pete is nice to her, and in two weeks he becomes what she cherishes most.

Then she has to kill him. And shouldn’t she have seen this coming? Shouldn’t she have learned her lesson by now? Caring just means you have something to lose. That’s why she never wanted to love him like she does.

She pulls the trigger.

[nelkcats]

The King's last gift

Danny was tired, tired of being responsible for protecting the world. At first it was just Amity but the ghosts began to explore more and the halfa was exhausted. He was the only hero available and it was taking its toll.

He knew he couldn't go on like this, let alone with his coronation around the corner but he didn't know what else to do. He knew he couldn't interfere with the world after the crown was on his head. The world would fear him (maybe even more than now) and protecting them with so much power in hand could do more harm than good, but if he didn't protect them, who would?

His core ached at the thought of all those people begging for a hero who wouldn't come, so Danny took desperate measures, and cheated a little.

He visited Desiree; she watched him with a raised eyebrow, curious. And Danny did what he forbade long ago, he wished. He wished for the future and for humanity itself, he uttered the words he had wanted to say ever since he knew he would not be able to visit earth for a long time.

"I wish for the world to be safe even when I no longer live in it, I wish for there to be someone who can protect it, even if it's just a human."

Desiree blinked in surprise not expecting the King who had "forbidden" her to do such a thing. She smiled and nodded. Her power grew exponentially but neither she nor Danny said anything about it. The halfa would not undo that wish after all.

In New Jersey, Thomas and Martha Wayne were celebrating the birth of their son. Neither of them noticed the spark of magic entering the baby, nor the boy's unusually blue eyes. Bruce Wayne, the Ghost King's latest gift to mankind, had been born.

And years later, when the Justice League was formed and everyone was talking to each other, John Constantine looked at the dark knight curiously, wondering if he was aware that he was death's favorite.

[priceofreedom]

#Elmyra approving of Zack makes me so happy 😭 FF7 Rebirth 20 / ?

[missjashin]

Okay we all know that Eddie was (is) a Garfield kid, based on the multiple Garfield mugs that we’ve seen hanging in the trailer.

But I am absolutely making Steve a Winnie the Pooh kid. Because just look at Christopher Robin and tell me that the little lonely polo shirt wearing boy is not the core of Steve Harrington.

Just look!

That is little Steve Harrington no question about it.

[crybaby-bkg]

new dad Bakugou who’s going back to work full time almost a full year after his daughter his born and he now has to grapple with the fact that….goddamn, he’s spoiled the shit outta her.

well, he doesn’t think it was spoiling her. in actuality, he just created a routine with her, gave her every bit of his attention, held her when she cried, scolded her (yes just at eight months) whenever she’d babble for more puffs even though she’s had enough already. it wasn’t spoiling, it wasn’t. he vowed to never be that dad, to raise a snot nosed brat, one similar to himself.

but here he is, on a Tuesday morning three weeks after her first birthday. he’s standing halfway between the front door and the living room in full uniform, with his still sleepy baby and her even sleepier mama. she’s gripping his neck like he promised to abandon her, wailing and crying so loud and dramatically, that you can’t help but chuckle at her antics and how he wavers ever so slightly.

“You promised you’d go back to work,” you scold him gently, rubbing at your daughters quivering back when she whines again the moment he acts like he’s gonna pull her off. Bakugou frowns at you, and you shrug, smoothing her unruly blond curls away from her sticky forehead.

“But you guys need me.” He pouts, eyebrows downturned as he pulls her away enough to wipe at her wet face. she blubbers again, whimpering out a small dadaaaa noooo, that absolutely breaks his heart.

“And so does the world.” You smile at him, gently pulling your daughter away from the matching glassy red eyes who watch her go. “We’ll be fine, my love. Promise.”

Bakugou looks unconvinced, especially since your daughter reaches for him with another cry of his name. you don’t say anything when he sniffles discreetly, quickly reaching down to the coffee table to snatch up his utility belt that he dropped when she waddled out of her room in tears. he snaps it on wordlessly, and you go to turn to the kitchen when he wraps you both up in his arms.

“Love you,” he whispers against your forehead before pecking it, leaning down to kiss your lips next, and then your daughter’s fat little cheeks. He whispers another love you to her, and wipes away at her rosy cheeks when she pouts at him.

“Rub you.” your daughter pouts, the both of you freezing in shock.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, grinning. “She said I love you back!” Bakugou matches your grin, laughing under his breath as he presses another torrent of kisses all of her face. for the first time since she’s opened her eyes today, she laughs, loud and joyous and familiar. he thinks that maybe going back in today won’t be so bad after all. not if this is what he’ll be coming home to.

[donelywell]

February 29- March 2 2024

The first time Sonic went Super in Road Trip wasn't exactly as stunning to Tails as other au's and stories.

Tails is like maybe 5 here (I'm not actually that organized on the timeline for this au yet, I'm getting there though, things are getting in order.) and he wasn't forced to grow up and be a hero in this au. So he's a bit more childish than canon Tails because he doesn't feel as pressured to mature and grow up fast. Plus, he genuinely thinks Sonic is going to die and this is the last time he see's him, so tears are bound to come down.

Part 1

[oddberryshortcake]

I think the Knight of Dawn being "a coward who is unable to stand up for what is right and does as he's ordered to" and "someone who cares deeply about his family and did everything he could so that Silver could live a happy and normal life in the future" are two statements that can coexist.

[mags-writes]

me, 14 and reading the end of mockingjay:

me, 24 and reading the end of the ballad of songbirds and snakes:

[stormikitty]

Cosmic Love prompt:

Danny and Damian have been engaged since they were babies. The Fentons wanted access to Lazarus water, and they made a deal with the league of assassins to get it. Danny is trans. Danny and Damian haven't seen each other since Damian was 10 (I imagine Danny is anywhere from a few months to a year younger, so Danny was either 9 or 10 at the time). They had been seeing each other twice a year the last time they saw each other. They used to have more time scheduled to spend together before Damian started training to be an assassin. They weren't getting along when they last saw each other. Danny was upset/angry that his life had been planned out for him and that he was going to be in an arranged marriage. Damian was kind of a jerk at the time (because of trauma but he was still a jerk), and he thought Danny was being a jerk too because having his whole life planned for him was all Damian knew and it didn't make sense to him to get upset about it because that's his reality that he just had to accept. Damian does care about Danny, and cares about what he wants too. But they were kids. They were upset about their situation and frustrated and angry with each other and their families. They haven't had contact with each other at all since Damian came to Gotham.

Skip forward a few years and Damian has fallen in love with his best friend, Jon. He tells his family and Jon about the arranged marriage even though it's likely not going to be a thing anymore since he has cut ties with the league.

Damian and Jon start dating.

Danny is 16 and on the run from his parents and the GIW. He only managed to escape after he had already been captured and vivisected. He goes to Gotham because it'll be harder for his parents and the GIW to find him there. He runs into Damian and Jon at a park while he's at a point in his life where he's got nothing left an he's just sad, scared, angry, lonely, and he'd just about sell what's left of his life for a hug.

[pinkyjulien]

▶ Wilding

One of the most common "rituals" in the nomad community is called (by the anti-nomad media) "wilding". Wilding is when a group of nomads, usually all youths, venture into static society to "see what it's all about." It is a fairly new occurence in the nomad community, but has gained an increasing interest among the youth. Despite the name and media portrayal, most wildings are peaceful and boring. ━ NeoTribes, page 21

Valentin & Mitch | 670/??

[avisisisis]

I know everyone likes to make fun of Ezra for believing Maul, but I honestly really liked that, because. Like. He's been working so hard to learn to trust people again. His new-found family is teaching him how to open up and how to let himself love others without being too afraid of losing them to connect

And he doesn't immediatly trust Maul, which shows that even if his trust issues are much better now, he's still not stupid and knows to be careful around strangers, especially if you found them inside a Sith Temple

But. Maul shows and tells him what he wants to see; he acts kind with him, reassures him when he's in doubt, and manipulates Ezra (who is a CHILD) into beliving in him so he could get what he wanted

Then he betrays him, and by blinding Kanan, he proves Ezra's 'little me' right