#potato dog comics

[potatodog-art]

oh gosh I just love how cute the cel-shaded style came out! little potato dog dangos

[taetaetoons]

[mochathesamoyed]

Potatotopia

MochaTheSamoyed.com

www.patreon.com/mochathesamoyed

[bryan101]

Team Turkey VS Team Mashed Potatoes

[sarahsnother3]

***PART 2***

SARAH: well, how about I introduce y’all’s to some of my friends huh?

SARAH: This is Felix.

FELIX: Hii there tumblrs! *crunch* as you probably already knew *crunch crunch* I am Felix *crunch*

SARAH: You gotta learn to swallow before you speak dude..

FELIX: Yeah, sorry.

FELIX: *crunch*

SARAH: Well, come over here so we can introduce you to Zoy! But be aware, she’s a bit more rude than Felix.

*CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH*

[educationaldm]

Just Desserts. As many adventurers know, flattery can go a long way with the right BBEG. Comic by @potatodogcomics.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds. 

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen. 

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks. 

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him. 

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds. 

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright. 

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too. 

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.  

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there. 

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age. 

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs. 

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk. 

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

 Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?” 

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?” 

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion. 

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday. 

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table. 

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle. 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?” 

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better. 

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!” 

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle. 

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water. 

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher. 

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass. 

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed. 

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself. 

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days. 

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you. 

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track. 

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons: 

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you. 

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace. 

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words. 

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back. 

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt. 

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. 

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them. 

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room. 

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie. 

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same. 

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side. 

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore. 

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had. 

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot.  “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss. 

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

--

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

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@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday

[todorokies]

2:48pm - satoru gojo

contents: fluff, established relationship, fem!reader, teen!gojo or adult!gojo u can imagine whichever, found family trope, megumi & tsumiki are some vv young lads here (they’re like 8 & 9 years old), this is a kinda unserious ngl

a/n: the found family trope will always hold a special place in my heart

“what the hell are you doing?!”

the sight in front of you was absolutely distasteful, nothing could’ve prepared you for the horrors that displayed in the comfort of your own home. not even a trip to the ninth circle of hell could mentally equip you with strength to deal with this troublesome…mess.

satoru’s elongated body currently rests in a downward dog postion as his hands are occupied with his left being on a red circle and the right on a blue circle.

you would think the children that you left in his care would be participating in the child’s game of twister, but that was far from the truth as satoru’s hostages —megumi and tsumiki— sat criss-crossed off the game mat as they shared the same puzzled look with you.

“oh hey baby! we missed you- megs gimme a hand here and spin the wheel for me.” your mouth comically drops so fast you’d think you were in an episode of a cartoon.

with a deep scowl present on his face, the young megumi reluctantly shifts closer to the spinner giving it a weak twirl that eventually lands on ‘right foot, green.’ miraculously, satoru is able to cross his foot over on a green circle in a way that shouldn’t be considered humanly possible.

your boyfriend is gonna break a bone or two if you don’t stop this tomfoolery.

you crouch down to be face to face with him. “you do realize you’re supposed to be looking after the kids while i was gone…not traumatizing them, right?” he raises his head to look at you, “traumatizing them? nonsense! a good game of twister always builds character.”

“a good game of them watching you play alone will build character for them how exactly?”

“well obviously i couldn’t let them play. i wouldn’t want to risk toppling them over and letting them lose in a game that requires skill.”

with that, tsumiki and megumi gets up from their spots on the floor and make their way to the entryway to pick up the snacks you dropped in disarray upon arrival. “but you lost to both me and megumi before…i don’t know why he’s lying.”

ego bruised, he dramatically collapses on the twister mat, “you weren’t suppose to tell her that!” a genuine belly laugh escapes from your mouth, heading towards the couch to high-five the kids who just finished putting away the groceries and had two family sized potato chip bags in their laps.

“good job guys! next time record it on his phone for me.” they both nodded with enthusiasm.

satoru dramatically whines while planting his face in the palm of his hands while striding over to your dvd rack to choose a movie for the night. “cut me some slack, did you really expect me ruin the game for the kids?”

you quizzically contemplate your answer with a finger on your chin and satoru could practically see the sfx question mark above your head. “oh come onnnn!”

you then walk over to the now sulking white haired boy to delicately place both of your hands on his smooth face earning a groan from megumi combined with fake gagging sounds from tsumiki.

“if it makes you feel any better i think they secretly enjoy your antics. tsumiki told me about the tea party you guys had; with tiaras and everything yeah?” he slowly nodded unsure of what you’re trying to get at.

“and you bought megumi that nintendo ds he was subtly hinting for…my point is that they appreciate you so much even if they act like they don’t; i appreciate you.”

satoru’s whole demeanour does a turnaround. smiling gleefully at you as his dimples showcase in all of it’s glory. “i mean, yeah, they don’t wanna admit it to your face in case it’ll hurt your feelings…” his hand inches towards to your neck lightly ghosting above your velvety skin whilst slowly leaning in as his eyes flicker to your lips. “…but i think i’m their favourite parent.”

before his soft lips could capture yours two potato chips come flying in your direction as a sour expression sits upon tsumiki and megumi’s face. “ewww guys! remember we still need to pick something to watch.”

megumi huffs, “and can we not watch ice age for the millionth time i don’t care how much gojo likes that movie.”

reblogs & feedback is appreciated!! <3

[cultofdixon]

The father role tends to follow you

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • She/Her Pronouns • when he found you, part of him saw himself when he was younger. Right then and there, he vowed to protect you and cherish every moment • SFW/ANGST • TW: Illness / Injuries / Abandonment Issues / Separation Anxiety / Nightmares

Requested by: Anon

She’s all alone…

She’s so young and she’s all alone

Daryl frowns looking at the small little girl cowering in the rundown shed after he had just killed what felt like a herd of walkers to protect this little girl. He was currently crouched before the opening, waiting for when she was ready to let him take her to safety.

“This place…is warm…walker-free…monster free really…there are other kids…a lot older than you but they are nice…good food made by lovin’ carin’ people…you’ve got me, I’ll take care of you”

Those last words spoke volumes to the little one as she carefully steps out of the shed, Daryl slowly held his hand out for her to take as she was obviously hesitant with it. But she instantly went for the hug and latch, afraid something would take her away from this.

But the way Daryl instantly held her and picked her up. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

Not anymore.

The little girl sat at one of the benches while Daryl grabbed her some food and to keep her company was Carl. But being in his own little world, he kept his attention to the comic he’s received from Michonne a week prior to the newcomer’s arrival. He was only there to make sure she didn’t run away but the only thought in her mind was to run to Daryl.

“You can go” Daryl interrupts Carl’s thoughts as he got up and before he left entirely he stopped a moment.

“Her name is Y/N. By the way”

“How’d yea get that out of her? She hasn’t talked”

“Her stuffed animal…what is it a dog? Or a bear? Anyway, her name is stitched in the foot. No stuffie is named that”

“Stuffie?” Daryl smiles watching the young grimes glare at the archer before finally leaving. “So Y/N huh? That’s a pretty name” he kept his voice low to keep the small child at ease while he hands her a big bowl of the stew Carol made about an hour ago.

Y/N didn’t utter a word but she took the bowl looking at Daryl confused which lead his own confusion to grow. That’s when she shoved her hand into the bowl, grabbing a chunk of potato and eating it.

“Right. I knew I forgot something” He got up and went to get the poor girl a spoon as she continued to eat what she could with her hands even if it got all over her sleeves.

After she got a meal in her, Daryl lead her to his family’s cellblock and the two were instantly greeted by those there.

“Oh my god I thought Rick was lying when he said you found a little girl” Carol approaches the two, suddenly stopped when Y/N instantly hid before Daryl. “I’m sorry”

“Just. We’ll take it at her speed alright?” Daryl reassures the child mostly as Carol couldn’t help the warmth in her chest seeing how protective her menacing exterior of a friend be toward this small child.

“Okay well how about I go find her some clothes that’ll fit her and you ask Glenn or Tyreese to help you get a spare mattress into your cell for her?”

Daryl only acknowledge with a hum as his undivided attention was on Y/N. Gently brushing the hair out her face when she looked up at him. The sight should’ve been documented for the books.

Tyreese and his sister Sasha helped get the spare mattress in Daryl’s cell and as the two took care of getting it ready, Sasha watches Daryl kneel in front of Y/N as she opened up to him in a kid sense of showing him her prized possession. Her rag doll dog plush.

“You got a name for this little guy?”

Y/N shook her head as she hesitantly hands the plush to Daryl so he could get a look at it.

“Yeah, this guy don’t need a name” He states. “But just between you and me? If I had a dog? Like an actual one? I’d prob name it Dog. It’s easier” He smiles listening to her giggle in response to his words.

“He’s a natural” Sasha whispers her comment to her brother, noticing him admiring the display. “What’s got you so fixated?”

“It’s just nice” Tyreese smiles taking the extra blanket they brought tossing it over the mattress. “Having a little wholesome peace in this hell of a world”

“You’re getting soft” Sasha laughs on her way out of the cell as Y/N watches her leave along with Tyreese following shortly behind, waving goodbye to the small child as she returned the gesture nervously.

At her own pace she entered the cell which was unsettling given where they live, but the way she looked back at Daryl and he gave her a “try it out” look when looking at her new bed. Y/N didn’t care about it being the cell and instantly laid in the bed curling up enjoying every second. He waited till she fell asleep and carefully covered her in his blanket before stepping out to get a few things for her but also ask Rick to reassign the night watch so he could stay with her the night.

This kid has burrowed her way into Daryl’s heart and EVERYONE knew. He would stick with her for most of the day…making sure she ate, brushed her hair, tie her shoes, and make sure she always had Dog with her. He only knew she liked the name for her plush because one night he brought her some crayons and recycled paper where she wrote out her name for him. But also drew a few drawings, one of them being him and her with her name on it but also her plush and its name being Dog.

Y/N has been there for about a month and has her own milk crate of clothes, a new jacket that she wears all the time even if it’s too big for her but the feature she likes is the inside pocket that she puts her plush in. She still doesn’t talk but she’s gotten closer to the other adults in her life which made it easy for Daryl to take on might watch knowing if Y/N woke up she could go to anyone from their cellblock. She’s taken a liking to Carl, looking at him like a big brother. He even shares his comics with her. As long as they are the non-violent ones, per Daryl’s request.

Daryl sat outside at the tables making a few arrows while watching Y/N pick dandelions from the garden so she could bring them back to Maggie who sat beside Daryl also watching the little one.

“You’re so cute with her”

The archer instantly scoffed at the cute comment, even if it is a cute display of the big bad wolf adopting a kitten.

“She’s so lucky to have you” Maggie smiles warmly to her friend as he couldn’t help his thoughts when hearing such.

You had no one

Even if Merle was around, he wasn’t really

You were once a lone wolf in the world

Trying to make do with what life has taken

But life gave you this human ray of sunshine

One that shares the same horror of being left behind…

All you want to do…

Is protect her from everything that once harmed you.

“Yeah?” Daryl asks turning to the eldest Greene sister as she nods with a bigger smile.

Their expression fall when they heard the thud on the concrete only for both to quickly take notice of Y/N who had tripped. Dropping all of her collected dandelions. That really added to the stinging pain in her knees, resulting in a few tears followed by a little bit of a whine.

Before Maggie couldn’t even bring it up, hell even formulate a thought on the matter—-Daryl had already gotten up from his seat and sprinted over to her. He didn’t even ask if she was okay, or not yet. He carefully and quickly picked up Y/N bringing her into his embrace holding her tightly as she latched onto him crying into his shoulder while he softly shushes the crying in a soothing manner. Maggie took notice of the busted knees and got up to go inside to grab the first aid kit for them.

Y/N sat on top of the picnic bench hugging Dog close to her chest, sniffling every now and then as she watches Daryl carefully roll up her pants to expose her knees. Hershel brought and set the first aid kit beside the child while Maggie stood beside her rubbing circles on her back keeping an eye on the archer’s actions and any sign of discomfort in his kid.

“You gotta clean it up first, Maggie can yea get—-“

“I’m here!” Glenn interrupts the inevitable request to get water to clean up the dirt as he brought his canteen after running into both Greenes on their way out to help Y/N. He just had an instinct.

Daryl took his rag out and then Glenn’s canteen to pour a little water on it before looking at Y/N to warn that he’s getting started. Water doesn’t sting too bad but fresh wounds? Still hurts. He gently dabs the scrapes to get the dirt out and glances up at her every now and then.

“Alright. Now the bad stuff. It’ll sting a bit but not long” Daryl warns, grabbing the antibacterial bottle once Hershel pointed it out.

The small child trusted the archer as he took care of her boo boos, that once her knees were all patched up…Daryl watches Y/N make grabby hands toward him as he didn’t hesitate to bring her back into his arms.

“You did good, pumpkin. All patched up” Daryl reassures bringing the circles back onto her back turning his head enough to kiss the top of her head as she relaxed her tense composure.

“He’s such a good dad” Glenn whispers to Maggie as she couldn’t agree more.

Another night graced them and yet another night watch for Daryl. Given the spill today, he didn’t want to go. It wasn’t a serious injury but he didn’t want to leave her alone.

The compromise was Y/N sleeping in the bed in the watchtower with Daryl’s poncho on. She was curled up on the mattress for half the night and the other half in Daryl’s arms when he sat in the chair up there. She had a nightmare which lead to him carefully waking her and needing to hold her to soothe the anxiety brewing in the child. Daryl watches the same night sky listening to the sounds of the forest and the soft snores escaping the child in his arms.

He never thought he’d be a dad in a way. But this kid…is his kid. His daughter. He would tear the world in half if something happened to her.

When one morning the outbreak within a cellblock occurred. The guns firing, the crying, the screaming,…it was stressful. An illness has made its way into the prison and it became dangerous to the point of killing people.

Then it clicked to Daryl.

The archer sprinted out of the infested cellblock booking it for his and his cell finding no sign of Y/N but he soon heard the sobbing. Making him slowly enter the room and took note of where it was coming from as he knelt down by his bed looking underneath finding her curled up.

“Hey…hey, pumpkin C’mere” Daryl frowns bringing himself to lay on the ground looking at her watching her remain. “Everythin’s okay right now. I’m okay. I promise” he whispers to her to keep the calmness in his anxious form stable.

Soon the child came out from hiding and Daryl held her for a moment. He was terrified. Even if the outbreak was nowhere near their cellblock, he would never forgive himself if something happened.

When the council decided to have a group go out and find medicine to help the sick ones that were still alive, sadly Sasha and Glenn getting hit with the illness which caused personal anxiety to spread. Daryl had to go. So when Beth was holding up in one of the conference rooms of the prison with Judith and Carl (who didn’t want to be there but Rick bitched), Daryl carefully set Y/N down in the room kneeling in front of her explaining that what he has to do is important and he was the man for the job. Along with his friends also going.

She still hasn’t spoken and didn’t argue with him, but before he left, he was handed Dog.

“No…pumpkin, he’s supposed to keep yea safe when I’m not around” Daryl frowns trying to hand it back but Y/N gently pushed it back to him giving him a look.

He’s going to protect you out there Y/N thought and Daryl knew. Daryl hooked Dog onto his belt securing him before hugging Y/N one more time.

They couldn’t tell how long it’s been since going from the prison—to a pit stop—-then to the hospital to get the medicine. But there was a moment when retrieving all the medicine they could carry where the sound of clinking bottles caught everyone’s attention.

The anger that instantly built up in Daryl, couldn’t be contained anymore.

People he cared about were dying.

The unthinkable could happen and his kid could get hurt.

He wasn’t having it when he grabbed Bob’s bag and pulled out a bottle of alcohol. Tyreese and Michonne were a bit taken back by the thought that “was Bob really helping us or here for his own agenda?”. Daryl forcefully ripped the bag out of Bob’s grasp entirely, tossing the bottles into the herd that desperately wanted their flesh. Resulting in Bob taking his anger out on Daryl and before the guy could get a punch in, the archer stopped his fist clenching around it to cause some pain before grabbing his shirt and dangling him over the grasping hands.

“I should just let yea go right now”

“Daryl—-“ Michonne tried to stop him but even Tyreese stopped her.

“Please man. The world is rough out there I saw—-“

“Saw what? An opportunity to shitfaced like it’s the old world when people’s lives are on the goddamn line?!” Daryl snaps shaking Bob a bit as he was getting closer to being grabbed by a walker. “People we fuckin’ care about need this medicine. Needed our help and you were fucking selfish!”

“Daryl please. I’m sorry—-“

“Nah sorry ain’t gonna cut it. Now I know you—you probably have a bottle on your person still and if I catch yea taking a sip before any of the medicine gets into our people? I’m not feeding yea to walkers. I’m killing yea where you stand.”

The archer pulled the doc back up and onto the awning they were standing on. He brushes past everyone on his way back to their ride.

When the group was on the ride back, Michonne glanced from the driver’s seat seeing Daryl fiddle with the plush in his hands as the worry spilled out of him.

“She’s okay. Carl and Beth would protect her if anything”

“Yeah, I know”

“Then why are you so worried? We have the medicine. If she had gotten sick when we were gone, it won’t last long”

“I just want to get back to my daughter”

And so they did. But the medicine came first.

Y/N stuck by the door the entire time looking out the small window and stepped away when she heard Carl’s name being called by Rick. But what he didn’t calculate was Y/N slipping past both Carl and Rick when he first opened the door—-then engaged in the conversation. It didn’t click until Rick heard the quick scurrying and jostling of Y/N’s oversized jacket that she had gotten out. There wasn’t any walkers or a threat for the time being but it was still alarming in the sense that if Daryl came down there and no Y/N? Then the world will be set ablaze.

The archer was in A-Block helping Hershel administer the medicine to their family and right as he was helping Maggie get Glenn back in the bed, he heard yelling.

“Daddy!”

An unfamiliar voice with only a caring worry filled force.

Daryl quickly pulled away and saw the tiny human being blocked from entering the area by Michonne. But the second he caught a glimpse, oh now he was sprinting.

The archer quickly ran down the stairs and it didn’t take long for Michonne to notice, making her instinctively move away for Y/N to start her own little sprint toward Daryl.

“Daddy!” She cries reaching about her head as she ran and Daryl quickly swept her up into his arms holding her close.

Part of her knew she was back and knew where he’d be given why he left. Y/N simply couldn’t stay away much longer and had to check on her dad. Make sure he’s still alive and well. Hell, he was going to do the same once the medicine was given but she was a little impatient.

“I’m okay, pumpkin” Daryl reassures as she latched onto him. A small part of him wanted to sob because she finally spoke and called him that. “Everything is gonna be okay”

“Please don’t leave again, daddy…” Y/N sobbed a little into his shoulder as he continued to bear hug her while he held her.

“I promise. I’m never leavin’ yea again” He continues to reassure before setting her down, kneeling before her and taking Dog out for her. “He took really good care of me though”

“Of course he did!” She states, taking Dog back into her embrace. “He kept me safe until you found me”

Now Daryl found himself tearing up, bringing her back into his arms as she happily held onto him.

I’ve got you now, pumpkin

[haravath0t]

𝐀 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚

𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐚

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓 - 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝟻

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : ̗̀➛ the night of christmas eve has come! are the dishes a pass or fail? ask anya.

☕🤍🌿 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ! 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 ! ☕🤍🌿

𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚊

“PEANUTS!” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Anya was quickly shut down by her father, a comical sight that has become almost a regular thing. 

“It’s okay, Anya. More for you,” You gently say to her, patting her on the back as her pout disappears at your assurance. 

“Eee!” She practically squeals, almost happy to hear your voice. You didn’t know it, but she knew after a few good reads of your mind that when it came to her, you were telling the truth. You always did. Loid could depend on you when taking care of Anya, especially whenever he fell short on predicting outcomes with her involved. Now that your daughter was at peace, having a bag of peanuts to herself, he’d be able to focus on what to bring to the dinner table with your family. 

Now, Loid was a good cook, that much was for sure, but a problem for him arises that can surely be tackled tonight too: having your family be pleased with his cooking. So he tells you his plan: you four (yes, Bond is coming along too) show up to your parents’ place early. Of course, your parents are quick to greet Anya, Anya’s cuteness and her glee of seeing her Lola and Lolo making their hearts soften. Perfect, for now Twilight can strike. He greets his in-laws like you had taught him to, holding their hand and pressing it against his forehead. “We all figured it may be easier to just cook here, if that’s okay!” Of course your mom agrees, so happy to be familiarizing herself with her son-in-law. 

You and your dad distract yourselves with Anya, and Loid talks to your mother with ease, making up all the entrees he can think of: some shrimp, some nicely barbecued skewers. He’d even make some mashed potatoes, help your family make some rice on the rice cooker, but then your mother asks something of him. “Loid, could you be a dear and also cook some dinuguan as well?” He hears your mom ask, hearing her struggle to be setting the long table of food and cleaning up the living space. However, he didn’t expect this, feeling his world simply shatter around him. As always, Twilight feels his chances of impressing you and your family plummet, but it’s not long till he gets it together. 

“Of course.”

He’s left alone for some time, trying his best to recall what might be involved in this dinuguan, but something stops him: your mother. “Loid? Is everything okay?” He hears her say, and as practiced, he gives her his killer smile. “Of course it’s okay! Ha, it couldn’t have been better!”

“You’re lying, papa.” His daughter answers flatly from the dining table, snacking away on puto (“rice cakes”) that her grandpa had given her. “It smells weird. Sorry, papa.” Anya always seemed to be so frank, as all children were, and Twilight couldn’t help but feel frustrated being called out for shortcomings. Your mom only laughs after getting a taste of his rather subpar dinuguan. “It’s okay,” she waves off. “You’ll get it next time.” But then there’s you, who insisted that you can manage to redo it, making sure the well-demanded dish was present in time for the noche buena. “Loid! I’m going to go to the market, okay?” You tell him, already putting your shoes and coat on, but it’s not just you coming out of the house, but your “husband” too. Your mom couldn’t help but laugh as Loid trails after you like a dog, his face red of embarrassment and shame. You couldn’t help but blush with him, seeing him drive you to the market with your directions. He’s never been to a filipino market, now that he thought about it, and he’s almost quite ashamed to see your face practically light up at the familiar sight and the familiar bustle. He watched you take all the necessary ingredients with ease, putting each thing within the basket he carries. He watched you speak in your native tongue to the person ringing up the items you two decided to buy, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes had a glow to them he has never seen before. It is only when you two exit the store that he decides to speak up. “I didn’t consider you missing this…I owe you an apology,” Loid starts off, his eyes looking oddly guilty. How could he have known? After all, you two weren’t really married. It was a part to play, after all, so that not only did it benefit Loid, but it benefits you, letting your parents and family stop all the talk of you being an old maid. 

“You couldn’t have known.” You say as you two now take the paid items to the car. Settling the bag on your lap as Loid starts the car, putting his seatbelt on. You wouldn’t admit it, but you did miss the environment during the holidays, missing the way things were just full of noise, full of the bustle of excitement, full of the distinctive aromas of dishes. 

“As your husband, I should.” He says with a tiny smile, not knowing what led him to reach out and fix your coat’s collars before he decided to back out of the parking lot. “Anya would be very happy tonight seeing her mother feel at home tonight too. She’ll hope you’ll feel that way in our own home too.” A quick pause enters the air of the car before he speaks up once more. “I would love to see to it that you smile that way more often too.” The words bring a smile to your face, no ounce of regret for making this arrangement with Loid evident on your face. Without a doubt, the smile stays as you two return home, as you teach him how to make a successful dish of dinuguan just before the family members come in, waiting for midnight to strike. He doesn’t miss the way Anya dozes on your lap comfortably, as if you were her mother all along. Neither does he miss the way you’re smiling in content watching the fruit of Loid and your work being enjoyed by the family. 

He’s no longer paying attention to the time, but now paying attention to every single thing there that makes your muscles twitch into that content and ecstatic expression. It is then that Twilight remembers that he can learn a thing or two to become a better agent, a better husband, a better father, a better man. He may not be able to achieve something as wide as world peace right now, but seeing you smile amidst the crowd made him…a little more at peace than he’d admit. Or perhaps it sends him spiraling again. Does she like me that way? Oh, I don’t know. Get it together, Twilight, you have been with many women before. You are simply refining your skill set. Nothing new. 

Not only was Loid Forger a mess when it came to you, but Twilight as well. Truly no one can shake his world the way his daughter and his wife would. 

[branzinos]

things I have experienced so far in the USA in my last 11 days that would kill a Victorian child

1. loaded baked potato omelette the size of my head

2. blue raspberry sour patch kids energy drink. entire aisle of energy drinks for that matter

3. deep dish pizza with what appeared to be two whole blocks of cheese in it

4. burrito also the size of my head

5. ice cream but the bowl was a waffle cone

6. ice cream sundae inside a gigantic conch shell with a gravy boat of hot fudge

7. comically large Starbucks drink the size of my head

8. the indulgences of the Alamo drafthouse and having some guy bring me two mixing bowls filled with buttered popcorn, unlimited soda and a burger to my reclining chair

9. banana chocolate chip waffle the size of my head

10. hot cheetos mozzarella corn dog a terrifying shade of red

[potatodog-art]

potato dog as hoshino ai! this one took me a bit longer to render, and I'm happy with how it turned out! to be honest, I've had the idea for awhile and was afraid that the idea was too complex compared to my other drawings of potato dog. I'm happy that I decided to pursue it anyway :3

[best-fictional-cat]

Welcome! To the official list! Of the Best Fictional Cat competition!!!

Edit: here is the list of who's going up against whom in round 1

Here's our pawsome contestants:

Garfield (Garfield)

Puss in Boots (Puss in Boots / Shrek)

Kitty White / Hello Kitty (Sanrio)

Firestar (Warrior cats)

Khoshekh (Welcome to Night Vale)

Jiji (Kiki's Delivery Service)

Domino (Amphibia)

Ghost (The Owl House)

Cat (Stray)

The Admiral (The Magnus Archives)

Thomas O'Malley + the Aristocats (Aristocats)

Puppycat (Bee and Puppy cat)

Kyo Sohma (Fruits Basket)

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

Morgana (Persona 5)

Meowth (Pokémon)

Kitty Softpaws (Puss in Boots)

Salem Saberhagen (Sabrina the Teenage Witch)

Luna (Sailor Moon)

Spot (Star Trek: The Next Generation)

Cheshire Cat (Alice in Wonderland)

Princess Carolyn (BoJack Horseman)

Hobbes (Calvin and Hobbes)

Chi Yamada (Chi's sweet home)

The Cat (Coraline)

Pounce de Leon (Homestuck)

Goose (Marvel comics / MCU)

Plagg (Miraculous)

Catbus (My Neighbor Totoro)

Catra (She-Ra)

Blaze the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Baron Humbert von Gikkingen (The Cat Returns)

Aslan (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Tom (Tom and Jerry)

Holly leaf (Warrior cats)

Jayfeather (Warrior cats)

Yellowfang (Warrior cats)

Bluestar (Warrior cats)

Miyo Sasaki / Muge / Taro (A whisker away)

Cake (Adventure Time)

Bob (Animal Crossing)

Raymond (Animal Crossing)

Frumpkin (Critical Role)

Maurice (Discworld)

Happy (Fairy Tail)

Cattail (Plants vs Zombies)

Angel Grimalkin (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Pusheen (Pusheen)

Cat (Red Dwarf)

Judd (Splatoon)

Lil' Judd (Splatoon)

Garfield the Deals Warlock (The Adventure Zone: Balance)

Mad Mew Mew (Undertale)

Mothwing (Warrior cats)

Shoe (Ace Attorney)

Blanca (Animal Crossing)

John Blacksad (Blacksad)

Yoruichi Shihoin (Bleach)

Lumi (Cats are Liquid)

Mr. Mistoffelees (Cats the musical)

Gatomon (Digimon)

Pib (Dimension 20 - Never after)

Greebo (Discworld)

You (Discworld)

Felix (Drawtectives)

Minerva McGonagall (Harry Potter)

Heathcliff (Heathcliff)

Jaspers (Homestuck)

Sox (Lightyear)

Chat Noir (Miraculous)

Valerie Oberlin (Monster Prom)

Juan The Small Magical Latino Cat (Monster Prom)

Capper (My Little Pony)

Opalescence (My Little Pony)

Nyan Cat (Nyan Cat)

Mewo (Omori)

Bungle the glass cat (Oz)

Kyubey (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Coco Grimalkin (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Felix Munch (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Mittens Wichien (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Shrödinger's cat (you know the one)

Artemis (Sailor Moon)

Chococat (Sanrio)

Big the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Gary the Snail (Spongebob Squarepants)

Lion (Steven Universe)

Aldwyn (The Familiars)

Simba (The Lion King)

Chairman Meow (The Shadowhunter Chronicles)

Kuroneko-sama (Trigun)

Leona Kingscholar (Twisted Wonderland)

Catty (Undertale)

Sandstorm (Warrior cats)

Squirrelflight (Warrior cats)

Tigger (Winnie the Pooh)

Nali (AC: Valhalla)

The Sphinx (Adventures of Puss in Boots)

Leone (Akame ga Kill)

Jonesy (Alien)

Domino 2 (Amphibia)

Ankha (Animal Crossing)

Kabuki (Animal Crossing)

Rosie (Animal Crossing)

Rover (Animal Crossing)

Tangy (Animal Crossing)

Darwin (April and the Extraordinary World)

Miyuki (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Serafina + Wolfie (Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper)

Taokaka (Blazblue)

Grimmjow Jaegerjaques (Bleach)

Kuro (Blue Exorcist)

Periwinkle (Blue's clues)

Catbug (Bravest Warriors)

Atsushi Nakajima (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Natsume Soseki (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Assistacat / Sub-manager (Cardfight!! Vanguard)

Brave Heart Lion (Care Bears)

Midnight (Castle in the Air, Diana Wynne Jones)

Potato (Cat loaf adventures)

CatDog (CatDog)

Skimbleshanks (Cats the musical)

Rum Tum Tugger (Cats the musical)

Jemima (Cats the musical)

Victoria (Cats the musical)

Ember (Cattails)

Lyrus (Cattails)

Mayor (Cattails)

Missy (Cattails)

Sarge (Cattails)

Scout (Cattails)

Nyako / Meowy (Chainsaw Man)

Lucifer (Cinderella)

Arthur (Code Geass)

Constable Whiskers (Cookie Run)

Cool Cat (Cool Cat Saves the Kids)

Mao (Darker than Black)

Catti (Deltarune)

Mingus Crown (Dialtown)

Ortensia the Cat (Disney)

Sisters of Plenitude (Doctor Who)

Jellie (Double Life SMP)

C!Antfrost (Dream SMP)

Izutsumi (Dungeon Meshi)

Yuigadokusonmaru (Durarara)

Thomas (Earwig and the Witch)

Carla (Fairy Tail)

Panther Lily (Fairy Tail)

Felix (Felix cat food mascot)

Felix the cat (Felix the cat (Paramount))

Candy + Cindy (Five Nights at Candy's)

Hiili (Fox Fires (webcomic))

Lucrezia and Meek (Frakk, the Cats' Nightmare)

Heinkel (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Arlene (Garfield)

Nermal (Garfield)

Amanojaku (Ghost Stories)

Cringer / Battlecat (He-man)

808 (Hi-Fi Rush)

Stelmaria (His Dark Materials)

Kirjava (His Dark Materials)

God Cat (Homestuck)

Vodka Mutini / Dr.Meowgon Spangler (Homestuck)

Macskacicó (Hungarian folk tales)

Cheetu (Hunter x Hunter)

Finley / Jelly Donut (Hustle Cat)

Samantha / The Cat (Infinity Train)

Solembum (Inheritance Cycle)

Nameless evil white cat (James Bond)

Jenny Linsky (Jenny Linsky, Esther Averill)

Stray Cat (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

Kaspar, Prince of Cats (Kaspar, Prince of Cats, Michael Morporgo)

Mr. Kat (Kid vs. Kat)

Magolor (Kirby series)

Tigress (Kung Fu Panda)

Remlit (Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword)

Mo (Lego Monkie Kid)

Meowthra (Lego Ninjago Movie)

Nyanta (Log Horizon)

Sylvester (Looney Tunes)

Mao Mao Mao (Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart)

Alpine (Marvel comics)

Behemoth (Master and Margarita)

Mog (Mog books, Judith Kerr)

The Cat (Monster Camp)

Ren (Monstress)

Haru (My Roommate is a Cat)

Ghazt (My Singing Monsters)

Pasty (Neko Atsume)

Sakamoto (Nichijou)

Niko (Oneshot)

Eureka the pink kitten (Oz)

Pangur Bán (Pangur Bán (Irish poem, 9th century))

Findus (Pettson and Findus)

Whiskers (Pixel Cat's End)

Pixie (Pixie and Brutus)

Glameow (Pokémon)

Litten (Pokémon)

Meowstic (Pokémon)

Skitty (Pokémon)

Sprigatito (Pokémon)

Jess (Postman Pat)

Tigger Sugden (Purrfect Apawcalypse)

Slugcat (Rain World)

Rivulet (Rain World: Downpour)

Shampoo ( Ranma 1/2)

Squanchy (Rick and Morty)

Talking Cat (Rick and Morty)

Blake Belladonna (RWBY)

Diana (Sailor Moon)

Charmmy Kitty (Sanrio)

Khajiit (The Elder Scrolls)

Tabby Slime (Slime Rancher)

Blair (Soul Eater)

Barry Ill ( Sparklecare hospital)

Caroline Coughs (Sparklecare hospital)

Grudge (Star Trek Discovery)

T'Ana (Star Trek: Lower Decks)

Cure Cosmo / Yuni (Star Twinkle Pretty Cure)

Pet cats (Stardew Valley)

Cat Steven (Steven Universe)

Nyanky (Taiko no Tatsujin)

Archie (Tales of Arcadia)

The Kitty (The Bad Guys)

The Black Cat (The Black Cat, E.A.Poe)

The Cat in the Hat (The Cat in the Hat)

Pixel (The Cat Who Walks through Walls, Robert Heinlein)

Amp / Anp / Anpu (The Disastrous Life of Saiki K)

Boo (The Funky Phantom)

Wagahai (Ace Attorney)

Invisible cat (The Invisible Man, H.G.Wells)

Bagheera (The Jungle Book)

Xiaohei (The Legend of Hei)

Nuka (The Lion King 2)

Pippa (The Penumbra Podcast)

Black Cat (The Price, Neil Gaiman)

Church (The Shadowhunter Chronicles)

Tom Kitten (The Tale of Tom Kitten)

Mew (Marvel comics)

Ichigo Momomiya (Tokyo Mew Mew)

Hong (Trash of the Count's Family)

On (Trash of the Count's Family)

Captain Amelia (Treasure Planet)

Thomas Kincade Brannigan ( Doctor Who)

Tumblr lore witch

Luxor (Tutenstein)

Che'nya (Twisted Wonderland)

Cheka Kingscholar (Twisted Wonderland)

Grim (Twisted Wonderland)

Burgerpants (Undertale)

Varjak Paw (Varjak Paw, S.F.Said)

Bristlefrost (Warrior cats)

Cinderpelt (Warrior cats)

Graystripe (Warrior cats)

Leopardstar (Warrior cats)

Scourge (Warrior cats)

Spottedleaf (Warrior cats)

Ferncloud (Warrior cats)

Leafpool (Warrior cats)

Mapleshade (Warrior cats)

Sol (Warrior cats)

Tallstar (Warrior cats)

Turtle Tail (Warrior cats)

Tab (Watership Down)

Tabby Von Meow (Webkinz)

Opera (Welcome to demon school Iruma kun!)

Fluffal Cat (Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Chester the Cat (Bunnicula)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And here, as requested, are Honorable mentions, in no particular order (some less honorable than others), with their reasons for exclusion:

Mikeko (Ace Attorney): Apparently Apollo's cat but as far as I can tell it was only mentioned not shown, you've got other cats in

Any of the playable cats (Catlateral Damage): yeah I'm not even digging into that I mean I tried but naaaah (not to sound lazy but if it doesn't have a good wiki page I'm not doing it sorry I've had this many cats to dig through; I did save the game to check out in my own time tho so cudos for that)

Tasque Manager (Deltarune): not cat enough

Doraemon (Doraemon ): if only this thing had cat ears... or a cat tail... preferably both... I get that it's a robot but it could be a lot of animals honestly

Lizzie (Empires Smp): whomst (if what I found is what was meant then it's a fish not cat)

Kitty Cheshire (Ever After High): not cat enough

Nepeta Lejiom (Homestuck): not sure she's cat at least ENOUGH if at all, don't know enough about homestuck, owner of Pounce who is in anyway (entry said they're sorry lmao)

Schrödinger (Időfutár): "Time-travelling cat" I have failed in finding their picture and it seems too niche to be presented without it even though I am so intrigued and regret I don't know the language of the source material I'd love to give it a read/listen

Revolver Ocelot (Metal Gear Solid): Compares himself to ocelots and meows apparently, but no visible cat aesthetic sorry

Raku-chan (Nyan Neko Sugar Girls ): why.

Aisha Clan-Clan (Outlaw Star): not enough cat

Honey the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog): that's enough cats from sonic (real reason: model so low-poly she would cut her opponents, and before you argue - there's a difference between pixel models and low-poly old games models)

The song pet cheetah twenty one pilots concept album lore: oof yeah um I get what a concept album is kinda buuut it's just a weird entry idk we've got plenty of fandom cats to go around

Gaetan (The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt): Witcher from school of cat but he's still well pretty much human (don't come at me about witchers not being the same as humans he's not a CAT and that's all that matters to me)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What's next?

Well, I have to make the bracket itself. As you can see, there's a bit more cats than I was intending to have, which means that certain polls in round 1 will have more than just two options. I can already tell you that a lot of the cats from the same fandoms are going to be eliminated in round one. That's why I kept them in. I'm planning on making up the first round match ups based heavily on the similarities between cats and the fandoms they're from. ALSO as you've probably noticed, some cats come in a bundle. That's because they're a family. I'm not doing this to Kitty Softpaws and Puss (at least YET), because even though they also get married in the end, there's a huge gap in their submission numbers. If you're wondering, how big, you may want to know that up to Tigger from Winnie the Pooh (that is, almost the entire first pic) are the cats that got 2+ submissions, in their order of popularity.

Next step - brackets!!! I want to do this well and I hope I don't underestimate certain fandoms!!!

[dani-luminae]

GUESS WHO SAW THE HAUNTED MANSION MOVIE BRAINROT INCOMING

First off, that was incredible and the very first sequence of the house alone (Gabbie and Travis getting chased out for the first time) already had me going "this is the best movie ever!"

(For the record: my criteria for "is this Haunted Mansion movie good?" is "do I recognize every single Easter egg and does it bring me joy?" And yes. yes this movie does just that)

My favorite parts:

Constance and everything to do with her.

The grief plotline. OMG. I didn't come into this movie expecting the cry but they did it!!!! AND TATER TOT AT THE END 😭😭😭 I hope he adopted that kitty

Ben running into the mirror in the Endless Hallway sequence!!! Such a fun little reference to the real-life endless hallway that uses a mirror. In the same vein of "dramatic effects that reference the real life tricks" also the stretching room and how Ben's light on the ceiling reveals the rafters!

Also though the entire Stretching Room scene was awesome.

I got so excited when I first spotted April-December portrait on the stairs!!!! Even out of focus in the background, I could tell it was her. The whole deal with the eyes (to open the séance room) was a neat touch, bc I think she used to be one of the portraits whose eyes followed the riders (in WDW HM at least.)

DONALD! DUCK! CHAIR!

The Hatbox Ghost's backstory reveal!!!! I almost screamed when I saw the WDW HM exterior used for Crump Mansion. Frankly incredible storytelling.

Sometimes, a family can be you, your son, your son's new father-figure who built a ghost-seeing camera, a con-man-pretending-to-be-a-priest, the spiritual successor to the famous Madam Leota, and a grouchy old potato of a college professor with a heart condition.

And the Mariner! Considering he's sort of been reduced more and more in the actual HM rides, it's nice to see him get a minor role in the movie. Quite seriously, they could not have done it without him.

Jared Leto... was actually a very good Hatbox Ghost, I'm pleasantly surprised

And even though whom I thought was the Ghost Host was actually the Hatbox Ghost, the Ghost Host did get a little part and get to say one of his famous lines "the real chills come later" (and how they kicked him out of Ben's body - just, the frantic bell-ringing and waving sage in his face - hilarious to watch)

What could have been better:

WHY ARE THE CARETAKER AND HIS DOG DEAD WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO THEM

Alastair Crump is a crummy name for the Hatbox Ghost honestly, should've stuck with Randall Pace (from the comics) or a different name entirely.

Considering they were all "we need to find [the Hatbox Ghost's missing] head [for the banishing ritual]" I would have expected them to grab his skull, not just his hat.

And the séance room could have been fancier (in the flashbacks at least, I understand why it's a dank hole in the present).

What I won't forgive the movie for:

WHERE. ARE. THE SINGING. BUSTS. HOW COULD YOU LEAVE THEM OUT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

[sailtomarina]

To Trim a Malfoy

The first sign of trouble was the door to their cellar hanging ajar. Draco never, ever left the entrance to his Potions lab open, knowing full well Crookshanks’ glee in knocking over bottles on unprotected surfaces. When shutting the door, Draco always made sure to take the extra second required to press against the wood to check that it held secure.

Hermione had just arrived home for the evening and was famished. Her entire trek home, she’d envisioned a thick beef stew filled with chunks of carrots, potatoes, and peas. She’d been good this past week, jogging each morning and managing her portions. Hermione deserved a cheat day.

So entrenched was she in dinner plans, that it wasn’t until she nearly walked into the door blocking the hallway that she realized something was amiss.

“What the…Draco? Why’s the cellar door open?” she called out, leaning around to peek down the stairs. Spotting Crookshanks already making his way into forbidden territory, she quickly summoned her familiar into her arms. She received a tail in the mouth for her efforts.

“I’m up here!” His voice did not come from below, as expected, but muffled from above in the direction of their bedroom.

Sealing the door shut before releasing the orange devil, she made her way upstairs in no particular hurry. She wasn’t alarmed until she found the start of a trail of clothes leading up the stairs, down the hallway, and into their room. Her steps quickened even as she spelled the clothes to follow along in her wake.

“Draco, what’s going on?”

Light spilled out of the bathroom. Directing the floating clothes to settle in a pile on their bed, Hermione moved forward to see what all the fuss was about.

Her eyes landed on a sight far less bizarre than the terrifying instance of an improved Polyjuice gone wrong after Crookshanks dropped a freshly-killed rat into the cauldron. Draco’s subsequent transformation into a humanoid rat-cat hybrid gave them both nightmares for weeks. 

This time, the transformation was a familiar one. His pale locks, silken soft and falling in thick waves down his back, reminded her of the time he’d accidentally inhaled fumes from his hair growth potion. He looked largely the same, only this time it wasn’t just the hair on his head that was affected. White hair sprouted from his face and armpits, and he looked to be in the process of removing his pants before she’d entered.

“I take it you tweaked the formula?” She fought to keep her face straight, but snorts kept making their way through and she dissolved into giggles as he glared, looking like a fair representation of an Afghan Hound. 

“I’m going to give Blaise a piece of my mind after I fix this. There’s something very obviously wrong with the unicorn hairs he provided,” Draco snapped. “I’d appreciate it if you could help a bloke.”

She couldn’t stop the words from slipping out, and the look on his face afterward made the moment worth it. “I’m not sure I’m qualified. We might need a dog groomer.”

“Why, you—” His wand appeared out of nowhere and he slashed the air in between them.

Hermione squealed, diving to the floor before a flash of blue light arced above her. “Draco! You almost hit me!”

“That was the intention.”

Adrenaline still pumping and her own wand held tightly in hand, this time she was the one to attack. She twirled the tip upward and Draco yelped as his trunks began wiggling down his hips.

“Wait, Granger—”

If Hermione had been standing in front of the mirror, she would’ve seen the comical widening of her own eyes and the way her jaw dropped open. Instead, all she could do was lay there looking up in awe at the jungle of white pubic hair that emerged once his last article of clothing dropped to his ankles.

“Bloody bollocks on a broomstick, I was just about to—”

“Sweet Circe, Draco…”

“Oh, shut it! I know! I was just going to deal with it before you waltzed in here and attacked me.” He kicked away his trunks with enough force to knock over the laundry basket by the door.

“Me? You’re the one who attacked first!”

“It was just a tickling charm, you daft bint!”

“Well, now I actually mean it! This is way more hair than I can handle!”

The silken strands poured over his crotch, completely obscuring everything beneath. Hermione couldn’t help but stare with fascination at the hair lining the crack of his firm arse, almost like a unicorn tail.

“We might have to spell it off,” she mused, finally pushing herself up and tilting her head in fascination.

“Oh yes, apply even more magic to an already over-magicked mishap,” he said sarcastically. “This needs to be removed manually, as horrid as it sounds.”

“I wonder…”

Draco looked at her suspiciously, more than familiar with the tone in her voice. It was the same one she used every time she came up with some harebrained scheme that usually worked but not without a fair amount of chaos.

His response was heavy in skepticism. “What.”

“Is it as soft as the rest?” She kept her eyes glued below his waist.

Rolling his eyes, he stepped up to her. “Go on, then.”

Winking up at him, Hermione swiftly brought her hands up before he could change his mind and caressed the soft skin along his hip bones. She took his eyes closing as an invitation to continue, and trailed her fingers down along the v and combed through the hair that sprouted between them.

“It is, indeed, just as soft as ever,” she murmured.

“Brilliant. Now, let’s cut it all off.” His voice was strained, but he made no move to step away. If anything, he leaned into her hands, which continued to explore, one back up to his hip and one back.

He exhaled as she cupped a cheek before giving it a soft squeeze. It was now or never. Using her fingertips, she traced the hairs between his arse. Then, in a move that startled both of them, she took a fistful of the delicate strands and tugged.

“FUCK!” 

Draco nearly collapsed on top of her, and she immediately let go to rub soothing circles along the dimples of his back.

“Well, now I have an idea of what it must be like to have a tail.”

There was no disguising the amusement in her voice. Draco was definitely going to punish her for this later. She would’ve been more concerned if she didn’t feel a telling prominence pressing against her inner thigh. 

“Draco…” her voice lilted up at the end in an inquiry.

“No. Don’t you dare say it.”

She couldn’t suppress her squeak when he pressed her up against the sink. He knew how boneless she always became once he had her in this position. One moment, she was the one with the advantage, and the next, she was putty in his arms. Propping her chin up with one knuckle, his silvery eye bore into her own.

“Cut. The damn. Hair.”

She pressed a palm against his shoulder. “I will if you keep it down to here.”

“This isn’t a negotiation. Not after what you just did.”

“…just until tomorrow?” She hated how needy she sounded, but she couldn’t help it. 

His eyes searched hers before his lips grew into a knowing smirk. “You want something to grab onto, is that it?”

Hermione nodded frantically, earning her an amused chuckle.

“Alright. Until tomorrow.” Scissors pressed into her free hand and he stepped away.

As snips filled the air and long strands fell to the ground, an idea slowly started to form. Hermione imagined braided rope, soft and strong, wrapped around his ankles and wrists. She kept her eyes trained on the task at hand, all while her evening plans continued to transform—stew for dinner, blueberry galette for dessert, and Draco strung up by his own wonderful hair to cap it all off.

The menu basically wrote itself.

WC 1343

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 2 - Bonds, September 9 - Spell Mishaps

Cross-posted on AO3

I wrote a similar scenario in an old prompt of mine where Draco’s hair grows long and he asks Hermione to cut it. This one ran a bit more on the wild side ;)

That’s a thought, Draco as a unicorn animagus. He has a unicorn hair in the core of his wand, and I’ve now written a couple of instances of him using a hair growth potion with it as an ingredient. 

[lookinghalfacorpse]

Hi! Doomsday trio prompt- The Most Hated Breakfast Food. Not the best. The worst.

this is SUCH a good prompt and i didn't do it correctly :') here's what my brain did instead. at least it was breakfast themed?

part of the doomsday preparation drabbles

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Breakfasts Prepared in The Days Before Battle (aka how do you feed a young man, an immortal birdman, and a piglin in one meal?)

Day 1: Oatmeal and toast. A simple dish, but sincerely one of the most beautiful and put-together meals Dream has ever seen. He didn't expect them to feed him at all, much less prepare a bowl of well-arranged, colorful fruits in a vintage bowl. He stood in the kitchen, frozen. Eating in front of Techno and Phil might mean taking his mask off in front of them, and he was tempted to grab the food and eat in another room, like an anxious dog. He settled instead on tilting the mask up a bit. They saw his mouth, and they didn't make any indication that they even noticed. Techno had three bowls, Phil had one and a half, and Dream had one (he was too embarrassed to ask for more).

Day 2: Avocado toast with pico and eggs. Techno shyly admitted that they were trying to get through this loaf of bread before it went bad. Then, he went on some nonsensical ramble about how it was Dream's sacred mission to help them. "Forget the battle," he said, "we gotta get rid of this bread." Techno had four slices, Phil had two, and Dream had two.

Day 3: Omelettes and yogurt. There was something a bit comical about seeing Techno use silverware. His hands were too big for them, his shoulders hunched forward, and he used them so politely that you wouldn't expect him to be the most feared warrior this civilization has known. After breakfast, he absolutely dominated in a sparring session against Dream. Techno had two omelettes, Phil had half (but two bowls of yogurt. He was "in the mood for it."), and Dream had one.

Day 4: Breakfast sandwiches. Sausage, egg, and cheese, all in a biscuit-like bun. Dream nearly took his mask completely off at the table, and fumbled with the clip as he desperately tried to put it back on without showing more skin than he already has. Techno had his back turned as he was serving himself, thankfully, but Phil sat beside him. The old man didn't even look up from his plate, unbothered by Dream's dilemma. Techno had two sandwiches, Phil had one, Dream had one, and the dog whining softly under the table got two pieces of sausage from Dream's palm.

Day 5: Sausage soup. It was a piglin thing, apparently. Techno mentioned it and then grew quiet, enjoying the meal but never losing a distant, foggy look in his eyes. Dream watched, unable to think of a follow-up question. Between the three of them, he was not the only one with secrets. Techno had five bowls (the most Dream's ever seen him eat), Phil had one, and Dream had one.

Day 6: Pancakes and scrambled eggs. A classic breakfast. Phil seemed nervous about preparing the pancakes a way Dream would like, so he made them plain and provided a variety of toppings. Dream opted for a variety of fruit and the chocolate spread, but he said (with confidence) that he would've eaten whatever was prepared for him. Techno had four pancakes, Phil had two, and Dream had two.

Day 7: Bagels. Somewhere between preparations and trainings, Philza found time to pick up bagels. Dream found it odd to prioritize food with such a decisive battle on the horizon. He sat, he tilted his mask, he ate, and he talked to Techno about horses. Techno had two bagels, Phil had one, and Dream had one.

Day 8: Biscuits with Eggs. Or, as Techno called it, "Biscuit with guts." A poached egg was poured into a hole in the biscuit, making an interesting mix of textures and flavors. Dream wasn't the biggest fan of poached eggs, but true to his word, he ate whatever was served to him. Techno had four biscuits, Phil had two, and Dream had two.

Day 9: Creamy potato soup and sausages. Carbs and proteins for fuel. The battle loomed, and Dream was feeling anxious. He wasn't sure why; he wasn't afraid, per se, he was simply buzzing with energy that had no where to go (He wanted this to go perfectly). He asked Techno to spar with him again. He asked Phil for a refill of potato soup. "Remind me to get you the recipe, mate," Philza said, "If you can make mashed potatoes, you can make this. Good for travel, too." Dream replied stupidly with some comment about how much he liked potatoes. Techno had three bowls, Phil had one, and Dream lost count of how many times he made it while he traveled. Much later, he'd make it again within the prison walls, and he'd run to a nearby chest to vomit.