#the night came ALIVE

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 333

I once more believe Battinson Batman needs to be given a child. Or multiple. Multiple children. I am also once more rotating Ghosts Have Wings Au. 

So Batman, still early in his whole vigilante career ends up busting a shipment, nothing too surprising there. Pretty usual honestly. Except for what was in one of the crates already open. Because it looks like some sort of gemstones but… perfectly spherical. Strange. Suspicious. 

But it’s also late, er, early in the morning, and the GCPD is notoriously corrupt, so like, he’s not going to just leave the weird gemstones, each about the size of a plum or so. (Dear Gotham he’s apparently hungry, and might inwardly vow to never let anyone realize what his tired mind decided to use as measurement) 

So he, unknowingly spurred on by more than just a slight bit of ecto contamination, takes the strange spheres back home. Just puts them in his pockets and heads back to the manor that they moved back into after the whole Riddler mess. (He even found a cool cave! With a bunch of terrifying bats, but they made a glass separator! For safety!) 

But in Bruce’s defense of forgetting about them, he’s more than a little tired and hungry and just wants to sleep for a bit, y’know? So maybe he forgets about the gems as he falls asleep in the chair in the cave (Alfred was not pleased!) until he starts digging around for them. Erm. Did they fall out somewhere?? There’s no holes in his belt pockets… 

And maybe these sort of things shouldn’t slip his mind, the spheres had felt Weird with a capital W, but he gets forced to a circus and there’s an… accident. So maybe he pushed it away as not important because there’s now an angry grieving eight-year old living with him and he’s panickedly reading any and all sort of parenting books he can get a hold of because he has no clue what he’s doing. 

Yeah, maybe his back is itching like crazy no matter what he tries, and maybe he threw up the other day, but it’s fine. This is fine. 

….

Oh dear Gotham those are feathers, this is not fine- ALFREEED!

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[seoafin]

hi

wc: 3.7k

(cw: oc!children, rampant vile misogyny, stsg as dads!!!!!)

Nagi is ridiculously bored. She wishes Satoru and Suguru would hurry up already, and stifles the urge to look at her wrist and the watch that isn’t there. Riko on her left, looks similarly dissatisfied, ready to give the two a tongue lashing when they come to collect them. Hiroto is content to look out the window and stare at the leaves falling from a tree like the boring person he is, but she isn’t. The three of them sit in silence, unwilling to talk to each other where they could easily be overheard. 

Her first instinct upon being asked to accompany her fathers to some higher up’s house had been a resounding no, but you had overheard. Or maybe it had been intentional on Satoru's conniving part. You smiled and told them they should make friends. Satoru grinned, sensing weakness, and well, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your mother, would you now?

Useless, mundane chatter fills the room. Out of the corner of Nagi’s eye, she catches a boy looking at her. She slowly turns her head, lets her lips lift in a coy smile, and takes some satisfaction in how red he gets before he quickly looks away. Like a tomato.

Nobody talks to them. Nagi can see the girls huddled together in groups, their gazes periodically turning to Hiro every couple of minutes. Hushed whispers. Stare. Giggles. Like a clockwork. The boys are similarly huddled into groups talking about what she assumes to be politics. Nagi cannot recall any names. She does not know these people and she does not care about these people.

There’s a boy in the corner, surrounded by a gaggle of girls and boys. The haughty look plastered to his ugly face had Nagi immediately despising him on principle. The type to take excessive interest in the bloodlines of those he surrounds himself with. He’s been glancing at them, from Riko, to Hiro, to her.

Exhaling, she turns to her sister, about to ask her to accompany her to the garden. Nagi does not particularly feel bad leaving Hiro to the wolves. She feels more bad for the girls than Hiro.

“How many siblings do you have again?” The boy calls, just as Nagi is about to open her mouth.

Nothing gets Hiro’s attention quicker than the mention of Tsuki or Suzu. Except the boy does not look particularly inclined to talk about the dragon drawing Suzu had given Hiro the other day, to which Satoru had tearfully asked her, what about me!? Papa wants a drawing too!

Hiro’s cool gaze rakes over the group. The snickers die out immediately. Some nervously shuffle. Riko doesn’t even bother to give them her attention, staring at the wall.

When it’s clear nobody is going to answer him, momentum lost, anger cracks open his face.

“Tell me,” he says, louder, ignoring the nervous looks given to him. “Who are the men your whore mother opened her legs up for two more times?” Miraculously emboldened, a crass look crosses his face. “Does she take appointments?”

The room goes silent.

Riko freezes. The slow turn on her head forewarns a storm. Her gaze is chilly, blue eyes crystal clear in their divine judgment. “What did you just say?” 

Her fists are white with anger. The air sparks with the billowing cursed energy.

Nagi’s eyes catch on the glinting hair ornament in Riko’s tied hair (a present from Suguru), and idly wonders how easy it would be to stab the boy to death with it. Her own mounting anger is nearing a simmering boiling, despite the apathy of her face. Hiroto is ominously blank faced. 

The boy puffs up his chest, despite the danger gathering around Riko. He can’t yet fathom what Riko will do to him. “Haven’t you heard?” He mocks. “Your mother’s nothing but a cheap whore—”

Whore, whore, whore, whore. She thinks. Mama’s always the whore in these stories. 

Nagi hears the sick crunch of bones, eyes easily following the blinking movement of Hiroto’s body. Limitless. Because in the next second, blood is splattered across the floor and Hiroto’s fists are coming down heavily on the boy’s face. 

Girls scream. People scatter in a shuffle. Nagi stares.

Hiroto isn’t the violent type. Or the angry type. Hiroto is rarely moved in general—

But he loves his mother. They all do. 

In the end it’s Riko who pulls Hiroto back. Hiroto, who has never been one to be provoked so easily. That odd twin-sense-thing they’re prone to doing where they barely have to speak. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, but instead easily stands as if he had merely been picking something that dropped to the floor. Blood stains his fists, dripping onto the tatami flooring. Hiroto looks down at the boy, at the mess of his disfigured face. There are specks of blood on his face, his white hair, and nobody says a single thing.

Riko and Hiroto, the firstborn twins of Gojo Satoru. Nagi thinks that even though Riko inherited the most from their father, all of them only see Satoru in Hiroto. None of them were all that much welcome in the Gojo Clan, least of all her, the firstborn daughter of Geto Suguru, but for Hiroto they made allowances. The son that looked an exact replica of the boy-God they spoiled and coddled.

If only Hiroto cared about any of it.

The boy’s face is nearly disfigured, swollen with blood and bruises. Hiro isn’t even breathing heavily. A wheeze leaves the boy’s mouth. He got what he deserved, Nagi thinks, leaning down to examine him, careful not to get blood on the kimono her fathers had picked out for her. Satoru had been grinning so widely the other day, holding the kimono open and spinning around like a fool while Riko threw bird seeds at him.

Her long black hair brushes his face, the floor, but Nagi doesn’t mind the blood. 

“Don’t you ever call my mother a whore again,” she states calmly, staring down at the boy through the puffy slits of his eyes. Behind her, cracks fracture the air, like glass splintering. A long clawed hand creeps out of the tear. A single wide eye encompasses her back. “Next time, I’ll cut your tongue out, and leave the rest of you to my curses.”

Riko snorts. “Don’t think that matters. It’s not like he’ll be using his tongue any time soon,” she says cruelly.

Hiroto looks on dispassionately.

The door slides open with a slam. Men rush into the room, including their fathers. Her father is immediately at Hiroto’s side, hands grasping her brother’s fists. Her other father raises an eyebrow at the sight.

A man gasps, running to the bloodied boy. “Akito! Akito!” He cries. 

So that’s his name.

A man turns to them. “Just what is going on here!?”

“Oh dear,” Satoru sighs, intrinsically unbothered. “Your mother isn’t going to be happy.”

——

Her mother is a frightening vision when upset.

“What were the three of you thinking?”

The three of them stand across from her in the wide living room of their home. You stare them down, demanding them to speak. “You could’ve killed that poor boy!”

Nobody speaks. You look devastated, and Nagi’s stomach turns at the sight. Riko and Hiroto are also similarly looking green in the face. But Hiro is sweating, wetness gathering at his temples. He’ll be the first to crack, she knows it. Hiro’s never been good at being at the receiving end of your disappointment. A mama’s boy, through and through.

You’ve never been one to raise your voice. Growing up, discipline had mostly come in the form of a curt tone or a gut wrenching disappointed look. Or silence. Despite what people think, and Nagi knows that too many people think about her family, disciplinary measures in the family have always fallen on you. Riko often disregards Satoru’s ire, shrugging it off like second skin. Suguru doesn’t even try, either too doting or too amused. Your opinion has always mattered the most to Hiro, and everyone knows it. Nagi plays the dutiful daughter, but it’s you she’s always listened to above all else. Satoru and Suguru give good advice at times, sure, but that doesn’t always mean they always know best.

The silence is the worst, that, they can all collectively agree on. The instances when you can’t even formulate the words to your anger because you’re too busy internalizing their behavior. It’s your fault. Your inability to parent. All your vulnerabilities rising to the surface. 

The car ride had been silent. When Satoru cheerfully asked how your day was, you had given him such a cold, furious look that he had meekly closed his mouth and spent the rest of the ride meditating. Even Suguru couldn't help him out of that one. It was only their Aunt Shoko’s presence in the car that had given you some semblance of peace.

Upon reaching home, the two of them had immediately bounded for Suzu’s room, eager to see their youngest, and tuck her close to their sides.

Cowards.

“What do you three have to say for yourselves?” Your voice turns sharp. “Is this how I raised you?” You turn to Hiroto. “I thought you were better than this. All of you.”

Nagi’s aunt puts an arm on your shoulder. Riko and Hiro straighten. Aunt Shoko to the rescue! “I’m sure they had their reasons.” She eyes them. “They’re smart kids.”

Riko hides her smile.

You frown. “Shoko, this really isn’t the time to be taking their side. That boy’s face—”

“—is all better now,” she says calmly. A touch of her hand, and the boy’s breathing had evened out, much to the relief of his father. “It’s like nothing ever happened.”

No permanent disfigurement. But he’ll remember, and for now, that’s enough.

You remain unconvinced. You turn away from them and close your eyes.

Her Aunt Shoko gives them an I tried shrug. She gives you a brief hug. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Be good,” Shoko says to the three of them, smiling as if she hadn’t been the one to tell them: ask your mother for forgiveness, not permission.

And with that cheerful nonchalance, their only chance at salvation strolls out the house.

You look at the three of them, gaze decidedly less severe, and exhale. The set of your shoulders make you seem older. It’s an odd contrast. Suguru and Satoru seem to get younger as the years pass, but you’ve always taken on worries too easily. Fragile in a way the three of them always understood, even as children. A shaky mirage in your ever encompassing sadness.

Your mother’s different, Satoru said to Nagi once, when the two of them had been walking home from her ice skating lessons. You had spent the day, listless in bed, Hiro curled up at your side, ever faithful. Suguru had grasped your hand, stroked your face with another, and given you a kiss on the head before making breakfast. She gets lost sometimes. People are meant to overcome their pasts, but some never leave it. You’ve always treaded that line precariously, much to Satoru and Suguru’s constant worry.

“I don’t—” you break off, biting your lip. Gone is the momentary anger, replaced by a deep sadness weighing in your eyes. “Not on my behalf. It’s not worth the trouble. I don’t want you, any of you, to get hurt.”

Hiro bristles, all righteous anger. “If they have something to say about you, they can say it to my face.”

At the same time, Riko surges forward. “They’re—”

“No,” you cut her off, looking right into Riko’s eyes. Then Hiro’s. Then Nagi’s. “No.”

Protests immediately burst from Hiro and Riko, but you’re looking at her.

Nagi meets her mother’s gaze, and nods.

You soften. There’s a history there, in her mother’s eyes, and she knows Hiro and Riko are too impassioned to see it. People will say what they say, even with the threat of her fathers bearing down on them. Entrenched tradition and prejudices making tongues loose, even at the risk of dismemberment.

You are a whore, a seductress, a vile wench who doesn’t know her place. A promiscuous, morally loose woman who can’t stop getting pregnant despite the fact that men are expected to have broods of children with different women. Had Satoru done his duty and taken a high ranking wife, Jujutsu society would have been better off, blessed even. Suguru was inevitable. Even the higher ups held their tongues at what was the most unorthodox relationship to have graced Jujutsu society, appeased only by brute strength. If marriage was out of the equation, then at least a mistress of their choosing, paving the way for children they could mold to their liking.

In no satisfactory outcomes are you kept within the bounds of that equation.

When Nagi was nine, a similarly aged son of an honored guest from Okinawa had told her his father was looking for a whore, and someone had pointed him her mother’s way. Riko had been outside climbing trees. Hiro, glued to your side. Then he proclaimed his intentions to marry her, despite her whore mother’s blood. Nagi never saw the man or his son after that meeting. People were suspiciously quiet in the aftermath. You never made appearances in high society as often after, and you were happier for it. And if you were happy, then everyone was happy.

Footsteps from the corridor. Nagi’s younger brother skids into the living room, football jersey still plastered on his back. He looks wildly at the scene before him, and grins.

“Oh, you guys are in troubleeeeeeee.”

Riko rolls her eyes, folding her arms. Tsuki sticks out his tongue.

You beckon to Tsuki, and he wraps his arms around you, face nuzzling into your side. “You need to take a shower,” you reprimand lightly. “What did I say about leaving your dirty soccer cleats in the genkan?”

Tsuki pulls himself away. “Yes, mama,” he replies obediently, looking thoughtful. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving! Is Papa cooking tonight? When are Mimi-nee and Nana-nee visiting again? Megumi-nii said he’s coming over soon. Did you invite him tonight? Is he bringing his girlfriend this time? Satoru says Megumi-nii doesn’t actually have a girlfriend and he’s lying because he’s hopeless at love. Have you met her?”

He pauses. Looks to his three older siblings. “Have you guys met her?” Then he blinks, the shade of his eyes, peculiar in their color. “Why is everyone in trouble again? Satoru and Papa won’t say anything.”

Tsuki’s brand of hyperactive questioning is nothing new. Questions since he could speak, you reminisce fondly. 

You laugh, the sound a relief, wiping a grass stain off Tsuki’s face with your thumb. Riko opens her mouth, then closes it.

Hiro sighs. “Katsu. Yes. Next Thursday. Yes. Don’t know. Yes.”

Tsuki brightens at the information. Before he can respond, you pat his cheek. “Go take a shower,” you say lightly, smile growing on your face. Maybe they’ll make it out of this one thanks to Tsuki’s timely intervention. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Fine,” he chirps. Approaching Nagi, he smiles, her kid brother, still all gawky limbs and uneven teeth. “You look really nice Nagi-nee. It’s nice to see one girl in this family who cares about dressing up.”

“Ex-cuse me?” Riko squawks.

Hiro chuckles, before an elbow lands itself in his gut. Nagi can’t resist a smile. There’s no underlying jab in the statement, just a plaintive truth most children grow out of. Except Tsuki never had. Nagi thinks it’ll either make his life very easy, or very hard.

She ruffles his hair. “Mama’s right.” She holds her nose. “You stink. You’ll wake up Suzu with that smell of yours.” If Satoru and Suguru haven’t already.

Tsuki lifts his arm to his nose and makes an affirmative noise, nose scrunching. “Tell Suguru I could eat enough for three!” 

Riko snorts. “You pregnant?”

Tsuki frowns in mock-disapproval, holding his hands protectively to his stomach. “I could be,” he says seriously. It’s the last thing he says before hoisting his gym bag on his shoulder and scrambling off to his room in search of his shower.

You sigh, the fight in you long gone. You turn to the three of them, gaze unreadable. In a way, Nagi thinks you are even more indecipherable than Satoru and Suguru. The two of them have never been unfaltering or uncompromising in their wants. In many aspects the two of them are open books people refuse to read. You on the other hand. 

Everything Nagi knows about you is from Suguru and Satoru. 

“I love you three,” you say quietly. “There are better things, better causes to fight for. Just remember that.”

It’s plain on their faces that Hiro and Riko want to argue. Hiro’s gaze flickers to her’s, just for a second, and Nagi shakes her head. Hiro glares at the floor.

“Now,” you say, clearly ready to be done with this once and for all. You smile. “Get ready for dinner, okay?”

——

“You know,” Satoru starts in that deceptively light tone that tells Nagi she should prepare herself for whatever words proceed next from his mouth, “Your mother never wanted children.”

Nagi stares at him.

The seconds pass, and Satoru sighs happily, unfazed. “You really look just like your mother when you do that.” He slips the sunglasses from his face, and places it on the floor of the engawa, fingers grasping at his temples.

Nagi stares at him.

Satoru’s smile touches his eyes, bright in their joy. It’s hard to reconcile this silly go happy fool with the stories, all the myths uttered in whispered awe, but this myth is a reality. Her (unfortunate) reality.

“When your mother was pregnant with the twins, it was really hard for her.” Satoru unfurls his limbs in all their grace, getting comfortable. The evening summer air feels nice on her skin. She watches the leaves of the trees in the large yard flutter. Nagi wonders if the convenience store near the house is still open. She’s craving melon ice cream.

She’s curious though. You’ve never made any mention of this. You wouldn’t. And Satoru doesn’t lie. Especially not when it comes to you. Hiro thinks you’ve compartmentalized your life into before and after, at least that’s his theory.

She stays silent, urging Satoru with narrowed eyes to continue.

“It was so difficult to get your mother to settle,” Satoru sighs in a woe-is-me manner. He grins, sharp. Nagi almost does a double take to make sure it isn’t actually Hiro in front of her. “Then she was pregnant.”

Nagi makes a face. She really doesn’t need a play by play about how her kind, beloved, mother had been essentially baby trapped into marriage. She knows. Riko and Hiro know. All the pointed remarks about babies and pregnancies. Satoru had brought up vow renewals the other day, and Suguru, an all too casual comment about Suzu growing up. Nagi inwardly retches.

“The point being?” Nagi asks coolly.

The amusement falls from Satoru’s face, so easily, Nagi stills at the sudden appearance of Satoru’s grave expression. “She was terrified because she didn’t want them to inherit anything of her’s.”

The gravity of the moment fades, as Satoru’s face regains his usual liveliness, just enough to inject levity into the atmosphere. “Thank god they inherited my looks,” Satoru says, much more cheerily. He twirls his index finger. “Your mother would’ve gone down a dark, dark hole had they looked anything like her.”

Nagi isn’t sure what to say. You’ve never once treated Suzu with anything but the careful consideration that is your love. She can’t imagine you casting your gaze away from the youngest. From her, from Riko or Hiro. You love them with everything. You would die and kill for each and everyone of them. That’s undeniable.

But Suzu especially. Her younger sister who just lost a tooth. Suzu likes fairy tales with princesses and princes, a dreamer at heart who will grow up wanting for nothing. Nagi can already see that. Satoru and Suguru’s favorite. The apple of their eye. Doted on by the entire family. Hiro already frets about what people will say when they see her, the child that takes after you the most. Suguru and Satoru have never taken her to see Satoru’s family. Or anyone really. To Suzu, jujutsu sorcery is a fun family secret to keep hidden from people that aren't her family. 

“Mama loves Suzu,” Nagi says confidently. 

Satoru’s features go soft. “Of course she does. She could never hate any of you. Never in a million years.”

He goes silent, and she can’t help but think it’s rare to see her father so deep in thought, without his characteristic flamboyance. 

Nagi doesn’t realize Satoru is gazing at her until she catches his eye. The look on his face is so fond, the glint of his eyes, proud, that she can’t even find it in herself to be exasperated. She can confidently say she’s never grown up without love. For all that Satoru and Suguru exasperate her, she is fortunate to have not one, but two fathers who love her. Satoru’s unwavering faith. Suguru’s steadying hand on her back.

“Everything good about you comes from your mother.”

And Suguru would agree is the unsaid statement.

Nagi meets her father’s gaze evenly, easily. 

There are many things to be said of Gojo Satoru. People cower and curse and worship. But if anything can be said of Satoru as a parent, a father, let it be this: his children have never known fear in his presence.

Not everything, Nagi thinks. But that’s neither here nor now.

“I know.”

——

extra:

“You two should’ve taken a mistress,” Nagi says, later. She’s only half joking.

The two of them are spread out on the engawa, soaking in the remnants of the summer sunset, watermelon seeds on their tongues. In three minutes, Suzu will join them, excitedly jumping into Satoru’s open arms while he peppers her with kisses as she beams. Tsuki will join them next, clutching a football in his arms, Riko following soon after. Then Suguru, you, and Hiro. Everyone will pretend to be interested in and listen to Suzu point out shapes in the cloud and fabricate inception stories, except Satoru and Suguru won’t actually have to pretend. You will stop Satoru from doing stupid like letting Suzu’s whims dictate what shape he should change a cloud into, and confusing meteorologists for the next week or so. And Suguru will rectify Suzu’s pout with a curse that changes shape into anything she wants. 

Her father frowns, looking more disgruntled than she’s ever seen him. “Suguru and I have enough competition!”

[masschase]

i've been thinking about SR1 a lot recently

[aroace-in-a-clowncar]

You know when you’re clocked in but you’re not really working? Yeah…. Mike should probably be working

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Why oh why are furbies back?!!!

And why has no one made a furby horror movie - they are so creepy they’d make a perfect horror villain- possessed and mind controlling kids and then adults!!!

[nico-di-genova]

How to stop sobbing in my bed at 10 at night because the weekend is really over and I really don’t get to stay at the track forever. Motorsports has been such a safe home for me. I need a job doing what I love desperately.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

reason 6436807437 why i adore Jedi Fallen Order:

Cere says she believes rebuilding the jedi order is the best chance they have for defeating the empire, then asks what does Cal believe in. Cal gives a noncommittal answer, "i believe i can't hide from the empire anymore so i have no choice." And then Cere comes for his ass.

"For as long as you're alive, you always have a choice. Are you with us?"

Like, the amount of agency and self-responsibility and hope this fucking story injects into you. Cere directly asks not for Cal's mere participation, but for his resounding, deliberate choice and commitment. "choose this path or dont; life does not happen to you, you're not a victim of your circumstances. However small, however delicate, choose something and bring your devotion." Like, Cal is just a child at the beginning of the story, 17 is really not the most formidable age you'll experience in your life, but 3 seconds in and he goes "i'm getting swept along by this story" and Cere says "no, you live it. Commit to something or you'll have lived and died for nothing."

[olliesxcorner]

gasp omg im should redraw rhis

[transingthoseformers]

I have some ideas for the Bad Ending last night here

Considering an idea where drift contemplates his history as a sex worker and ultimately has more positive experiences and associations with it than not, and in the end we see this is the BE and he's seriously contemplating going back into the job, after all he made a promise he wouldn't go back to mercenary work

Not because he needs the money, but because he needs something to do after Ratchet's funeral and Rodimus has more or less weaned off associating with the rest of the "rod squad" since Megatron's verdict, Drift worries about Rodimus but they'll meet again one day in a better context, perhaps in an alcohol-free club that doesn't serve intoxicating drinks but good music and all sorts of energon.

I don't think he changes his name back to Deadlock, but he might choose an entirely different and new name (WindDrift? Dancer? Wind dancer? Maybe it's an alias for the job? I like Dancer as his job name but not as his name-name)

Rodimus primarily starts going by Roddie

Whirl, Cyclonus, and Tailgate are in a pretty good relationship with two kids Lug and Anode are raising one with another on the way, with them working part time at a museum and Anode babysitting on occasion.

Maybe Swerve owns the club with an oc or two ... Chromedome via Rewind remembers Rung.

All in all a very bittersweet glimpse into the After.

[maple-leifarts]

does anyone. does anyone listen to half alive

[emmavakarian-theirin]

ISOLDE.

[canisbeasts-ooc]

I need to post more about the critetrs

I think, on some level, Sphinx has always been a bit isolated. While Lykoii started a little isolated but quickly found community in the clurch, only to have it ripped from him when he fled, Sphinx, I think, has always been someone alone.

Yes, she has her peers and coworkers, a busy life filled with a job she enjoys, but she never truly gets more than surface deep with most anyone. She doesn’t realize how little she had until that little bit slowly fizzles out. Once in near complete isolation on her own planet, before she discovers the consorts or Lavendersprite comes back from exploring, she’s left to grapple with the fact that she’s alone. Her lusus is not there, not only just physically gone, but soon that looming pressure and expectation is dissolved. This does not help Sphinx’s loneliness.

She comes to the slow realization that she doesn’t have much to her, she is isolated and doesn’t know who she is, mostly in part due to trying to live up to her lusus’ expectations for so long. Something about inheriting that space and longing. Something about not realizing it until it’s already there and has to be dealt with.

[cuteniaarts]

Wine stains on porcelain

(Alternatively: @katkastrofa and I have created 5 OCs in 3 days and I suffer from chronic “I wanna draw the little guysssssss” disease)

[akascow]

who do i have to kill to get my goddamn hands on a g3 abbey doll at its retail price what the fuck

im more confused than anything because the release dates i find keep changing (june 23 to july 23 to august 23)

but also some people have it in hand or some people are already selling for double the price but also local stores or anything online just arent available

so im just like🧍🏻‍♀️ what is happening

what am i missing lmfao

[petalsfordany]