#i would not have imagined who his parents are

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Career Day

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, crack, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: Your child comes home and says tomorrow is career day at their school. They want to bring you and their daddy to school to show off how cool you two are, but.. their dad doesn’t exactly have the most conventional job.

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA

SATORU

“My daddy is the strongest!” Your son explains to a room full of his peers. Satoru is proudly beaming next to him. You note how much they look alike. The white hair, the bright blue eyes. Your son looks like he came straight from Satoru and had nothing to do with you.

But your son, Aoi, definitely had your personality.

“Nuh uh. He can’t be the strongest. Superman’s the strongest!” Another kid protested with an unconvinced frown.

“Well, my daddy is like superman!” Aoi retorts, keeping his headstrong personality like his mama. “Actually, he’s even better than superman!”

“He’s not even wearing a suit!” A different child speaks up. You share a nervous glance with Satoru. He’s enjoying this all too much.

“He doesn’t need a suit to be the strongest, dumbass!” Your sweet boy yells, and you promptly cover his mouth. Satoru is laughing his ass off, making the entire situation worse.

Correction, Aoi trying out his dad’s signature hand signal and saying “domain expansion” made the entire situation so much worse.

“You’re grounded, Aoi. You can’t say those things to other people. It’s rude and hurtful.” You say as you and Satoru walk your young boy home. Aoi lets out a small frustrated groan.

“I’m still getting him ice cream.” Satoru interjects with a proud smile. “My boy tried to cast his first domain at just six-years-old. He deserves a sweet treat.” Two wide smiles look up at you, and you realize you’re outnumbered here. Rolling your eyes, you nudge Satoru.

“I want a girl next.”

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako begged Suguru to come to their school’s career day. He was of course hesitant to do so, given that Jujutsu sorcery was still a hidden art in Japan. He didn’t exactly know how to explain his career to a bunch of kids.

He had a plan though. He would just tell the children that he was a preacher at a church. It’s not… completely a lie. He was a leader for.. a type of church.

You and Geto walk into the cozy looking classroom and see a load of other parents there. Your husband grimaced at the thought of having to interact with all these… people.

You give Suguru a reassuring squeeze of the hand. “It’ll be okay. Anything for the girls, right?” You whisper into his ear, making him nod. Anything for the girls.

When it’s finally Mimiko and Nanako’s turn to explain what their daddy does for a living, your small family gathers at the front of the classroom. Plenty of small innocent faces and reassuring smiles fill the room.

“Okay girls, tell us what your parents do for a living.” Their teacher prompts with a warm smile.

“My daddy swallows balls for a living!” Nanako says proudly with a beaming smile.

The kids erupted into laughter while their parents gave you two disgusted looks.

To make matters worse, “He also hates filthy mo-“ Mimiko tries to add on, but Geto quickly covers her mouth with his hand.

After explaining what a vivid imagination your twins have, you go on to explain that Geto is a leader at a church, and well, that doesn’t go over too well either.

“Homeschool?” Geto suggests as the four of you walk home.

“Most definitely.” You agree. Mimiko and Nanako are now educated by you at the home, where they can’t out their dad for swallowing balls.

TOJI

“Mama, make papa come to career day.” Your young son, Megumi, demanded. He had a small little pout on his face, and his arms were firmly crossed over his chest. Behind him, Toji stood, shaking his head at his son’s determination.

He often did this: telling you to make Toji do something because you were the only person who could make Toji do anything. After all these years, mans was still wrapped around your finger.

“Baby, Papa’s job is kinda private.” You explain quietly as you pet Megumi’s soft hair.

The small boy’s look of determination shifted to a look of reserve. Even as a young child, he wasn’t great at showing when his feelings were hurt, but you could always tell.

“Gumi.” You say his name softly, bending over to look at the boy’s flat expression.

You were also the only one who could coax Megumi into showing his real emotions.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his bottom lip started quivering. “I don’t wanna be the only one whose parents didn’t come.”

“Oh baby.” You frown as you pull your son into a hug. You glare upwards at Toji, and his eyes widened slightly. He knew what that look meant. “You’re going to career day.” You say to him, leaving no room for argument.

The next day,

“Okay Mr. Fushiguro, what do you do for a living?” The teacher asks Toji as he’s sat next to Megumi. Your son is actually smiling, enjoying the fact that Toji actually came to career day.

“People pay me a large sum of money, and I take care of someone for them.” Toji explains vaguely.

“Oh! Like a doctor?” One of the kids asked with an impressed smile.

“Sure, like a doctor.” Your husband lies, knowing that he does quite the opposite of what a doctor does.

SUKUNA

The look on the kids faces as your tall, muscular, tatted husband walked into the classroom was hilarious. Most of them were completely mortified, giving Sukuna frightened stares.

Your husband was completely unfazed. If anything, he was soaking in the kids’ fear. He sat at the front of the room with a look of arrogance.

Your nephew, Yuji, sat between you two. No, he was technically not your kid, but he didn’t have anyone else to bring to career day. So, Unc Sukuna and Auntie Yn were to the rescue.

“And.. what do you do for work, sir?” The teacher asked in almost a judgmental tone as she eyed Sukuna. You couldn’t tell if she despised him or wanted to fuck him.

“I don’t work. I live off tithe.” Sukuna bluntly answered with a shrug. His lopsided smile never left his face.

“What’s a tithe?” A small child asked quietly.

“It means people pay me out of fear of that I’ll harm them if they don’t.” Your husband gives a child a sharp stare with a challenging smile. He wanted the kids to keep asking questions. The thought of scaring multiple children all at once fueled him.

“Like… beat them up?” Another child asked.

“Like eating their snot-nosed children.” Sukuna answered with a toothy grin. The children all shrieked and cried in terror. Hell, even their parents looked frightened.

“Ryomen.” You chide as you look over towards your husband. He was laughing maniacally, even slapping his knee like the old man he was.

Yuji never invited you two to another career day.

[luveline]

anything with roan and eddie pls 🙏🙏 whatever you want to write about them!! i miss them 🥺🥺

thanks for requesting!! fem

Baking tray, beef cuts laid out flat. Eddie works in silence, dressing the beef with garlic honey, sesame seeds, and a big pinch of salt. He’d like to add some ginger, some paprika, but Roan doesn’t like when things taste smoky. 

He saran wraps the tray and puts it in the fridge. He makes everyone’s veggies —you like different stuff to Eddie, who likes different stuff to Roan, so he makes a garden’s worth of greens and douses them in olive oil, flaky salt, and a little dash of lemon and pepper. He puts that atop the beef in the fridge and tries to think of a side. He was planning on making pasta tonight, before he realised the beef was gonna go bad soon. Maybe he’ll make a pan of crispy mac and cheese to go with it. 

Yeah. He smiles to himself. That looks good on his head, two roasted ribs, a fist of mac and cheese, and a half a plate of roasted veggies. 

He cuts a little cilantro ‘cos Roan loves it, adds some lemon juice to that too, and sets it aside in the fridge. He makes a quick mac and cheese on the stove and tips it into a baking tray, covers a third of it in bacon bits for the youngster, and puts that in the oven. 

Then he sits at the table and sighs. Scratches two hands through his hair, lets the tight achy small of his back decompress as he leans forward. 

When Eddie started working at the shop with Wayne, he figured it would get easier over time. Part time table-bussing wasn’t going to pay for a trailer or his brand new baby, and for months it’s not like he could work anyhow. He lived solely off of his Uncle Wayne as he learned to change diapers, and calm colic, and be a new dad. It was depressing and frustrating all of the time. He felt like shit because he’d just fucking landed Wayne with another mouth to feed and diapers were so, so expensive, and so was formula, and baby clothes, and the guilt worsened when he realised he loved her. Loved Roan. He loved her pretty much the moment he laid eyes on her, but he had no idea if he could be a father, just knew he couldn’t let his kid fall into the system. 

But loving her had been second to panic for weeks. Then one day he was washing her tummy in the bath and he swore blind that she smiled at him, whether babies her age could smile or not. He tumbled out of the bathroom with her in a towel poncho to brag, and that night at dinner, Wayne gave a frowny Eddie the option: start working alternate shifts at the shop. Wayne would have her in the evenings while Eddie worked, they’d sorted everything out, he could start next week. It wasn’t half as scary as being a new dad, so Eddie said yes. 

Anyways, he expected it to get easier. He knows more about parenting and cars than he ever imagined at twenty, but it’s still hard. He’s exhausted. 

Good thing he knows exactly why he does it. 

The door to the living room opens with a creak. Small feet pad around the stair bannister and down the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Roan stops walking when she notices him behind the table. She smiles. She looks like him, less as she gets older, but enough to have given an appreciation for his own features. What’s more beautiful than seeing your smile on someone else’s lips?

“Hey, daddy.” 

“Hi, munchkin.” 

Truthfully, Roan has been his best friend for years. There’s something intangibly close about a single parent and their only child, especially when they’d lived alone. Day after day together, seeing all the gross bits and all the love. It’s given her a vast depth of emotional intelligence. She’s smarter now as a kid than Eddie was at 18. 

“You okay?” she asks, holding her hands up. He picks her up, plonking her on the table in front of him. “You look tired, daddy. And you smell like pepper.” 

“I just finished making ribs, babe.” 

“Yum!” Her nose moves when she talks, “For dinner?” 

“Mm-hm.” He finds her hand. Holds it gently. “Mac and cheese and roasted broccoli, too.” 

Roan smiles again. “Dad, you’re a good chef.” 

“I know I am! But it took so much practice. When you were born, you know what I was eating for dinner every night? I was eating chicken pot pie you put in the microwave.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know. I didn’t care about being good to my body. I definitely didn’t listen to my tummy.”

He likes this part about being a dad. He’s never found it awkward. He just drops his voice into softness and talks to her on her level. 

“But you learned.” 

“I did learn. I wanted to make sure you were eating everything you need. That’s why we eat all that broccoli.” 

She pokes him in the torso with her socked foot. “Maybe less broccoli for my tummy.” 

“I got potatoes and stuff too, don’t worry.” Eddie reaches for her hair in its after school mess, raking it away from her face. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Well, duh.” 

“I know, but really. I love you more than anything.” 

“More than Y/N?” 

“No,” he says quickly, then laughs. “Yeah, but just a little bit. It’s a different kind of love, okay? I love you both like crazy, but you’re my baby. Even though you’re not a baby anymore.” 

“I could be a baby,” she whispers, grinning, “I can be small again, and you can carry me everywhere, and give me a bottle.” 

He laughs roughly. “Yeah? You want a bottle? You barely like milk.” 

“Well, you can still carry me.” 

“I do carry you. I’m surprised these feet work,” he says, squeezing her toes in both hands. 

“Dad, don’t!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he presses his thumb between her foot and her toes and then drops them altogether. “I remember when your foot was the size of my thumb.” 

“I don’t.” 

He laughs more loudly than he means to and scoops her up for a rough and tumble hug. “God, I love you. I really do, bubby.” He presses his nose to her head and blames how tired he is for what he says next. “You are everything to me, you know that? You’re my everything.” 

“You’re my everything.” 

He tips her back to see her. Beams at her, touches his nose to hers. “You and Y/N, you make my life perfect.” 

“I’m glad,” she says, which has him laughing all over again, a childish giggle. 

When you get home a half hour later, you find them in weird places. Eddie’s sitting on the kitchen floor watching the ribs cook in the oven, and Roan’s under the table building a marble run with his approval. “Here?” she asks. 

“And the orange piece. We need more pieces, it’s not long enough.” Eddie smiles at you as you enter, but leans back, opening the cupboard under the sink to grab a saucepan, the sieve, and plastic jug. “We can use these.” 

“What’s up, my Munsons?” you ask. 

Roan smacks her forehead against the edge of the table in her excitement. “Ouch!” she says, crawling from under it to crowd your legs. 

“Ouch!” you echo, face morphed with concern as your handbag slides down your arm. You drop it to the floor and take her cheeks into your hands. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I feel like that was all my fault.” 

She shakes her head, curls bouncing this way and that. “It was an accident.” 

“I know, I know, but I didn’t mean to startle you.” You brush her hair back gently and hover. “Can I kiss it better?” 

“Don’t kiss it, it stings!” Roan says, veering away from you with a frown. 

“Sorry!” 

Roan twists away from you to fall into Eddie’s lap. 

“Sorry,” Eddie mouths. 

You pout. It’s with extreme beautifulness —is that a word? Eddie’s pretty sure it’s a word— you slip out of your little heels and sit down on your knees, stockings dark and perfect on legs he adores. You don’t question why they’re on the floor. That’s how you all fit, his smart working girl and your shared grumpy daughter, because nobody asked Eddie why he sat down by the oven. 

“Sorry, baby,” you say softly.

Roan’s frown worsens, but she says, “No, I’m sorry. My head hurts. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, big girl.” 

“Big girl?” she asks. 

“You sounded very grown up, is all.” 

Eddie has to agree. “You’re just that smart.” 

You hold his ankle. “So, how was work? How was school? Fill me in.” 

“How was your day?” Eddie asks. 

“Super usual and boring. We had some people from the Brussels branch come to visit and Jess kept telling me to stop being so awkward, and I asked her what she meant and she said I was smiling like somebody was holding me hostage.” 

Eddie loves when you smile like that. When you’d first met, you used to smile that way all the time. He loves all your smiles, obviously, but your excited–scared combo isn’t one he sees much anymore. 

You shrug. “But work paid for lunch, and I had this amazing mango passionfruit cake roll, I snook you some.” 

“You did?” Roan asks eagerly.

“I did! It’s in my purse, but it has a price.” 

“What’s the price?” Roan asks. 

You put your head in your hand. “I wanna know what you guys have been up to today.” 

When Eddie plates dinner that evening, it’s with a distinct sense of pride and content mashed together. It’s a damn good-looking meal, dense with nutrition and flavour alike, and you and Roan both seem similarly awed. Eddie wanted ribs and he got them, but almost as pleasurable as eating them is the way you both tuck in. You compliment his roasted veggies, telling him you could eat them for every meal, and Roan’s face is plastered in sticky honey garlic in minutes, a macaroni elbow in her hair. 

“Know what dad told me earlier?” she asks you. 

You snort and rescue her hair. “What did he tell you, baby?” 

“That we make his life perfect.” 

Eddie chokes on his coke. “That was a secret,” he says, throat burning, “between you and me?” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Roan says.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Eds.” Your eyes turn to hearts, staring at him over the steaming tray of macaroni and cheese. “You guys make my life perfect, too. My babe and my personal chef.” 

He dodges your cheek pinch, grabbing your hand to hold instead. 

“Just wish somebody would make me dinner every once in a while,” he says.

“Whatever,” you say. 

“Dad, I can make you dinner.” 

“I don’t trust you ‘round the kitchen.” 

Roan guides a forkful of cheesy macaroni to her lips. “Okay, good. I can’t make pasta like you,” she says. Eddie won’t mind making dinner again tomorrow. 

[sistertotheknowitall]

DCxDP Prompt

Because I couldn’t get Congratulations! It’s Triplets! By @rboooks out of my head.

—

Jason wouldn’t say he regret it. Sure it wasn’t what he planned nor was it what he would have wanted, but he didn’t regret it. They didn’t mean to become parents, it was a one night stand. He wondered if this was how Roy felt when Jade had Lian. Like the world had been flipped on its head. Like everything he thought he knew now seemed wrong.

Lian would like his daughter. From what Jason could tell he thought they’d be fast friends.

Christ. His daughter.

He watched as she ran through the front door, her mom following behind. She was talking a mile a minute, her hands flying around her face. Her mom threw her head back, laughing. God he wished he could hear it. Hear what all his daughter had to say. He wanted to be a real dad to her not just a father. Someone she could talk to and trust. However, as Jason continued to watch from the roof across the street, he knew that he could never get that close. This was as far as he could reach.

A crime lord, who was legally dead and had a kill count. He wasn’t cut out to be a dad. The two examples he had wouldn’t exactly be considered great role models.

Her mother had named her Ellie, short for Daniella after her late uncle Daniel or “Danny.” She was feisty and a little brash, his daughter. Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some pride in knowing some of that was him. Although he could see the same stubbornness in Jazmine.

He thinks that’s what drew him to her. Standing in a bar on a side of town she definitely shouldn’t have been in, she had held her own against two men trying to drag her out. Jason went to step in when she had pulled a police grade taser out and had both men on their knees in pain before he moved two steps. He didn’t introduce himself that night (she was a little preoccupied with the police). However, he got the chance to a few months later and one thing led to another and they had slept together. He left with barely a goodbye and they never saw each other again. Jason was too preoccupied with his plans for Bruce and the clown to spend time thinking about one night.

As for her, he knew she was a student at Gotham U and figured she had also spent little time thinking about that night.

Imagine his surprise when he stumbled upon her again but with a child. His child.

He didn’t know how to really feel about it, about her, Ellie.

As much as he hates to admit it he spent the first week getting drunk and despairing at being a deadbeat. He eventually calmed down and reasoned that it wasn’t his fault nor Jazmine’s. He had given her a fake first name and they hadn’t exchanged last names. Even if she did want to tell him she was pregnant she had no way of finding him.

And he never thought he needed to be looking for them.

—-

Jazz could feel them being watched and did her best to act normal. She never gave away that she was aware of him. She didn’t want to frighten Ellie and she was still unsure of how to handle the situation. It has been weeks and he never once seemed interested in harming them. Yet.

He just watched. Not all the time- not every day, but at least once a week she could feel him staring from a roof, a window, the mouth of an ally. He followed them at night and watched for a bit after they returned home. In a way it felt like he was protecting them, but in what sense did this hulking figure have a right to guard them? It also begged the question; what was he protecting them from?

Jazz was near positive that she had never interacted with the mask figure nor any other that roamed Gotham. She did her best to avoid them, all of them.

It could be he was fixated on her as a single mother to a reckless little girl. If that was so, then she was going to have to be more cautious. She didn’t want to even give him a chance to think he could approach Ellie. Stalkers were never a good thing but she knew the GCPD would never take it seriously.

All he was doing was watching.

Jazz knew her daughter was smart beyond her five years of life, but she was still just a child. So while Jazz was certain that Ellie had no idea about their predicament, she knew Ellie could feel something was off. The young girl had started to look around more on their walks home, her head swiveling, looking for something she couldn’t explain. Jazz hated it. Her daughter should be skipping as she told Jazz about her day in pre-school, not gripping her mother’s pant leg, silent as she looked for the source of her unease.

For the life of her, Jazz did not know what the man could possibly want and while it pissed her off to no end it also frightened her. Of course it frightened her. She was a single mother in Gotham City with a stalker. Maybe she should summon Danny or send Ellie to her grandparents for a bit while she takes care of this.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hello! Someone genuinely trying to understand and perhaps unlearn some reactionary tendencies. With the response to that anon about "not asking if you're a pro or anti", the response about "imagine if they put this much effort into protecting real kids" definitely got me thinking. So... Is an adult shipping children and finding that hot NEVER a red flag? Or is it case by case on seeing how that person handles the distinction between fiction and reality in other things? And bringing the issue of real kids into it, if a real kid who has been abused sees someone shipping kids and finds that a red flag in that person, that... No, no I juicy answered my own question on that one. Block them and cultivate your own experience.

hi there anon, and congrats on trying to unlearn some things! and great job catching yourself at the end there, that's exactly correct.

I will start by saying this right out of the gate: fundamentally, I do not really give a shit about what made up scenarios about fictional characters people are jorking it to in private. I am, first and foremost, interested in how they are interacting with actual, real people.

"but Makenzie are you saying people who look at sexually explicit images of real human kids should be allowed near children?" no I'm not. please note that I was specifically talking about people engaging with fictional characters who are, you know, not real and do not have feelings and therefore cannot actually be hurt, traumatized, abused, etc, in any way that actually matters. I want to be so clear about this: you can genuinely think whatever vile things you want about fictional characters. you can enjoy any problematic shit you want with little guys who don't actually exist.

like, here's an example I use a lot: I'm kind of a huge Batman fan. don't know if you could tell that or not, I'm pretty subtle about it. if you spend any time in the Batman mythos, you know that this is a story where you just kind of have to take for granted that our hero is a billionaire using his vast wealth to dispatch vigilante justice with military grade weaponry and a small army of child soldiers and cop friends to help him put people in prison. these are moral quandaries that are discussed and acknowledged within the story, but fundamentally the universe is always going to involve billionaire vigilantism and child soldiers and the so-called carceral justice system. that's just the price of admission if you're gonna read Batman.

and like. I spend a lot of time in that world. I love Batman, I love his child soldiers. he's my little blorbo or whatever. but like, at no point have I said "yeah, fuck it, preteens should be learning martial arts to fight domestic terrorists, actually. I think Elon Musk SHOULD be allowed to put on a fursuit and beat up criminals. cops need more funding." no amount of Batman comics can make me believe or act on any of those things because, you know, I'm a person with a brain and I know the difference between "thing that makes a good story" and "thing that should actually happen for real."

and the thing is that genuinely, honestly, if someone thought that it was a red flag that I like Batman, and that enjoying Batman comics was somehow a red flag indicating that I'm fine with violence being done against real, actual children? I would think that person was a nut, if I can be super real. like, I'm thinking about somebody trying to make the case that I shouldn't be allowed to hang out with my nephew because I enjoy the fictional character of Robin so clearly I'm going to kill my nephew's parents in front of him to try to get him into vigilante justice. or if someone attempted to bar me from teaching my 4th-6th grade sex ed classes on the grounds that I was obviously going to teach them to do karate to clowns instead of how their reproductive systems worked.

(although, lets be real, there are a lot of politicians who would MUCH rather let little kids cage fight each other than learn anything about safer sex.)

this doesn't just apply to morally bad things, either, btw. I also read a lot of romance novels, especially hetero romances. and the thing is, not one of those books has made me want to fall in love with a ruggedly handsome but condescending straight man. hell, none of them have made me want to fall in love with anybody, period. that's not really something I'm interested in for myself, it's just a fun and frequently funny dynamic to explore. I'm hardly the first queer person to point out that the allegations that queer media "turns kids gay/trans" is obviously bullshit since the vertible mountain of cishet media evidently failed to turn any of us straight/cis, you know?

my point being: no, I genuinely don't think it's often, if ever, reasonable to judge someone's actual, real life morals by how they interact with fiction.

I'm going to say something so vulnerable right now, because we're in a safe space here: since you asked me this very reasonable question, you evidently value my judgment and perspective at least a little bit. and I once read and thoroughly enjoyed a fic in which Dr. Horrible, from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, gets fucked by a sapient evil horse. and I don't think that makes me a morally reprehensible person, or a person who advocates for real human beings having real sex with real horses. I think it just makes me kind of a weirdo with a bullshit tolerance.

if you want to hear a MUCH more thorough take on this, complete with addressing the issue of shipping fictional children, I cannot recommend Princess Weekes' video essay enough:

[erinwantstowrite]

Everything is all fun and games posting about LoF on TikTok until someone drops this on me

I THINK ABOUT BABY PETER AND HIS VISION EVERYDAY…

I get videos of babies seeing their parents clearly for the first time and I think. Does Peter even remember that moment if it did happen.

Like yeah the memory of what someone looks like fades over time that’s just how memory works but IF HE DIDNFT KNOW WHAJT THEYI LOOKED LIKEJ PROPERLY IN THE FIRST PLACE………………………

Imagining itsybitsy Peter being like oh yeah blurry blob specifically like that oh yeah dad shaped 100% then he’s suddenly crystal clear and for a bit it’s like who the hell??? Cause that’s not blurry blob but everything else is correct ohh yeah that is for sure dad THATS HIS DADDDD HIS DAD.

Running away and hiding in your brain wrinkles

HEHEEEEE i was so hoping someone would comment this one day (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪ yeah it's a big part that Peter didn't have his glasses until his teachers at preschool noticed he was having a hard time seeing past the distance his hands reach. he got his glasses after his parents died... (it was Ben and May who he saw clearly for the first time) and then at some point, Peter started reacting poorly to seeing photos of his parents around Ben and May's house

It was always their intention to put the photos back up when Peter was older and more calm, less filled with anger about them being gone. But time and circumstances meant that they never got the chance. So all of this, combined with childhood memory loss (as in, the older you get, the harder it is to remember when you were really little), Peter didn't get to commit their faces to memory.

But that IS why Peter recognizes his dad's voice in the Itsy Bitsy au

there's also a very good reason that Peter is filled with anger about them being gone, but I can't tell y'all yet 😞 it's gonna hurt though :3

[thereweredragonshere]

YESS SHORTSTACK HICCUP

also hi i was hoping for some light fury doodles :0

if you don't prefer the hidden world look n such, how would you redesign her?

i think your art is really nice ^^

!!Want to preface this post with a no hate to any light fury enjoyers :)!!

One thing I will give the design of the canon light fury is that it is admittedly visually appealing (to me at least). It’s smooth and has very flowy and natural movements and the colours look nice. But that’s the only thing that I kind of like about it. That it’s nice to look at without any context to the universe it exists in. Compared to every single other httyd dragon it just looks out of place. No other dragon (that I can think of) has smooth wing membranes? Literally the only reason I can think of as to making the wing/tails membranes have barely any flexibility is to make her look more feminine. That’s it. But hey. I guess it’s nice to draw so who the fuck cares about universe accurate creature design?

If I were to redesign the light fury myself, I’d probably draw a lot of inspo from polar bears, since the light fury look more adapt to colder climates. Quite a large body with short, stocky legs, more ear nubs than the night fury but have them be quite a bit shorter for good blood conservation in freezing temperatures. But

CONCEPT LIGHT FURY ALL THE WAY!!!

ITS SO PRETTY??

I fell in love with her concept art the actual moment I first saw it. The colours and all the different tail fins. Ugh. I wish this was canon so bad. Maybe if this was the light fury I would’ve watched The Hidden World more than once in my entire life. The concept light fury actually looks like a real animal and not a piece of rubber with wings. Dreamworks give me this dragon and my life is yours🙏

WAIT WAIT WAIT IMAGINE NIGHT LIGHTS BUT THE PARENTS ARE NIGT FURY AND CONCEPT LIGHT FURY??? HOLYYYY SHIT

[thorougly-melted-brains]

Soap always liked weeding as a kid. They didn’t own a huge property, just enough for a few garden beds in the back. His parents would use it as punishment. Bad grades, absences, dirty rooms, they’d make them weed.

His little brother would yowl and complain like a cat, his older sister would hum to pass the time. He’d be silent, think about everything and nothing. It was soothing, soft cool dirt under his knees, gloves on his hands, nothing to focus on but roots and stray leaves.

Of course, it’s been cooler then and there. Misty in the mornings. It’s hotter here, and deceptively dry. Soap’s not sure how long he’s been at it when Ghost looms over him.

“Sweating, Mactavish?” He drawls.

He actually pauses to think about it, wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist.

“No?” Soap says, and looks up at Ghost, who frowns. He puts his hand where Soap’s just was. He makes a half hearted attempt to grab Ghost’s hand out of instinct but stops. His hand feels frankly fucking fantastic. It’s blessedly cool on his skin, which doesn’t seem right. Ghost runs hot in a blizzard. He’s frowning at Soap, the sun on his face makes him looks like a sculpture.

“Up,” Ghost says, and pulls him bodily by the arm, “Time for a break.” That’s an order, and Soap tries to follow it out of instinct. He stumbles a bit, but Ghost supports him. They end up in the kitchen, barn doors open, and the shade feels heavenly on Soap’s skin. He didn’t even notice how warm it was. Ghost lets him slump into a chair and fusses with something in the cabinet.

Soap pulls off his gloves and presses his palms to the cool table.

“Here,” Ghost hands him a full glass of something fizzy, “drink all of it.” He watches Soap sharply, who wonders if this is what their targets feel like.

Ghost takes the glass from his hand before he can set it down, and helps him up again.

“Go cool off in the shower, leave the door unlocked,” He says, and herds Soap towards the bathroom. Soap is starting to feel the nauseating hot pulse of his blood, but he still feels enough like himself to huff a laugh,

“Could give someone the wrong idea, saying things like that LT.” Maybe it’s another symptom of his sickness.

They do this, the flirting and looking, but not up close. Over comms, or over a few too many beers, sure. Never this immediately close without a buffer, never alone.

Luckily Ghost just snorts, crosses his arms and looks him in the eye,

“S’in case you faint.”

There’s no bite in it but Soap still rises to the insult,

“Think I would let a little heat get to me?” He raises his eyebrows. Ghost rolls his eyes and looks away.

“I have, few times even.”

He shuts the door on Soap, leaving him to shuck off his clothes (wincing at the dirt that falls out of his cuffed pants on to the clean floor). He turns on the shower, sits down under the chilling spray, and tries very hard not imagine a sun-kissed Ghost in nothing but shorts.

[stevesgother]

Dress - S.H

Paring - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 1.5k

Summary - 2 times Steve Harrington has lost his mind seeing you in a dress that fits you like skin, and the one time he does something about it.

Contains - best friends to lovers, mutual pining, reader is pathetically in love, loosely based off of ‘Dress’ by Taylor Swift. Or maybe heavily based lol

Warnings - steve & reader ARE 18 in this, they just haven’t graduated yet, drinking, vomit. As always, let me know if I missed anything

AN - THIS IS PART 1 OF A WIP. second fic…ever! also my first mini series! i was gonna make it all one fic but i figured it would be easier to digest this way. enjoy :)

Senior Prom - May 1985

Michael Cooper. That’s who was waiting for you downstairs in your foyer, sweet talking your parents while he waited to escort you to your final high school dance. He wasn’t your first choice for your senior prom, hardly even your second; but he was respectable enough for you to be seen on his arm for one night.

Taking one last look at yourself in your vanity mirror, you smoothed your hands down the front of your dress. It was a beautiful baby pink ball gown with lace trim and puffy sleeves. Before you can think better of it, before you can feel guilty for it, you imagine Steve’s reaction when he sees you tonight.

Steve Harrington. Your best friend since diapers. Your mothers grew up together, so naturally when they found out they were pregnant at nearly the exact same time, it only made sense that they would orchestrate your friendship immediately.

As it turns out, not much orchestrating would be required. The second your little baby brains could comprehend what it meant to love another person, the rest was history. Wherever you went, Steve went too. You’re not sure when your feelings for him started to change. The usual calm that washed over you whenever you were in his presence one day seemed to transform into something different. You felt nervous, like someone had released a net of butterflies into your stomach.

You clear your head with a harsh shake and grab your clutch off the bed, making your way downstairs. Michael is waiting for you with a green corsage in a shiny translucent box. ‘That's Sweet,’ you think, “if only it matched my dress.’ 

–

Upon arriving at the gym, the first thing you do, consciously or not, is scan the room for your best friend. You spot him quickly, his perfectly manicured hair and well-pressed suit making him hard to miss. Even harder to miss is the gorgeous, curly haired brunette resting her head on his shoulder.

Nancy Wheeler.

They’ve been together for over a year at this point, even joining your close knit circle of friends. Despite this, you can’t help the nagging sense of jealousy stabbing at your chest, making your face heat up. You tell yourself it’s the humidity inside the gymnasium, and not the fact that you’d give anything to be in her position. You quickly abandon your date and try not to feel guilty for it, making your way over to the happy couple.

“Steve!” You call as you come further into their line of sight.

“Hey you!” Steve stands and gives you a tight hug. “Hey!’ you greet, returning the embrace. He can’t help the way his eyes quickly travel down the expanse of you, noticing the shape this dress gives your body. He prays to any listening God that his girlfriend didn’t notice, that you didn’t notice. “Hey Nance.” You address her with a polite smile. She gives you a hug without warning. Another thing that irks you about Nancy Wheeler: that girl is impossible to hate. You have every reason to despise her, and yet you can’t. She’s kind, funny, strong-willed and beautiful. She’s so ‘girl next door’, she’s so…not you. Occasionally you’ve wondered if it’s a front, that she can’t possibly be that perfect.

“Where’s Michael?” She asks inquisitively; like she genuinely cares where your douchebag date has run off to. A quick scan of the room reveals he’s already talking up another girl by the photobooth. There’s not one part of you that gives a shit. “We were just thinking about grabbing some food, wanna come with?” Steve nods his head toward the various appetizers they have set up on tables decorated with gaudy tinsel and tablecloths. “Yeah, why not?”, you smile and it doesn’t reach your eyes.

–

An hour and 2 cups of spiked punch later, ‘Heaven’ by Bryan Adams starts to play and you feel like you might hurl. Nancy’s face quickly lights up and she gives her date a knowing look, “Steve! Let's dance! Please??”. She’s immediately pulling him away from the table where you’ve been watching them flirt all night. Her delicate hand resting on his bicep, his large one finding a home on her thigh. He sends you a sympathetic look as he rises; sorry that he has to leave you there, sorry that you won’t be slow dancing with anyone tonight. He has no idea.

Your date is long gone. The two of you going together was a ticket inside and nothing more.

The air in the gym is suffocating and frankly smells of sweaty basketball shorts, so you decide to make your way outside for some fresh air. The romantic serenade of Bryan Adams’ voice is nothing more than a quiet lullaby as you lean against the brick wall of your high school.

You hear him before you see him. “Hey stranger,” the open door momentarily lets the humidity escape and you feel it wash over your skin. “you alright?” he asks with a half smile.

“Yeah just,” you say looking around, “getting some air is all,” returning the expression. He imitates you and decides to lean on the wall, a little too close for comfort. You’re all but slapped across the face with his scent. Cinnamon, a no doubt expensive musky cologne, and sweat. You can feel him looking at you, so you decide to meet his gaze; praying that he can’t see the crimson shade of red creeping up your neck and cheeks simply from standing next to him. You feel so pathetic at times like these. 

“Nance found a couple of her girlfriends, figured it’d be a good time for a smoke.” He pulls a cigarette out of his suit jacket pocket, and lights it. His hand cupped to cover the breeze.

“Those’ll kill ya, you know?” you smirk, knowing. You’ve always teased him for his bad habits, especially this one. “Yeah well,” he says in an inhale, “now’s as good a’ time as any, right?”

He grins at you, smug. It sends you reeling and you hope your thundering heartbeat doesn’t give you away. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

After a few minutes of silence, he stomps his cigarette out on the pavement and turns to fully face you. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

His words steal the breath from your lungs and your breath hitches in your throat.  Steve’s complimented you before, thousands of times. So why does this feel like you’ve just been slammed into a wall of concrete?

“Steve…”

You feel like he’s getting closer. You’ve definitely had too much to drink.

Before you can stop yourself or even comprehend what’s happening, you vomit all the contents of your stomach directly onto Steve’s perfectly polished loafers. He yelps, most in surprise, slightly in horror. Despite that undeniable foulness of the situation, his hands immediately move to hold your hair back, just in case you aren’t, well, finished. 

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started crying. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. You’re okay,” he soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” He starts to lead you to his car in the parking lot, leaving you here alone not an option for him. “What about Nancy?” you sob, “I’ll come back and get her, honey. Don’t worry.” Honey. You almost puke again.

Once he settles you into the passenger seat of his pristine BMW, you watch as he toes off his shoes and throws them in the garbage. When he slides into the driver's seat and turns on the ignition, he turns and brings a palm up to cradle your jaw. “Guess I’m gonna have to keep an eye on ya next time,” he chuckles, “can’t handle your mildly spiked punch.” You groan, but give a breathy chuckle of your own, “Just drive, Harrington.”

When you arrive home, you breathe a sigh of relief at the lack of your family car in the driveway. Your mother would certainly pitch a fit if she saw you like this - mascara streaked down your face, an obnoxious yellow stain down the front of your once flawless dress. Steve leads you upstairs with a hand on the small of your back, and a palm cradling your elbow. You know you’re not drunk, and you’re almost positive that wasn’t the reason you spilled your guts. But the alternative to just letting Steve take care of you would be admitting that you love him, that you’re in love with him.

You don’t bother taking your makeup off, Steve just helps you change into an old t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. “Lights on or off?” He asks as he pulls the covers up and over you, “Off, please.” he gives you a little two-finger salute, “you got it.” Just as he’s reaching underneath your lamp shade you whisper, “Steve?” he looks, “yeah trouble?” “I’m sorry for ruining your night…and throwing up on your shoes.” you give a sheepish look. Even though he would have every right to be, you know he’s not mad at you.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head,”the shoes we can discuss at a later date,” he shoots you a wink, making sure you know he’s only teasing.

“Thank you, Steve.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Without another word he closes the bedroom door, bathing you in darkness. Just before you succumb to sleep, you’re filled with dread at the thought that you’re gonna remember this in the morning.

Cheers to senior year.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Because I think I might get around writing for most of the men at some point for the future au I wanted to see or already arrange how many kids they would have

Jin would have two kids in complete accident, he was very happy by his father's discontent at his heir's lack of kids but things happened, the person who celebrated them the most was the grampa. Maybe two boys or a boy and a baby girl.

Thoma screams girl dad, doesn't he? Just imagine him braiding her hair for evening tea and being a menace to any boys she brings home with Alan if they break her heart, he is still a delinquent at heart.

For Luca I'm split between wanting him to have two boys to mirror him and his brother or a spoiled girl he plays knight for, sigh, such a hard decision...

Kaito, how did he reproduce?

Alan, two kids, one of each, no hesitation, he has a ‘little princess’ who he is nervous of hurting accidentally when he holds her but is as much of a wild beast as his brother. They like going hiking and getting chased by their dad when they get too close to a lake or too far away from the path.

In Leo’s scenario i see him with a daughter that managed to soften out his meanness (while she is around so she doesn't pick up on much of his sass, kids don't make miracles) and left him with another on the way that I also feel would be another girl. He is just a bit annoyed he doesn't have to redo the nursery for content but whatever.

Sho I KNOW that in his fic I said ‘nephew’ but imagine a baby girl that was playing with her family before she was even born and had you two scattering to find a girl's name at the hospital. It's just the beginning of her mischievous streak. Sho thinks it's his karma from being a thug as a teen.

I don't know why but I can see Romeo having three kids? Maybe because Gucci had like five kids or it's to a certain degree to assure himself the MC wants to stay with him and wouldn't leave out of the blue 💔 attachment issues bb.

Ritsu originally only wanted one child, he was an only child and was happy getting all the attention, but not everything went as he planned so he got twin boys.

Taiga, why would you do this to yourself??

Haru already has a son, peekaboo, but when he grows up he accidentally has a boy who he starts giving some minor tasks around, separating some leaves for the animals, brushing peekaboo’s hair, plucking weeds, etc etc. Don't look at him like that! He need all the help he can get.

Towa has girls! They like fairy tales with happy endings and always bother their dad to tell them your love story. When they become toddlers they go through a vegan phase to mimick him and will cry if they have meat or egg on their plate.

Ren was 99% sure he was going to die a virgin. He ends up with a girl he plays games with everyday after work. Borderline ipad kid.

Can grandpa Ed even have kids? Lol if he has I think I could see him with just one vampy baby that sits next to him and drinks tears off a sippy cup while his dad watches iceberg videos. Another ipad kid.

Rui (if somehow you broke his curse) is someone who I don't think would have kids, or at least not planned jajs but maybe one girl that he ends up overprotecting from playboy men like him in his youth.

Lyca I want to say they have a litter just for the joke of him being a werewolf but he doesn't seem to have any siblings so the joke doesn't get far :(

I see Subaru with only one child if any. He loves the little thing but feels he is intruding on their privacy, whenever he touches his preteen/teen kid he feels sorry enough to apologize.

I see Haku as someone who would be pretty chill with his life after Darkwick and go along with it as it happened. If you two had a child, great; if you didn't, great too. Very go with the flow parenting too.

Zenji he is dead wth jajajaj

Yuri NEEDS a little child that is always so impressed with their papa and he gets to brag about being the best or something. Please just don't let him be a strict teacher so your kid will follow his steps, he thinks it's for the best of their future but you can coerce him into just giving a very lengthy lecture about anomalous medicine without tests.

Jiro HAS to have a boy that is so similar to his uncle 🥹 always cooing since he is able to vocalize and chasing his dad around to get uppies while he tends to the backyard filled with herbs.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

ok since we’re discussing harry’s appearance and you’ve already clarified what you think he looks like from the neck down, now i’m wondering about his face. obviously, the books provide quite a generous description of him — green eyes, black, messy hair, etc — but i’m more curious about whether you envision him as having delicate features? is his face longer and more masculine or a bit more rounded and doll-like? would he be described as being attractive? handsome? beautiful?

since he’s a carbon copy of james, i’d assume that he genuinely is an attractive boy/man, but since we, as readers, see things so much more from his obviously subjective perspective, we also can’t get a very good feel of these things because harry himself isn’t interested in them. and, well, he is quite oblivious to other’s attentions in general.

i’m just curious what your perception of him is from canon, since i’ve seen so so many variations of his character in fanfictions.

Hi 👋,

(Anon is referring to this post regarding Harry's height and physique)

So, we actually have a ton of little details about Harry's facial features in the books. And, contrary to what many characters say, he isn't really a carbon copy of James, especially if he removes his glasses because some of his prominent facial features are described to be Lily's.

Harry is a kid who has his father’s hair, height, and glasses, so when people look at him from afar he looks like his dad. But if you look at him closely, or he removes his glasses, their faces share similarities, sure, but they are nowhere near as similar as you thought they were a moment ago when he had his glasses on. Like, that's how I see it, and the books support this:

It was as though he was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes.

(OotP)

Harry is one of these kids who's a pretty equal mix of both their parents in his face. So, if he stood next to James, anyone looking would say they look really similar. If he stood next to Lily, they'd say he looked really similar to her (especially without his glasses).

Harry is mentioned to have his mother’s eyes, not just in color, but also in shape:

it was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes — Harry’s eyes.

(OotP)

So, Harry has green almond-shaped eyes like Lily. Almond-shaped eyes look something like this, apparently:

We also have details regarding Harry's nose. Since his nose is more similar to Lily's than James', at least, I think so:

his [James] nose was slightly longer than Harry’s

(OotP)

I imagine Harry to have a more button-shaped nose since it's what I imagine for Lily (James has a straighter nose in my mind). I don't have any quotes for the nose shape though, so it's just my headcanon.

What is canon is that Harry's nose is smaller than James' and Ron's.

As for other features of his face:

but they had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows. James’s hair stuck up at the back exactly as Harry’s did, his hands could have been Harry’s

(OotP)

And Harry is consistently described with a thin face:

Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes

(PS)

So, from these two quotes, we can compose the rest of Harry's face shape (sorta). So Harry has a thin face, thin faces usually look more elongated. I assume his jaw is sharper than Lily's since he takes after James there.

We know his mouth and eyebrows are shaped like James', but I couldn't locate other quotes that were more specific, I take it to state his lips are on the thinner side, and his eyebrows are more masculine in shape since it's what I assume about James' appearance.

Now, I know some of the fandom headcanons Harry as not white, but I personally don't think it's the case in the books. JKR mentions very clearly when a character isn't white, with the expectation that any character that isn't given an ethnicity would be assumed white. It's how she writes, and you can say what you will about that, but it's not what I'm talking about. Additionally, contrary to popular belief, Harry's skin color is mentioned in the books to be white and pale (so is Hermione's actually).

I found a few quotes that outright mention Harry being pale, and therefore, white (this isn't an exhaustive list):

“Harry, dear, are you sure you’re all right?” said Mrs. Weasley in a worried voice, as they walked around the unkempt patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. “You look ever so pale... Are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now, and you can have a couple of hours’ sleep before dinner, all right?”

(OotP)

“Are — are you sure you’re okay, Harry? You’re still very pale...”

(OotP)

Their eyes met over the basin, each pale face lit with that strange, green light. Harry did not speak. Was this why he had been invited along — so that he could force-feed Dumbledore a potion that might cause him unendurable pain? “You remember,” said Dumbledore, “the condition on which I brought you with me?”

(HBP)

Both Harry and Dumbledore are mentioned to be pale-skinned.

The word "pale" is used by JKR to describe skin quite often, and even when someone is "pale" when they are scared or stressed, it's because their skin is pale. I haven't seen her use the word for any of the dark-skinned characters (Like Dean Thomas, who was shown to be scared on occasion, but never described as "pale"). Besides being described as "pale", Harry's face is described as white on occasion as well:

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, “Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!”

(PS)

Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror. There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking

(PS)

And considering Tom, who is repeatedly described as very pale and white, says:

We even look something alike ...

(CoS)

It's clear Harry looks very English, and therefore, very white. I'd go further and say he's likely quite pale considering how often he is mentioned to be pale + his resemblance to Tom. You can obviously headcanon whatever you want, I'm not stopping you, I'm just saying what the canon is.

I'd note that in general, Harry is pretty handsome and good-looking. In books 5 and 6, he's mentioned to be of interest to many girls, among them the good-looking and popular ones (even if he doesn't realize they are good-looking). Being the Boy Who Lived, rich, and famous gets some of this attention too, yes, but Hermione tells him the fact he is hot helps. Which it does:

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.” [...] “And it doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.

(HBP)

I know she just mentions he's tall (Ron is there, after all), but the implication is that he's hot and has no idea.

Besides, both James and Lily are described as good-looking by various characters, JKR said of James: "James was reasonably good looking, though not as good looking as Sirius" and considering Sirius is one of the most attractive characters in the series, this is one hell of a compliment. As Harry is a decent mix of both their features, he is likely good-looking. He probably looks pretty cute as a tiny, scrawny kid with bright eyes, and he grows to be more handsome and attractive as he grows. Like, I don't think that many girls would be interested in him in 6th year if he wasn't also handsome, so Hermione is right. Harry isn't as smoking hot as Sirius or Tom Riddle, but he is still very good-looking.

[henrythepug]

Batman is white???

I was today years old (16) when I found out that Batman is in fact a white man. I just spent 16 years of my life thinking Batman is Asian, for me to watch a Batman movie for the first time and find out he is fully white. And I looked it up, and that's right, they are all fucking white. I then told my sister the news and she was also shocked to find out that Batman is in fact known by the general public to be white. On the other hand, my parents (including my Japanese father) were confused as to why we thought he was Asian in the first place. and now I'd like to ask the same question.

The truth is, I had never seen a Batman movie before, yet Batman has been a huge figure in my life since I can remember. I read DC comics with my dad religiously before I could even read and we dressed up as Batman and Robin for Halloween at least 3 years in a row. And it was never a conscious thing that I decided Batman was Asian. Batman just was Asian. And now I'm having to examine that conception and ask myself how that happened. Like I said my knowledge of Batman came solely from books and so somehow that gave my brain more room for imagination into what the characters would look like in real life, as well as the fact that he had his mask on for most of the time. and as far as why it happened, it has just come to me suddenly yet quite easily, I am Asian American. my dad is asian american. Batman was a father-like figure to me, he represented my dad. My dad was Batman and I was Robin so Batman and Robin were Asian. I wanted to see people like me, I wanted these people to represent me. so my brain subconsciously made them look and act like me and my family.

This has for the first time made me realize why representation really is important. To me as a kid batman was my representation, although he is not actually an Asian character. but if there were superheroes as well as any and all characters that represented more people and cultures that kids can relate to it becomes so much more meaningful. and I think what made it even more meaningful, was that it wasn't actually an Asian story so it wasn't about being Asian. Somehow it was celebrating me by simply being (in my mind) an Asian person who could be the main character and be badass and wasn't appropriated or made fun of.

either way, Batman will always be Asian to me. I mean he is a martial artist for Christ's sake. please if anyone had a similar situation it truly fascinates and in a way warms my heart, reach out and tell me your story. was Batman Asian for you too? Will he be from now on? I know he will be for me.

[strewwwberry]

I'm obsessed with shen yuan being shen jiu's reincarnation for so many reasons

- finding out would lead to many mental breakdowns

- shen yuan being a born hater is suddenly explained

- shen yuans and shen jiu's personalities are actually very similar when you take away external factors:

Shen yuan is a hater and tends to do before thinking, especially if that's insults, so does shen jiu

Shen yuan gets oddly obsessed with things, so does shen jiu

possiveness in shen jius case would be learnt behavior from having nothing, which I can easily imagine shen yuan doing the same if he grew up with nothing (which he very much didn't experience having been second gen rich kid, which even having at the very least material things, he still shows signs of posseviness with Luo binghe at times, and again, even with his internalized homophobia!)

Being weird with relationships, im not elaborating

Trust issues brought on from ASSUMPTIONS, these motherfucks assume so much! And I can't even blame them because their assumptions make so much sense in the context they're given! But give it a bit more thought alongside action outside of just asking since they clearly love men who struggle to communicate (well done binghe for growing in that aspect) so thats just a no go

So much more tbh, and I'm not even doing this in a theory way because these two being parallels is probably (don't quote me on this coz I actually love this theory but also don't care enough to defend it in any way and them being parallels is a kinda gut wrenching shit I need lol) more canon accurate, with like everything that I'm not gonna get into rn or I'm gonna cry so sue me (don't actually, I'm broke)

But yeah I love this concept smm!! Which I find funny coz I'm a scumcum lover, sy is sj child/sibling/twin/parent/disciple/shizun/probably more, and I dunno what that says about me nor do I care 😙

[dephoraowo]

I know MXTX purposely left out what happened during Wei Wuxian's first three months in the Burial Mounds, because one, it was too horrible for her to put it into words (mind you, this is the same person who wrote the hundred stabbing scene with xie lian, which was pretty traumatising to me at least, so like what the hell did wwx face in there 😭), and two, she would rather leave this to the reader's imagination.

So I want to ask you guys about your theories, ideas, or headcannons about what he could have faced in the burial mounds.

From my observations, his time in there was the breaking point of his life, because it completely broke and traumatised him to the point where he couldn't simply let go of it, even when he's a, if I remember correctly, character that's known to let go of resentment.

He didn't break when his parents died.

He didn't break when he was left to survive on the streets alone.

He didn't break even when he was traumatised by the wild dogs biting and chasing him.

He didn't break when he was brought into an abusive household.

He didn't break when he was sent to the indoctrination camp.

He didn't break when Yu Ziyuan whipped him bloody during the Wen invasion.

He didn't break when Lotus Pier fell.

He didn't break when the leaders of the Jiang Clan were dead.

He didn't break when he saw his shidis and shimeis' dead bodies during the aftermath of the Wen invasion.

He didn't break when Jiang Cheng blamed him for the invasion and then beat him up for it and strangled him.

He didn't break when they were on the run.

He didn't even break when he had to carve out his golden core, the very thing that allowed him to remain in the cultivation world, to fulfill a debt, enduring a painful surgery with no anesthesia for two nights and one day.

Nor did he break when he got caught and tortured by Wen Chao and his gang.

But it was the time he spent in the Burial Mounds that broke him.

[buckgasms]

...god forbid soemone hurt bunny and buckys littlest girl. Bunny recently has come into a phase of pretending to be a perfect stay at home mum who bakes all day! Naturaly she just pretends that she's made all the cakes and pastries when really it was kitchen staff. She bought a cute apron and everything! Her and bucky first foster is a cute little 7 year old girl that they both adore, sadly the school she's going to is treating her pretty poorly. She was bullied a lot before they got her and no one did anything about it- the first incident of a teacher being horrible to their little rabbit made them see red. So naturaly when that same teacher pages a visit to the strip club bunny had to make herself known and hurt the bastard.

After the incident bucky got a private teacher who'd come to their home and teach their little rabbit away from prying eyes.

I can see the two becoming yandere parents if I'm honest

Omg nonnie!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You absolutely sold me on the idea 🤣 i really really love this.

Bunny playing housewife is amazing, because yes she has mellowed but she still has her cute little quirks. She wants to create the absolute perfect home but has none of the patience to do it, so yeah store bought dished out onto an expensive crockery is the best she can do.

I feel like when they bring in a new foster the other kids have to explain that we all just pretend she cooks the food herself and makes their beds and all that normal stuff.

They don't mind though, because as a couple they all know Bucky and Bunny have their backs no matter what. It's not about the material stuff, it's the fierce love and devotion they are given without question that the kids all love.

And it's funny because normally they adopt teens but they took a chance on a little girl, only 7, obsessed with princesses and Disney, and they realised how much they love this little rabbit and would burn the world down to make her happy.

Oh just imagine.

She comes home from school, quiet and red eyed. None of her usual peppy chatter about some artwork she created or a game she played in the school yard.

None of the other kids can get her to explain what's up, so they tell Bunny.

Bunny sweeps her little rabbit into her arms and cuddles her tight and comforts her until she feels better. Bunny's heart pounds as she hears about this dumb ass substitute teacher who told their rabbit to stop talking, criticised her handwriting, told her stickers were not appropriate for her maths book.

Tears abound.

And when Bucky finds out about it?? Heads are gonna roll.

Obviously Bucky has plenty of cuddles for their littlest rabbit and assures her that the teacher won't be there tomorrow to upset her but of course she can have a week of school to recover if she likes.

That evening Bunny is in the passenger seat of Bucky's car, driving through the city, down some grubby streets until he pulls to a stop outside a unimpressive brownstone.

"Is this a good idea? Are we setting a good example for the kids?" Bucky asks as he steps out, reaching for your hand as he joins you on the sidewalk.

You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. "You are so hot when you're being a good dad... And they don't need to know about the specifics, they just need to know we've got their backs, no matter what..."

20 minutes later they are climbing back into his car. You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to his bloodied knuckles. You both feel satisfied he won't be upsetting more little kids, especially not your little rabbit.

You also probably have wild sex in the car before you get back too because you just have so much pent up energy and horniness at how fucking hot he is.

The next morning everyone is happy to see little rabbit laughing and giggling again with Bucky and you at breakfast over her favourite pancakes.

They don't mention the swollen knuckles or the buzzy look on your face as you hand them all packed lunches for the day and send them off with a kiss.

I feel like having a private tutor in their home wouldn't work because Bucky doesn't want strange adults in his house. I think once she goes back to school and everything is back to normal you are both satisfied.

Omg I'm also imagining if little rabbit does a few unhinged things that make them love her even more. Like she plays with Barbie's, but the storylines are all about spies and subterfuge and you walk in on her conducting a fake interrogation with a little flash light shining in Ken's face as she scowls at him??????

Omg I die, nonnie what have you done to me!!!!!

[self-destructinganimal]

The Fall and Forgiveness

(Or the waterfall brain rot is real and this fic is evidence of it)

Rings of Power fanfic

Characters: Elrond, Galadriel, Gil-galad

Tags: Minor Hurt/Comfort, Some Angst, References to Silmarillion and Kidnap Parents

Rating: Gen

…

A life can pass before one's eyes in the stretch of a handful of seconds. The sounds of happy laughter in a hazy dream of a once real home. Tense conversations between parents, while one tried to keep their brother asleep so he would not worry. War. Death. The flowing hair of his mother as she took one glance behind at him, met his eye, and turned again. Her face had been set. 

The fall. The fall. The fall. 

Outside all of this, a roaring. The water rushing to meet him, the spray coming up at him as if a wave. He saw his father’s ship tossed on it, sparkling. In this moment, between ground and wave, he could have been with him. And what would his father think of the son clutching the pouch to his heart. What would the mother think of his leap - was it as justified as hers? Was hers? And he thought of long nights wiping silent tears off the cheeks of his brother, of turning his own head so the same brother did not see his own. 

Years of pain and neglect and aching, flashed by as a feeling. Nothing concrete to grab onto, nothing to grab onto at all. The years had passed as silently as he had become so. 

And then, the poison had become something else. 

The fierce brothers with the dark and red heads who had taken them prisoner,  had grown, in time, into something almost like a shelter. Some of the aching had become soothed, by the song of the dark one, and the grumbling of the red one, and what was broken had become oddly refitted. 

Then came growth, came becoming, came meeting the elves who had wished over their welfare for years. Joy of becoming one’s own. And then flashing by, he could reach out and touch the choice. The brother, the light of his life, the companion of his youth, the sharer of the pain and suffering and small joys, had reached out his hand for the gift of Illuvatar. 

The pain of that choice blinded him. Robbed him of his breath, sucked the air out of his lungs as he slammed into the unforgiving arms of loss. 

And the angry swirling waters received him into their grasp. 

...

Death is gentle, I have always imagined her thus. Soft and silent, with cold arms, coming to take you gently into her arms. 

Life is painful. For the mother who births it into the world, to the toil to preserve it, to the pain as the body rebuilds itself from injury, to the agony of staying when all else goes. 

The fall into the arms of the swirling waters is not gentle. I am alive. 

…

She was angry. So angry at him that when the door burst open she did not try to gentle the guards who marched in. She was still staring out at the darkness before her and the stars shimmering on the lapping water, she could still see the boat. Dimly, she heard them grab his arms, she heard his sharp inhale. 

She was so angry, it almost made her glad. A little punishment might do the peredhel some good. 

He is young. Be patient with him. Her heart ached at the reminder. 

But she had been convinced the salvation of her people lay in the beautiful rings he had bundled up. She had not seen him, until she found out he was missing. She had known then, where the young half-elf had gone. To his king. 

To a king who did not listen to him, that gave her some grim satisfaction. But he had still outmaneuvered them, when his opinion had been cast aside once again. Eyes widening and then hardening into some firm sort of resolve before he turned to jump. 

Her heart had been in her throat. She didn’t know if it were primarily for the young foolish elf she loved like a son, or for the rings she believed were the salvation of Middle Earth. 

It was all over now. 

In this, he had succeeded. 

She turned to look at him. 

Hands splayed out, head bowed, elbows already held tightly in the grip of the guards. 

“I will come willingly” 

He murmured, and she saw his face was strained by the effort, by the embarrassment. 

“That is more than you deserve, Peredhel” spat one of them in anger.

He was moved roughly through the door. Galadriel followed, but she could not bring herself to feel ill at ease for him, not as he shivered in his torn tunic before the king, not as he caught the stares of the other elves who gathered around and lifted his obstinate chin, not when Gil-Galad shook his head and the tones of his remonstration struck Elrond’s face as if it had been a blow from his hand. Not when he was made to mount a horse tethered behind the angry guard. Not even when they arrived in Lindon and he was marched off. As he passed her, he lifted his face and caught her eye, but no word was spoken between them. And still she felt no sympathy. 

…

The king stood in his hall, waiting. He had not told Galadriel, no other elf was present. No other elf needed to be present. 

He was also angry. 

Angry that his authority had been so willfully ignored. By one whom he had guided and mentored into his service. It was shocking, of all the subjects in elvendom, the least he had expected to do such a thing was the mild-mannered, gentle and somewhat uncertain of his place half-elven. He remembered the orphaned child and young child growing into adulthood. He remembered how Cirdan had recognized his gifts right away and recommended those be put to good use. And put to good use, they had. 

Gil-galad had been surprised how much easier his own burdens became when he had placed them on the shoulders of young Elrond. 

He was kind, quiet, but gifted with wisdom and foresight beyond his years. Underneath the skilled word and soft-spoken respect, Gil-galad had always suspected there was a steely strength. He had not seen it pushed yet. 

Not until he had been at the top of the waterfall. For a moment, the eyes had flashed fearful, like the young orphan child, and then they had flashed with a steely determination, and still, he had not known he would risk life for his conviction. 

He sighed, he loved the half-elf, he also was sovereign over him. 

The door opened, the object of his rumination was marched in again, and the guards bowed and left, closing the door behind them. 

How could you do this? 

He watched as the lips snapped into a thin line. 

“High King”

He expected an explanation. He was wrong. 

“I apologize for the disrespect done to you. It was willful and wrong. I am sorry for it.” 

His eyes were firm as they met his, but wounded, shining almost. As if he were in pain to be in this position. 

Gil-galad’s heart ached. 

“It was wrongly done,” he said instead.

“You speak truly, high king, yet I would do it again” 

Gil-galad measured him. He saw that his face was white, his shoulders seemed strained, almost listing forward. He was still clad in the torn tunic. Face smeared with the mud of the river  and eyes tired and pained. 

Ai, he hated what he would have to do. 

“You know a king can not be thus disrespected with no recompense meted out.”

“I know it”. 

“I intend to call the people to the golden tree in a fortnight to inform them we must pass over the waters - until then, you will be imprisoned in the hall of stone. No feasts nor dinners shall you attend, I will have you work brought to you so that you may not neglect your duties to me. When I call the people you will attend under guard, but after, you will be free to return to your normal positions, and the punishment lifted.” 

He gentled his tone. 

“We will all have to say our goodbyes to Middle Earth. I am sure there are places and people you would bid farewell to.” 

Elrond kept his face set. His eyes were shining when he lifted his bowed head. 

“Thank you high king”. 

…

One could feast on one’s convictions, but they were a meager meal. When naught but the scribe bringing piles of papers and letters and affairs came to see him. When the sun came only through the two small windows. When there was no walk through the arms of the forest in the evening, when the day had been long, when the sounds of faint singing rose to his window and he ached to be down amongst them, to be a part of it. 

The hall of stone was an old training hall. 

Bed and desk had been placed on one end of the room. In the center were targets for the young archers. But they were now onto another aspect of training. 

He sat and stared at them. 

...

“Put it down Elros”

“No!”

He was chasing him across the darkened field, grasses bending beneath their light feet. Maglor had laughed when Elros had asked him for a bow, but Maedhros had instead looked at him thoughtfully. 

Several days later his brother had a bow and had run out to the field when the sun had set. 

A sudden panic had filled him. That his brother was too young and too impetuous and he could not bear the thought of losing him to accident or death. So he had sprung up after him. 

Elros had stopped before they reached the tree line. He was looking up at the sky as he fitted an arrow to his string and loosed it. Elrond knew which star he was fixed on. 

But his brother's face crumpled when the arrow flew straight up and then bent in an arc into the trees. 

“I wanted to send a message to Father. But I shall never have the strength to reach him”

Elrond had nodded, his eyes tracking where in the forest it should have landed. 

“Let us search for it brother, mayhap it has not fallen and the wind will carry it to him for you.” 

They looked far and wide and when Elrond found the errant bolt he tucked the scrawled note into his tunic sleeve and tossed the arrow into the river while his brother's back was still turned so that he did not see it . 

Elros said nothing on the walk back, but his eyes were full of hope. 

…

He woke up on the ground, in pain. 

There was a dull ache behind his eyes. 

He knew the tenderness of the wrenched shoulder, that pain was familiar. Had been since he slammed into the harsh waters, since the guards had wrenched him up onto the horse. Throbbing as Gil-galad had pronounced his judgment. 

He had more than a cursory knowledge of healing. He had done what he could to assuage the pain. But there were no healing herbs or tonics or salves in the hall of stone. And he would not suffer his king for them. 

He had disregarded his authority in front of the elf who had been his hero since he was a young boy, her eyes widening in shock  as he jumped, her warning cry. He had done so in front of his guards and his subjects. 

He had done so because he must. 

Life is pain. 

…

It was not the scribe who found him. It was Galadriel who had spoken to a king who did not need to be asked twice to relax his ban on his most beloved herald. She had pushed open the door to find him there, leaning against the cold wall, shaking. 

In one swift movement she was kneeling beside him. 

“Elrond, return to me” 

He woke then, when she laid a hand on his inflamed shoulder and he recoiled, a sharp cry escaping his lips before he was aware. 

“Stubborn orc” 

She hissed, gently touching her hand to his forehead. 

“How could you not let us know of this?”

“Stubborn orc!”

Maglor had said, wrapping his scraped arm in linen. 

“Why did you not let me know of this?”

…

Eyes filled to the brim with tears. 

“How could you not let me know of this?” 

He had asked Elros, when he had come to him finally after the choosing

They had fought then, bitterly. And then, they had loved one another again. It had taken time. 

…

When he was released from the healing halls, he thought of this. 

When the king sang his song, and the very rings he had bartered his life over were returned. And his king, friend and counsel had each placed the rings on their fingers and he crashed into waves for a second time. These, more loud and treacherous than the first, they threatened to pull him under. All he felt was the angry and betrayed aching - and the pain. 

To live was pain. 

Ai Elros, is it any wonder you chose the gift of Illuvatar? 

But to live was defiance, to live was to persist. To live was to make right the broken shards and make them into a whole. 

He walked away from the Golden tree. He could not bear to look at it any longer. Could not bear to think of what might come of the implications of their choice. What had come of his mother’s choice clutching the Silmaril to her breast. Time alone would tell if he were the fool or they. Still, his mother had made her choice and where there had once been only pain, there was now love again for her memory. 

He would love them again. 

He would forgive. And perhaps also, they could forgive him. 

It would take time. 

He had time.

[promises-of-paradise]

Junot's early life and character

-From the book "La Generale Junot, Duchesse d'Abrantès, d'après ses lettres, ses papiers et son 'journal intime' inédits" by Joseph Turquan, a biography of Laure Junot featuring previously unpublished information given to the author by Georges Aubert, Junot's grandson.

The book is from 1901, and therefore is a little dated in some regards, but overall creates a good portrait of Laure and Jean-Andoche Junot.

General Junot was very young, but, despite his campaigns, despite the high rank to which he had reached, he was younger than his age, especially younger than his rank indicated. The first consul knew this well and that is why he told him to “grow ten years older;” for this also that he advised him to marry as soon as possible. The dignity of existence among those he wanted to call to the first jobs of the Republic was in his program of government.

We would be very mistaken if we imagined the General Junot as a serious general of our time. He was only twenty-nine years old when he was called to the command of Paris, and he had a bit of the tone of the hussars mauvais sujets: General Fournier, General Lasalle especially, this scoundrel of distinction, were the great masters of this kind, and it was on them that the turbulent and untamed youth of the army was enthusiastically modelled. But, in society, Junot affected the tone of the best company.

Born in 1771 to a lower middle-class family, in Bussy-le-Grand, in the Côte-d'or department, Junot began his studies in Montbard and continued them at the college of Châtillon-sur-Seine. There his comrade was the young Marmont: they were to be the first two aides-de-camp of General Bonaparte. Junot's parents dreamed of a cassock for their son, said Marmont, a robe and a lawyer's cap, wrote the Duchess of Abrantes. But the young man had another ideal: his ardent nature in no way fit with the tedious study of the pandects and the institutes: the struggles of the bar would never have been enough to satisfy the combative mood of the future general which felt flowing in his veins "soldier's blood", to use an expression from General de Ségur, and not the juice of stamped paper. Her father did not know how to curb such an ardent nature: he felt that he was wasting his time trying to subdue him with sophistry and a round of leather in a prosecutor's office. Fortunately, the Revolution came and rescued them both by ridding the father of his devilish son and opening the most astonishing perspectives to his activity. As the very idea of ​​the stamped paper made him nauseous - and it is not I who will reproach him for it - as he only understood the sophistry with his sword in his hand, he felt more keenly than anyone, with his fiery nature, the generous ardor which then vibrated all that there were in France of young hearts enthusiastic about freedom, grandeur and glory. At the call of the homeland in danger, Andoche Junot enlisted in the second battalion of Côte-d'Or volunteers, so famous since for the number of remarkable men who emerged from it.

We will not repeat here how Junot distinguished himself from General Bonaparte at the siege of Toulon. The episode is classic and everyone knows it. He owed this success only to himself, to this happy harmony of composure, wit and good grace which is only found in privileged moments of a generous youth. From one day to the next, Junot had acquired personal respect. Also a certain number of brilliant actions have been attributed to him which he was certainly capable of accomplishing, but which he probably did not. A handsome soldier, he was a man who was instinctively and immediately "impulsive" as we say today, and more a slave to his anger, his senses and his whims - like a woman - than to his duties... Nature, in forming him, had forgotten to put the brakes on him that we call character, that strong will which makes us reign over ourselves and, as Goethe said, makes us sovereign over our hearts, - or rather it had made Junot so impetuous, that he had escaped without waiting that she would rivet it to him. Hence the jolts, inconsistencies, lack of balance and frequent derailments in his life. The general was no more bothered to analyse his impressions - although they appeared vividly on his face which changed as soon as a thought agitated him - than to repress his first movement or his instincts. With insane bravery, he never backed down from danger, he even sought it out, he took pleasure in it, a little by nature, a little also by attitude, to set an example to the troops certainly, but also for a lot of admirers. This is a very chivalrous hero's coquetry that we would be reluctant to reproach him for: we can regret, however, that Junot did not bring, in his ordinary habit, this coolness and this calm which distinguished him so astonishingly on the battlefield: in life he was always excited.

From each of his campaigns, Junot had brought back glorious scars and these imposed on men a respect that his youth would not have imposed enough on him. His audacity was such that General Thiébault, his chief of staff during his Portuguese campaign, wrote: “A hundred men like Junot would have crossed hell". And this at a time when bravery was an almost vulgar thing and heroism was common currency.

Junot was one of the most wounded in the army, but the most serious of his wounds was a saber blow, a souvenir of the battle of Loano, which cut half of his face, from the temple to the mouth. If Junot collected saber blows, those he delivered were much more numerous and the unfortunates who received them did not have the leisure to glory in them: his grip was too heavy. “Hey! Well, Monsieur le sabreur..." said Napoleon when he approached him. A swordsman, and "of the first number", as Balzac wrote, who knew him well through hearsay, that is, in reality, what General Junot was.

A good boy, moreover, easy and pleasant relationships, faithful to his friends more than he will be to his wife, devoted to his family... Unfortunately quite forgetful, light, a little childish sometimes and, like the children, violent, hotheaded, hardly calculating the consequences of his words or his actions and, moreover, very abandoned in his morals. But let's not be unfair or too rigorous, they were those of his age and time. He was too much of a man of first impulses to repress himself externally and control his inclinations. Knowing oneself was not his doing; know others, no more. A general, he seemed to have remained a second lieutenant, sometimes even a non-officer, and his character never matured. You have to certainly make allowance for the fire of youth, that of the military customs of the time, which were not the most recommendable, and that of intoxication. Ultimately, General Junot was better than his morals. There was, however, a little incompatibility of mood between his dizzy youth and the high functions of aide-de-camp to General Bona-parte. These functions were perhaps too heavy a load for Junot's shoulders: his past, his studies, his education had not sufficiently prepared him for them. Enjoyer of the present moment, like most of the other exploits resulting from the Revolution, of a complexion more sensual than amorous, he took care of women, out of taste no doubt, but also for the sake of fresh air: the Lauzuns, the Tillys, the Richelieus, did not do otherwise; and if he later had a transport of jealousy worthy of Othello, he never had the ecstasies of Saint-Preux with Julie. He even mixed a little brutality with his gallantry. Was this the consequence? Junot had an excessive sensitivity, unhealthy rather than delicate, that of men who abuse their nervous system, become soggy and become slaves to their impressions instead of remaining ill-beings of them. He had, basically, very good principles, but the mistake of not conforming his conduct to his principles. This is not a rare thing: do you know many men who are otherwise? But, as a soldier, he should have remembered this maxim that Sully liked to repeat: “He who wants to acquire glory and honor must try to dominate his pleasures and never allow them to dominate him.” He prided himself on literature, posed as a connoisseur of art, theater and music. There was something glorious, vain, and witty in him: piquant quips, a few happy words had earned him a reputation as a witty conversationalist: aptly placed quotations from Virgil had also earned him a reputation for knowledge. In fact, it was at the theater, where he went every evening, that the best part of his education was spent. Sensing what he lacked in terms of education, he had the good spirit to seek to perfected through contact with some distinguished comrades, like Marmont, like Duroc, whose manners he copied. Generous, in no way petty, he very gallantly threw money out the window, like the great lords of the ancien regime, ate three hundred oysters for his lunch, because the fashion was for gluttony, had the most beautiful horses in Paris, played big games and ruined himself on dancers. Tall and well built, very similar in face and somewhat in appearance to General Rapp, but more slender than him, he had a pleasant exterior. Such was, in truth, General Junot. I have tried to be fair in drawing this portrait: I have not softened any angle, I have not concealed any fault. I am perhaps too harsh: I believe I am only impartial. I would add that all that the general lacked to be an eminent man was moderation, balance and character, in a word, to have an equal degree of reflection and action. If Napoleon kept him close despite his faults, it was because he had a sort of tenderness for the men who had found themselves associated with his prestigious successes in Italy; it was because he knew that Junot, who had shared with him during the difficult times of his availability, in 1795, the meagre pension he received from his father, was devoted to him body and soul.