#do it for the children

[37-children-of-the-dreams]

As much as I would love to see Crosshair or Omega kill Hemlock, there is someone who is just as fitting as them to end Hemlock.

Emerie.

Emerie deserves to kill Hemlock. He forgot about her Jango genes and put her in charge of children. She’s gonna kill him and adopt a bunch of children. It’s her fate as a Jango clone.

[amarilke]

“Well, no one says that charity work can’t be fun,” he pointed out, a little glimmer of a smile returning. “Yeah, well, fun is one thing, but flirting is another,” she shot back. Adrien seemed to stiffen at her words, and Marinette’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d just said. Oh no. “Sorry, I meant-” “You were flirting with me?” Heat rose in her cheeks, and she struggled to find the strength to respond. Think of the children, she told herself. “Well, I-”  “Because I was.”

Quote and inspiration from Floured Faces, Frosted Lips 🧁 by (deinde_prandium, PrincessBuggyCat, teatob (tobtea))

This is my first time drawing something from a fanfiction, but some of the lines really stuck with me and last week on the train I just felt like I had to draw this scene. I'm sorry if the drawing is not 100% accurate (the cream was not on her nose - as the title suggests - and it was a cupcake frosting, not the praliné I went for), but I hope it still manages to convey the DOKI DOKI FEELING IT GAVE ME WHILE READING (╥///╥)♡ *screams

Thank you to the authors for this fluffy and funny fic, I loved it 💕 and to everyone else, go read this lovely oneshot here!

💕🧁💕🧁💕

Disclaimer: I’m sharing my art as fan work, with no commercial use or agenda. All credits for Miraculous’ characters go to the original creators and trademark owners. All credits for the scene and quote go to the three authors of the fanfiction.

[frenchiefitzhere]

Honestly if you don’t sometimes have ice cream for breakfast what the f even is the point of being an adult?

[blueskittlesart]

i’ve started babysitting for a VERY christian family which is great because they pay me a lot of money but as someone who was raised almost completely agnostic it’s kind of insane. the 2 year old keeps asking me to read her stories from the bible. (why are we reading david and goliath to a 2 year old????) the 5 year old told me today that he was going to bring his legos to heaven with him. he also has repeatedly told me that the lego spaceships he builds are stronger than jesus. (not sure what to say to that. do i deny it??? are things allowed to be stronger than jesus??) had to stop myself mid sentence today because i almost told them im not going to heaven which would DEFINITELY have caused several meltdowns. they’re also both completely fascinated by my nose ring

[dirtytransmasc]

the men and boys are innocent too.

we cry "the innocent women and children" to appeal to the masses, to try and force their sympathy, but the men and boys are innocent too.

I have seen sons crying out for their mothers, their fathers, their siblings. I have seen them break down at the loss of their families. I have seen them cling to their dead and grieve.

I have seen fathers cradle their dead children, seen them kiss their faces and hold their little hands. I have seen them faint with grief when asked to identify the dead. I have seen them carry their sons and daughters. I have seen them fasting to provide what little they can for their families.

I have seen men and boys digging through the rubble with just their bare hands, I have seen them comforting strangers, playing with children, rocking them, hushing them, even if the face of such imminent danger. I have seen them cry, seen them grieve, seen them break down into each other's arms, seen them be selfless, beyond selfless, becoming something I don't have a word for.

I have seen the men who are doctors refuse to leave their patients, even when they have no medicine or supplies to give them, even when they're threatened with bombings. I have seen fathers who have lost all their children pick orphans up into their arms and proclaim them their child so they are not alone. I have seen men and boys digging pets out of the rubble.

the men are innocent too. the men and boys are being hurt and killed too. the men and boys are grieving too. the men and boys are scared too. the men and boys are fighting to save their people too. the men and boys deserve to be fought for too.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[spitblaze]

I guess Chilchuck has brought us right back to 'adults who are short are child-coded and if you like them you're a pedophile' discourse huh

[hyperblue]

one thing that will always be funny to me about batfam is that jason is forever convinced that dick is bruce's favorite child while all of his siblings know for sure that bruce's favorite child is actually jason

some random reporter: who's your favorite child?

bruce: how DARE YOU imply that i play favorites, i love ALL of my children equally

dick, without missing a bit: oh he absolutely plays favorites, it was jason

tim: rest in peace

[lesbianfiddleford]

[musubiki]

my favorite fields of mistria boys 🥰

[brucie-baby]

the fact that alfred was the one to put up jason's memorial is so important to me

[emotional-piece-of-meat]

Tim & Damian: *do the siblings bounding aka fights with their feet while minding their own business*

Bruce, randomly entering the room: Did you two do the thing I told you to do?

Tim, having no idea what they needed to do: pff, obviously.

Damian, also having no idea what they needed to do: we wouldn't let you down, father.

Bruce: good.

Bruce: *stands like a dad in complete silence for a while and then leaves them panicking about the task they forgot about*

Literally in the next room.

Dick, hanging from the chandelier: why don't you ever clarify their task?

Jason, suspiciously peacefully reading in the corner: yeah, just remind them what they need to do.

Bruce, with his fucked up sense of humour: Oh, they didn't have any task, I'm just messing with them.

Dick, having flashbacks of how he and Jason were losing their shit every single time, trying to remember what they need to do: that's... Pure evil...

Jason, remembering that one time he almost cried because he thought he was a failure and Bruce was going to disown him: YOU MOTHERFUCKER!

[felucians]

Nex Benedict's death wasn't just for being transgender, it was for being native too. 2 Spirits are revered in many native cultures and it is a native-specific identity. This wasn't just a hate crime against trans & NB individuals, this was also a hate crime against Natives of Turtle Island.

You cannot separate Nex's trans identity from their native identity - this is a case of MMIWG2S (Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and 2 Spirits).

Native children being killed at school is nothing new, so it's equally important to talk about Nex's native identity and being intersectional, this is a devastating tragedy for indigenous people, the queer community & especially those of us who are both indigenous and queer.

May Nex rest in peace 🪶

[finleycannotdraw]

I like to think combat training for these two became more complicated as they got older, if you know what I mean

I colored the last one first and then lowered my standards. give it up for 10yo ambrosius and his glaringly yellow shirt

[froody]

Look. I’m going to be honest with you. Adopting that hard anti-plastic surgery stance while trans people’s lives and right to transition is at stake is absolutely horrendous timing. Knock it off.

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.