Kittens galore
A stray cat that Magnus feeds often, keeps on managing to get into his bedroom whenever she is pregnant to have her litter on Magnus' bed.
And then leave him with her kittens as soon as they don't need her milk anymore.
She does this every year.
Magnus will get her to a vet and have her neutered one day. He swears.
Even his apartment isn't big enough to keep all the kittens. So he has to keep finding good homes for them. And it's hard to say goodbye to the little fluffballs all the time, okay?
(At least he can visit the ones he browbeat Catarina, Ragnor, Raphael and Maya into adopting.)
He is a little less irate with the little hussy cat that keeps getting pregnant and leaving him in care of her brood, when he gets to know the Lightwoods due to the kittens.
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It's so interesting how submissive House is to Wilson. In basically every scene where Wilson gives his 2 cents about a case, House without fail (for the most part) follows his opinion. Wilson gives him unsolicited advice and half the time he listens without saying anything, and the other half he argues but ends up listening to him anyway. House starts psychoanalysing Wilson and Wilson does it right back to him and House shuts the fuck up or gives a one line quip back at him (to have the last line) but knows deep down Wilson is right.
For a man of House's stature and how he interacts with Literally Everyone Else, the writers really hammer it into your soul that House only really listens to Wilson and no one else
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Prompt 327
You know what could be fun? In a slightly traumatic and horrible way? Crossover with JJ Tim.
See he can’t stop the giggles, the laughs that are borderline hysterical as he holds himself in some mimicry of a hug. His fingers twitch like his mouth that’s smiling smiling smiling- electrocution is a horrible sensation that has many long-term effects.
But there’s another child here- a pair of them, with almost theater-esque masks and claws that tap tap tap at the cold floors as they creep closer with a near air of curiosity. They’re cloaked in red and black and something about it is familiar but he can’t focus, he can’t stop laughing-
“Well Jr-” the voice causes him to flinch, the sense of danger screaming in his head as a hand gives a too hard slap to the back. Joker Joker Joker Danger No No No Not Again- “Meet your siblings, aren’t they adorable~”
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I always think it's a little surprising, irritating, endearing, something when big, tough men find solace in being gentle with their daughters.
There's reason to do tough things with them, too, to make sure they grow up strong and independent, but I think of a man like Simon "Ghost" Riley, who spent a huge percentage of his life being beaten down consistently by almost all the men who were around him.
And sure, he trusts the men in his task force with his life now, no question about it, but... I think the sudden calm he experiences when he starts to raise a daughter is beyond strange for him, but also weirdly... healing, too. Enjoyable.
That's not to say he doesn't, and hasn't, enjoyed the boyish things in life, the watching sports, the playing in the dirt, the pretending to hold guns part of growing up... but he finds himself sitting through your daughter's ballet class, overwhelmed by the calm that surrounds him, actually able to focus on the intensity of her pliers, her releves, the way her pink skirt ripples when she leaps into a sauter.
It's a new realization, a new kind of war (between him and learning how to be a parent), but it's one that doesn't revolve around the consistent anxiety that warps his stomach when he watches boys, little or not, teeter the line between roughhousing and fighting, picking on one another for shedding accidental tears that, really, cause no harm.
With your daughter, he's set in charge of watching her play with her friends and finds there is no lump in his stomach when she giggles with them, no dark possibility drifting in the back of his mind that she'll reach out and get her arm broken by someone she trusts--the fights she fights with her peers all between the characters they play and not between their fists, their games of laughter and drama and screaming but not of raging violence.
There's people who ask him, people who joke, wouldn't a man like him prefer a son? He must've been so disappointed... Yet, Simon still has yet to think of the best way to tell them that he honestly enjoys having a daughter a little bit more, that she runs to him and not for a second is he afraid she's hiding a snake up her sleeve, because she's only ever greeted him with flowers.
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