#problem child

[fruitycaake]

*Izuku gaining the quirks of the past users of OFA*

In the Vestige Void:

Banjo: Hey! How come he gets all the cool shit?

Yoichi: I don’t fucking know? He was quirkless so-

Yagi’s vestige: *making hand movements indicating to himself*

Nana: Toshi was quirkless when I passed on OFA. How come he didn’t get our quirks like Ninth?

Hikage: Probably because he’s All For One’s son, just a thought.

Yoichi: WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. MY BROTHER DID NOT GET LAID AND HAVE A CHILD-

En: That you know of.

Yoichi:

En:

Yoichi:

Yoichi: Fuck you all. Third, put up the GODDAMN CONSPIRACY BOARD-

[criminalmindsfanantic]

Hotch: you three explain yourselves

Reid: it was Emily

Morgan: it was Emily

Emily: …

Emily: well fuck

[angelunderheaven]

“I felt beautiful but also interrupted. I wasn't used to being so complicated.” - White Oleander

[incorrectmhatweets]

MHA plot bunny:

Aizawa and possibly Mic get deaged permanently in a quirk accident. Good news is they are alive. Bad news is they are now in Izuku’s class, and in an odd twist of fate, have become his problem children. So this is why Aizawa was constantly tired trying to keep him alive?

[loloia-brabock]

B99 quote x MHA

[stevefriel1988]

[l0tt1ee]

[fruitycaake]

All Might: I’m proud of you, my boy.

Izuku: *has tears and his eyes and hugs All Might, smiling*

All Might: *Hugging Izuku back*

Izuku: *accidentally lifts All Might out of pure happiness*

All Might: what the fuck-

[damailbox]

Disney Adventures, January 1991

[schlock-luster-video]

Remembering Problem Child star and USA Up All Night host Gilbert Gottfried on the anniversary of his birth.

R.I.P. 1955 - 2022

[askbensolo]

04.08.30 - further evidence that your mother will forever see you as the age you were when you traumatized her

Guys I’m losing it.

It all started because I didn’t want to go with my mom to the office today. Like…there wasn’t a reason, I just felt like writing at home. (And…maybe I wanted a little bit of space from her, for reasons I will not get into, but that you can probably surmise.)

But Mom and I had kind of gotten into a routine: I usually go to the office with her on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. And something I’ve noticed about Mom is that she freaks out when I deviate from routine.

When I was growing up, she didn’t pay as much attention to me. She wasn’t neglectful—I don’t mean that. But since I was so clingy and fearful as a child, she made an intentional effort to foster my independence, and so she didn’t monitor everything I did.

But…ever since the Snoke stuff, which culminated in me running away from home at seventeen…she has never stopped carrying the guilt that I struggled for years, and she never even realized or noticed.

So now it’s like—“Ben, I noticed you had a second cup of caf. Did you sleep all right last night?” “Ben, you’re shaking your leg up and down. Are you okay?” “Ben, you took a little long in the bathroom, is something wrong?”

So when I said I wanted to stay home today Mom was like: “But why? You always come to work with me on Tuesdays.” And I was like, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to, right?” And she was like, “But, up until now you always have. Something changed. What changed?” And I was like “Nothing changed, Mom, I just don’t feel like it today.” And she was like “But why not? What’s different between today and last Tuesday? Can you just explain it to me so I can understand?”

Et cetera, ad infinitum, Ben loses his temper, Mom loses her cool, 9 AM comes and goes, Ben finally gives in and goes with Mom to work because it actually seems like she won’t go into the office without him.

When we got in, I just put my head down on the desk and cried. I would have rather taken my little breakdown to the bathroom, but given how things were going, I thought it’d be better if I stayed where Mom could see me—her private office has ambiglass walls that can go frosted or clear, but she likes to keep them clear. (Also I hate crying in the bathroom because sometimes you need to get out of the stall so someone can actually use it and then you’re just sobbing next to the urinals and making everyone feel uncomfortable—just me? Okay.)

Speaking of making people uncomfortable…Greer and Korrie definitely were. It’s not a great work environment, I think, to have a six-foot-three, 220-pound crybaby absolutely losing it ten feet away from you. I mean, I wasn’t like sobbing sobbing, I tried to keep it contained—crying as silently as possible is a skill I have honed over many, many years, and you can make of that what you will—but I was doing the hiccup thing, and it was pretty bad.

Mom was alarmed, of course, and came over, and tried to talk to me, but I was like, “For frick’s sake, Mom, you’re at work, just do your damn job”—or whatever I could manage to say while hyperventilating—so reluctantly, she did, and I hid my face in my hands so I didn’t have to see how she kept on looking at me.

Finally, Greer went into my mom’s private office and said in a low voice, “Leia, I’m sorry. It’s just really distracting having Ben in here. Can he please go outside?”

I was so embarrassed. But Mom didn’t want me to go outside. She told Greer I could come sit in her office and shut the door.

It just felt so horrible. What am I, seven?

“I’m sorry, Greer,” I heard Mom say in a hushed tone. “He’s just having a bad day. That’s all.”

“He’s twenty-five,” said Greer.

“Twenty-four,” corrected Mom—as if that made a difference.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got up and wiped my sleeves all over my snotty face and went over to where Greer was standing in the doorway, and then I said something that made me feel even more seven than anything:

“Mom…please. I wanna go home.”

And then that had to become a whole thing. We had taken the speeder to the office together. She wouldn’t let me take the speeder home. She wouldn’t let me call a taxi. She wouldn’t let me take the airbus. She wanted to have Dad come and pick me up.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Greer mumbled—but I think I was the only one who heard that part, ‘cause I was standing right next to her. “Don’t bother your husband, Leia. Just send Korrie out to pick up some caf, and have her take Ben home on the way.”

Korrie looked up, her eyes wide, and I wanted to die. Korrie generally acts like she’s afraid of me (hopefully it’s just because she’s seventeen and shy, and not because I’m actually scary to her). Having her drive me home would have been torture.

As for Greer—she seemed to have already been tortured herself. She is always defending the nasty watered-down caf they keep in the office, because it’s “economical.” Sending the intern out to go pick up lattes was basically her 11 AM version of saying “I need a beer.”

“Oh—that’s not a bad idea,” Mom murmured.

“Thank you,” muttered Greer—right before Mom turned to her, and said:

“Greer, can you take him?”

Greer frowned. “I thought you were going to send Korrie.”

“I’d feel better if you took him home,” said Mom, turning back to her datapad.

“Leia…please,” Greer protested. “I have work to do.”

“Then you should hurry up and get my son home, so you can get back to it,” said Mom. “And I’ll have a dark mocha espresso. Please and thank you.”

Greer was not pleased to be my chauffeur. She stared straight ahead as she took me home, and did not initiate conversation with me.

“…I didn’t ask for this, you know,” I told her sullenly. “I don’t like that she does this any more than you do.”

“You could advocate for yourself a bit more,” Greer replied coldly. I glared at her.

“Are you kidding me?” I snapped. “Did you not hear me arguing with her?”

“I did,” said Greer stiffly. “I said you need to advocate, not argue. Leia doesn’t respond to arguments, Ben. She responds to appeals and attestations. If you want her to treat you like an adult, you can start by acting like one.”

“I didn’t have a meltdown on purpose, Greer. I hope you don’t think I did all that just for fun. I…I have anxiety.”

“A lot of people have anxiety,” Greer said. “And they learn to manage it.”

Well. That was Greer for you. I decided to change the subject.

“You know how my mom is, though,” I said bitterly. “When she’s dead-set on something, you just can’t talk to her. There’s no point.”

“Yes, you can,” Greer replied matter-of-factly. “I do it all the time.”

I looked at her. “Really?”

Greer nodded. “That’s why Leia made me her chief of staff. She knows I’m willing to disagree with her, and that I’m not afraid to speak my mind. You know she has an authoritative presence. She needs someone like me: loyal to the end, but always ready to push back on her when she’s being a little too…well, Leia Organa.”

“Maybe you should tell her that she doesn’t need to treat me like a baby,” I said. “She won’t listen to me. But maybe she’d listen to you.”

Greer gave a little cough of disdain and shook her head. “That is above my pay grade, Ben Solo. I manage your mother’s political career. I do not interfere in your family’s personal life. Which is why I really shouldn’t be driving you home in the middle of my workday…but, I do what Leia asks of me, when it comes down to it—and that’s the other reason I’m her chief of staff.”

“Fair enough,” I sighed.

Greer dropped me off at home. And then half an hour later, Dad came home, too, and said that Mom had messaged him and told him to come home and stay with me. Talk about embarrassing. Dad left me alone most of the time, just came over to check on me a couple of times during the day…but, I felt so humiliated. Like I needed a babysitter.

When Mom finally got back from work, she wanted to talk to me, but I told her I needed some time, and that we could talk tomorrow. I’ll let you imagine how that went over…but, she finally conceded. Then I went into my bedroom, and flopped onto the bed (but kept the door open, because Mom prefers that)…and that’s where I’ve been for the past couple hours.

Geez. How did today get so awful? This morning didn’t feel that bad. All I wanted was a chill day by myself. But somehow, that simple little desire, which should be, like, a normal and fine thing for a guy to want sometimes…became…all of this.

The more I thought about it, the more depressed I got. A year ago I had my own apartment, my own job and income, and I took care of myself. I could decide how to spend my evenings and weekends, and I could go wherever I wanted, and do whatever I wanted to do.

Six months ago, I even had a girlfriend. And for as briefly as that lasted—I just can’t imagine the possibility of anyone wanting me now.

This is all Snoke’s fault. Even if I had been honest with my mom right away about, y’know, Ol’ Raisin-Face showing up—I still would’ve wound up here.

…Maybe this was what he wanted all along. Maybe he’s just waiting for me to lose it completely.

Well.

…It’s working.

[blogjhm]

Here's a updated version of all these kid characters who love each other. (Some of them BTW.)

[panamabarcade]

Problem Child filled theaters with laughter today in 1990.

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

AC/DC - Problem Child

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

I am a PRO™️!

Pro-crastinator

Pro-blem child

Pro-bably annoying to everyone around me

Pro-ffesional at being meaningless

Pro-m queen in my dreams lmfao

Repost if you, too, are a PRO™️!

[alley-cats-arts]

Gots a certain meow meow on the mind