#a literal tantrum. like a five year old

[boldlychristina]

im gonna be real with you chat, it has been very hard to attempt to quell my "irrational" thoughts when the universe seems intent on proving them right

[the-music-maniac]

I don't know how I got sucked into Slugterra lore considering I haven't watched this show since I was 13 but it's 4 am and ???????????????????????

What I wasn't prepared to learn - at the ripe age of 22, is that apparently JUNJIE IS CANONICALLY QUEER?????

AM I BEING LIED TO, WHERE WAS THIS IN THE SHOW, HELP???????

For some context, the only reason I learned this was cause I randomly stumbled onto some Slugterra shipping discourse on tiktok - long story do not ask - and it was like oh god you can't ship Eli with Junjie, Junjie is THIRTY FIVE - and number 1. I did not realize people shipped characters in Slugterra bc last time I was aware of this show I was 13 and stupider than most and 2. THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE'S 35????? HE DID NOT LOOK LIKE A 35 YEAR OLD, but if he is Dear Lord 3. and then I GOOGLED IT and y'all gave me a heart attack, I think Junjie is still 15, I'm SORRY but if you get mind controlled for 20 years at the age of 15, and then have no memories of those 20 years, and your body also didn't age during the 20 years you were mind controlled, functionally, you're probably a 15 year old that got yoinked 20 years into the future??? Poor kid. NONE OF THAT MATTERS, WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUNJIE IS QUEER THO

[globaloppaaa]

Hey! Can you please do "babysitting with zb1"?

i love this idea!! got started on it as soon as you sent it! thank you for requesting bb, and as always if anyone wants to request more my inbox is currently open! might need some time as school is beginning for me again.

w/a: literally the smallest hint of suggestive theme of u squint to the point that your eyes are just closed.

for hanbin, I don’t wanna say that this man has no flaws… but he really knows how to take care of younger siblings so any child is no problem at all. Heck, he’s probably taking care of you too. He’s got a lot of experience with taking care of others that it comes like second nature to him. Leaves you little notes of encouragement around the house when things start to get too stressful :))

jiwoong is doing your job for you at this point lol. Probably the most calm when one child throws a bit of a temper tantrum. His soft voice when he communicates to them can naturally bring a smile right back to their face. I feel like taking care of younger siblings pose no challenge to him whatsoever, I mean they’re just like mini versions of you two! Maybe he’s starting to get his head stuck in the clouds with the whole “mini you” idea…

If you’ve seen zb1 taking care of those twins on youtube you know well that hao does NOT know how to take care of children well. you’re lowkey 🤏 close to kicking him out with the way he talks back to the kid as if they’re both five years old. however watching the way you’re able to calm the child down really takes him by surprise, and he finds himself more willing to learn how you take care of them so well, while ultimately keeping both him and the kids under control too.

matthew tries so hard to be the best good cop of a babysitter he can be, though sometimes he forgets that bounderies and lessons do need to be learned! is the kind of babysitter that melts at the sight of the child’s puppy eyes and gives in to whatever scheming they may have up their sleeve. next thing you know there’s paint splattered on every surface but the ones paint is supposed to be on. “how could i resist?!” he says, giving u a pout while he attempts to remove the smear on his cheek, and honestly it’s hard for you to resist when he looks at you that way too.

you can bet taerae is singing those kids one hell’ of a lullaby every night WHEWWW. We all know how soothing his voice is, perfect for stormy nights or when’s there’s still a bit too much excitement past curfew. He’s definitely more of a practical kind of babysitter if that makes sense though. “Why do they play with rocks and twigs when the big screen tv is right there?” 🙄🤷🏻 Kinda guy. I will say that you and taerae are especially good keeping kids entertained. They adore his energy and humor and all the little skits he’ll put on. Babysitting with him leaves everyone smiling.

ricky is so elegant with it 😭😭 I don’t think you’ve ever heard him raise his voice because the children just obey without question. It’s almost strange lol. You two work as a great team! You make up the rules (because he likes listening to you too ☺️) and he’s the official communicator of said rules. Babysitting never feels stressful with him. His one downfall is that he will buy the kid(s) anything at anytime, and then he’ll buy YOU anything you want at anytime. He just wants you all to be happy what can he say?

gyuvin is surprisingly very good at babysitting when given instructions, knows what food is healthy and chewable, can easily make them fall asleep at curfew, and ensure the kids always keep a smile on their face. it’s hard to believe that when you run to the store, forgetting one item that all hell breaks loose. “i don’t know what to do when you’re gone.” he winces, in what looks like the most uncomfortable pose of defeat on the floor, the children jumping atop him in victory.

gunwook For sure knows what a child’s needs are, but learns all the details and the in-betweens from you! Definitely gets affected by cuteness aggression so sometimes it can be hard for him to concentrate, and then if YOU’RE there? Great, that’s a whole other distraction he’s gotta try and fail to ignore. Gunwook makes babysitting feel like a normal part of life rather than any kind of chore or job. He’s a bit head over heels on the idea of having his own family some day, and just maybeee he’s thinking about having it with you. 🤭

yujin i’m sorry but you’re practically taking care of him too. I’m not saying this because i think he’s a “baby”, but because he’s so socially awkward with the kids he can’t even hold eye contact lmao. For example, one of them might start to throw a tantrum out of the blue, and yujin’s solution involves him standing there watching like ���🏻😟. He’ll most likely start shouting your name for assistance… he really is trying his best! I think Yujin likes to let you lead with the babysitting, while also giving him a front row seat at admiring you being so passionate about making others happy and well cared for.

[studioeisa]

hii,

for the prompt game: seungkwan + " its not like i'm in love with you or anything"

can't wait to see what you do with it !! ♡♡♡

ⵌ non-idol!seungkwan x reader. ⵌ word count: 999 ⵌ notes: alternate universe: non-idol, childhood best friends, fake dating -ish. a, i will give you the world!!! 🫰

"You've got to be kidding me."

Alas, you've known your best friend Seungkwan long enough to know that he is, in fact, not joking. You can see the familiar set of his jaw, the spark of mischief in his eyes. It's the same expression that the brunette has sported since you were children on the playground, pulling pranks on one another.

This was yet another one of the many practical jokes he wanted to pull, except you were now an accomplice instead of the victim. "Kwan," you say. Slowly, like you're explaining something to a five year old. "I'm not going to pretend to be your girlfriend just to make your ex jealous."

"Why nooot?" he whines. He's splayed out on your bed, half his body hanging out the mattress as he attempts to give you a pitiful, puppy dog-like gaze. "It's not like I'm in love with you or anything. I just need to show her what she's missing."

"By going out with the girl you told her not to worry about?" you ask wryly.

"Exactly! You got it!"

"I was being sarcastic."

Seungkwan lets out a drawn-out groan. He curls up further into your sheets, his expression contorted into one of childish petulance. It's difficult to believe that the man in front of you is twenty-something and not, in fact, a teenager who isn't getting his way.

"You're a terrible best friend," he accuses. "The absolute worst."

You would be more offended if you haven't received the brunt of Seungkwan's tantrums throughout the years. "I am," you say empathetically. "And that's why you're still here, bothering the hell out of me."

He gives you an exaggerated sniffle in return. "It'll literally be just for a day. You don't even have to say anything― just stand there and be your usual, pretty self."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Boo."

"This isn't flattery. It's a negotiation." A beat. He looks thoughtful, which is never a good sign for a conniving Seungkwan. "Okay― how about you just hold my hand?"

From where you are across the room― your computer chair, by your desk― you raise an eyebrow. "Hold your hand," you repeat.

It's not a particularly novel idea. Seungkwan was fairly tactile― prone to hugging you from behind, tugging you to and fro. Hand-holding was usually reserved for more serious moments, though, and so it feels like a bit of a travesty to imagine it being used in his little ploy.

"Just hold my hand," he prompts, scrambling to sit up. Your renewed interest in the idea seems to have given him a burst of misplaced hope. "You don't even have to― we won't even call you my girlfriend or anything. Just hold my hand for, like, an hour."

"An hour? You're greedy!"

"Alright, thirty minutes."

"Fifteen."

"Twenty-five!"

You huff out a sigh. You've never been able to deny Seungkwan, not even on your best days. "Fine. But you owe me."

You're already thinking of what you might want to cash in as the two of you roll up to your destination for the night: The dreaded high school reunion, where everyone who's anyone is gearing up to boast about their lives. Seungkwan has been single since his tumultuous relationship with She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and you can't even blame him for his petty need to prove a point.

At the door of the speakeasy, the two of you share a look.

"Ready?" he asks, holding out his hand.

With a heatless glare, you take it. Your fingers slot into the spaces between his, the same way it has a couple dozen times before this. "Twenty-five minutes," you say.

There's a hint of a smirk on your best friend's face as he pulls open the entrance for the two of you. "Don't worry," he says. "I'm already counting down in my head."

Seungkwan holds your hand as the two of you make your way to your designated table. He waves at old friends with his free hand; sometimes with your clasped hands, as if showing it off. Every so often, he'll mumble to you under his breath. Seven minutes. Thirteen minutes.

You're so caught up in the feeling of his warm palm against yours that you completely neglect one very important thing.

The dinner has started, and Seungkwan is seated at your side― your joined hands over one of his thighs― and only then do you realize. You lean in so that your mouth is by his ear, keeping your voice low amid the thrum of conversation and the faint pop music in the background. "Kwan, she's not here."

As if on instinct, Seungkwan squeezes your hand. He hums a quiet 'hm?' back, tilting his head so you can whisper a little easier.

"Your ex," you hiss. "She's not here, you idiot."

"Huh?"

Seungkwan surreptitiously glances down the table. Sure enough, the girl that had broken his heart is nowhere in sight to witness your little stunt. "Oh," he says, his tone quiet and stunned. His gaze briefly flicks to your intertwined fingers. "I didn't even notice."

Despite yourself, your heart does a little kick-flip in your chest. You clear your throat, just enough to say, "Right. Well."

"Right. I guess―" Seungkwan starts, and he makes the most half-hearted effort to disentangle from you. It's laughable.

It gives you the courage to suddenly say, "You know how you owe me?"

He pauses in the middle of pulling away. "You're cashing in already?" he inquires, that smirk from earlier making a reappearance.

"Yeah." You shift slightly, just to make sure your fingers are still snugly fit between his. With a boldness that you could applaud yourself for, you say, "I want you to hold my hand for the rest of the night, Kwan."

The smirk morphs into a smile. His fingers hold yours just a little bit tighter, because Seungkwan was never one to deny you, either. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and he makes good on that promise.

୨ৎ * GAME, SET, PLAY ! ( JEALOUSY ) DRABBLE GAME.

[hrizantemy]

I don’t know if anyone’s thought of this, but something that’s always intrigued me about A Court of Thorns and Roses is the way faeries age—and how deeply underexplored that concept is in terms of actual behavior. In Prythian, we’re told multiple times that faeries live for centuries, sometimes thousands of years, and yet, when it comes to their emotional, social, and psychological development, the series often maps mortal expectations onto them—especially regarding maturity. And that raises a lot of questions.

In human society, we have a clear (albeit socially constructed) marker for adulthood—18. In most countries, that’s the legal threshold where you’re considered mature enough to vote, join the military, sign contracts, or be held accountable under the law. But let’s be real: biologically and developmentally, most 18-year-olds are still maturing. The brain doesn’t finish developing until the mid-20s, and emotional regulation, impulse control, and long-term planning all sharpen much later. Even historically, this line was blurry. In medieval and early modern Europe, for example, girls were often married at 12 or 14, and boys were deemed men as soon as they could wield a sword or work a field. These standards weren’t based on actual maturity, but on survival, labor, and social structure. Meanwhile, in Ancient Rome or Greece, concepts of adulthood varied dramatically across gender, class, and region. What’s “adult” has never been as fixed as we like to pretend.

So how does that translate to fae?

We’re told in ACOTAR that faeries age incredibly slowly. A fae in their eighties or nineties might still be considered a child. But what does that mean in practice? What does a “childhood” that stretches over a century look like?

And more importantly—why don’t we ever see it?

The series tends to write younger fae (like the priestesses, or various High Fae we meet) with the emotional maturity of seasoned adults. Even Feyre, once she becomes fae, is immediately treated as psychologically equal to people like Rhysand, who’s literally over 500 years old. Yet logically, if an 80-year-old fae is the equivalent of, say, a 12-year-old human, then someone in their 50s or 60s should be acting like a moody tween. Immature, impulsive, maybe precocious, yes—but still fundamentally not an adult. Still learning about identity, morality, boundaries. And that opens the door for some deeply rich storytelling that just isn’t there.

I would have loved to see fae in their 50s and 60s behaving like children. Not just in an “innocent and wide-eyed” way, but in all the messy, intense, emotionally volatile ways children are. Think of a 60-year-old fae noble throwing a tantrum in court because someone slighted them. Imagine how layered a dynamic it would be if Nesta or Feyre met a fae who looked thirty but acted like a six-year-old—playful, emotional, deeply curious, easily hurt.

It’s not just about making the world feel more real—it’s about the consequences of immortality. If you live for a thousand years, then why wouldn’t a century-long adolescence exist? And how does that warp power structures, especially when you consider people like Rhysand or Cassian potentially having lovers who, in human years, are still literal children?

This kind of worldbuilding matters. It forces us to examine the ethics of power, of emotional development, of autonomy. It also invites more nuanced conversations around trauma, healing, and time. A mortal girl suffering trauma at twenty might be expected to “move on” within a few years. But for a fae, what does that look like when five years is barely a blink? Are young fae punished for childish mistakes because they “should know better,” or are they protected under fae law until their first century is complete?

Ultimately, I wish the series had leaned into this more. There’s so much potential for complexity, for culture, for age-based customs that aren’t mapped onto human standards. The real tragedy isn’t that the fae are inhuman—it’s that, too often, the narrative forgets to let them act like it.

[radioactivatedspider]

Ben vs. Pregnancy Cravings 2.0: The Twin Apocalypse

Main Masterlist The Boys Masterlist 

Previously...Pt. 3

Pairing: soldier boy x pregnant wife!reader

Genre; Humor, Domestic Fluff, Slice of Life

Warnings; Pregnancy, Mood Swings, Food Cravings, Light Swearing, Mild Chaos

Summary: Ben thought he’d survived the worst—until YN’s pregnant with twins. She’s a ticking time bomb of cravings, mood swings, and pure exhaustion. Every late meal or wrong look sends her into a tantrum.

1283 words

Ben had survived war. He had survived getting locked in an ice box for decades. He had survived backstabbing Supes, power-hungry politicians, and some of the most batshit insane fights a man could ever endure.

But nothing, nothing, had prepared him for this.

YN was pregnant. Again.

But this time? It was twins.

And two girls at that.

The moment the doctor told them, Ben had just sat there, staring at the ultrasound screen like it was a live bomb about to go off in his face.

Two. Two babies.

Which meant double the mood swings. Double the pain. Double the cravings. Double the absolute fucking madness he had barely survived the first time around.

Ben had never been scared of anything in his entire life.

Until now.

Seven months in, and YN wasn’t just a ticking time bomb—she was an apocalyptic event waiting to happen.

Everything hurt. Her back? Wrecked. Her feet? Swollen. Her boobs? Ben had walked in too many times to count and found her aggressively massaging them with a full-on scowl.

The first time, he made the mistake of opening his mouth.

"You good, sweetheart?"

YN slowly turned her head. Venom in her eyes.

"You wanna come over here and see if you’re still good when your tits feel like they’ve been put through a meat grinder?"

Ben immediately backed away.

"Right. Carry on, then."

One day, she was crying because she dropped a spoon.

The next? She was yelling at him because he walked into the room too loudly.

The next? She had full-on thrown a pillow at his head because he breathed the wrong way.

At first, Ben tried to fight back. He was a man, damn it—he wasn’t gonna take all this crazy lying down.

But then?

Then he saw the fire in her eyes.

And Ben—one of the most dangerous men alive—realized he would not survive this war.

So, he did what any man with half a brain would do.

He surrendered.

"Yes, dear."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"You’re always right, baby."

Did it kill him a little inside? Yeah.

But did it keep him from being murdered in his sleep? Also yeah.

Ben had barely survived YN’s first pregnancy cravings.

He had endured James’ ungodly five-year-old cravings that still haunted him to this day.

But this?

This was worse.

Because YN wasn’t just craving one thing at a time.

No. She craved opposites.

She wanted hot wings—but also ice cream.

She wanted pickles—but also fudge brownies.

She wanted steak—but not too chewy, not too soft, and if it was one degree off from medium rare, she was throwing it at him.

And God help him if he took too long.

One night, he walked in exactly twelve minutes after she texted him to grab food.

And the moment she saw him?

"You’re late," she growled.

Ben blinked. "Twelve minutes isn’t—"

"You know what? I don’t even want it anymore," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Now I want pancakes."

Ben clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might break a tooth.

"You said cheeseburger."

"And now I want pancakes."

Ben closed his eyes. Inhaled deep. Exhaled slow.

"Fine. I’ll get you pancakes."

"You’re such a good husband," she hummed, smiling sweetly.

Ben muttered every curse word known to man as he turned around and grabbed his keys.

One night, Ben came home to screaming.

For a second, his heart stopped. He thought something was wrong.

But no.

No, YN was on the floor, throwing a tantrum like their five-year-old because she couldn’t reach the remote.

Ben stood in the doorway, horrified.

"Sweetheart?"

YN whipped her head up, red-faced and crying. "I CAN’T MOVE!"

Ben blinked. "You—you’re literally on the floor."

"I KNOW!" she sobbed. "I tried to get the remote and I fell and now I CAN’T GET UP!"

Ben bit back a laugh—a dangerous move—but still walked over, crouching down.

"Baby, you could’ve just called me."

"I didn’t want to call you, I wanted to do it MYSELF!"

Ben sighed, scooping her up with ease. "There. Fixed it."

YN huffed, crossing her arms like a petulant child. "I hate you."

Ben kissed her forehead. "Love you too, sweetheart."

Ben thought he was safe.

He thought tonight would be the night he could finally get a full night's sleep.

He was wrong.

At 3 AM, he was jolted awake by sniffling.

He groaned, rolling over. "Sweetheart?"

YN was sobbing.

Ben immediately sat up, heart racing. "Baby? What’s wrong? Is it the twins?"

YN shook her head. "No…" she hiccupped. "I want a grilled cheese."

Ben stared at her. "You’re crying… over a grilled cheese?"

YN snapped her head toward him.

Ben immediately knew he fucked up.

"You wanna try being seven months pregnant with TWO demon babies and tell me it’s not worth crying over?!" she snarled.

Ben threw the covers off, already getting up. "I’ll make you a damn grilled cheese, baby, calm down—"

"I WANT IT NOW!"

Ben ran to the kitchen like his life depended on it.

Ben was hanging on by a thread.

And the final straw?

One afternoon, he walked into the kitchen to find James and YN sitting at the table, happily eating what looked like…

Ben squinted.

"Is that—" he stopped mid-sentence, horrified.

James grinned. "Peanut butter and ketchup sandwiches!"

Ben covered his mouth. Visibly gagged.

YN just shrugged, munching happily. "Not bad."

Ben grabbed a chair and sat down, rubbing his face.

"This family is ruined," he muttered.

YN just smirked. "Better get used to it, babe."

Ben groaned. "I am so screwed."

It was 2 AM, and for once, Ben was actually sleeping.

No late-night cravings. No tears. No ridiculous food combinations. Just peace.

Until—

"Ben."

His eyes barely cracked open. "Mmm?"

"Ben."

He exhaled through his nose. "Sweetheart, please don’t tell me you want soup again—"

"Ben, my water broke."

Ben froze.

Eyes snapped open.

"Wait, what?"

YN stared at him. "My water broke."

Ben shot up so fast he nearly pulled something. "Right now?!"

She nodded. "Yep."

Ben launched himself out of bed, grabbing the overnight bag and throwing on his boots. He turned back to help YN up—

And paused.

Because she was just… sitting there.

Calm. Too calm.

"Sweetheart… we gotta go."

YN exhaled slowly, rubbing her belly. "Mmm, maybe in a few minutes."

Ben blinked. "What?"

"I’m not contracting yet." She sighed. "I just wanna sit here for a second."

Ben’s eye twitched. "A second? You’re in labor, woman, let’s move."

YN gave him a look. "Ben, I’ve done this before. I’m not rushing. Let me breathe."

Ben ran a hand down his face.

Fine. Whatever.

He turned to wake up James—

"Actually, babe?"

Ben tensed. He knew that tone.

Slowly, he turned back. "…What?"

YN smiled. "Can you make me a sandwich before we go?"

Ben stared at her.

YN blinked. "What? I’m hungry."

Ben inhaled deeply. "You—are in labor. You want a sandwich. Before the hospital."

YN shrugged. "Last time I gave birth, I wasn’t allowed to eat for hours. I’m not doing that again."

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "Woman, I swear—"

"Ben."

Ben looked up.

YN’s face softened, her hand rubbing circles on her belly. "Please?"

Ben sighed.

Then, wordlessly, he went to the kitchen.

Because of course he was making a damn sandwich before going to the hospital.

Ben held his two screaming newborn daughters, absolutely shell-shocked.

YN, exhausted but grinning, looked over at him. "Told you I’d make it worse this time."

Ben stared at her.

Then at James.

Then at the two crying babies in his arms.

And the last thought he had before blacking out?

“I am so goddamn outnumbered.”

[trippinsorrows]

without you + three

authors note: welp. the ball is, gradually, rolling.

do not read this story if you haven’t read ’with me’. it won’t work as a standalone.

warnings: none

song inspo: be without you by mary j. blige

one + two

words: 4k

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good thing.” Removing your eyes from the book in hand, you glare and flip your soon to be ex-fiance off if he keeps playing with you like this. 

Of course, he simply laughs as you shove on Joe’s shoulder.. “I’m serious.”

His hand moves to your stomach, rubbing a circle as he beckons, “tell me.”

Using the bookmark on the comforter, you stick it in the page you’re on and lay it against the side of you. “I think we should take Callie back so she can have her graduation.”

Joe looks over at you, brows furrowed. “I thought we were just going to do something here?”

“I know, and I think we still can, but I don’t want to take that from her. She was really excited about graduating.” It’s something you’ve been thinking about a lot, both as a teacher and a mom. It’s so important for children to feel and be able to celebrate their accomplishments. Sure, it’s only preschool, but it’s still a big deal for her.

You want her to be able to celebrate with her ‘classmates.’

And you express as such.

“She should be able to celebrate with the other kids. Plus, and I know right now, she’s still excited about them, but I don’t know, something tells me she’s going to struggle with some form of jealousy when the babies get here.”

Joe nods, not necessarily disagreeing with you. “But, that’s not entirely abnormal, right?”

“No, doesn’t mean it’ll be any easier to deal with though.” Frowning, it’s only now you also think about how that might be for you as well. For almost five years, you’ve been able to devote all of your time and attention onto one child. 

Now, it’s about to be four.

“Hey.” Joe, forever adept at reading you, brings his hand to your chin, forcing your gaze to land on him. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

His words, as per usual, comfort you greatly. “You’re right.” His thumb flicks your chin, as you chuckle. “It’s probably good her little spoiled self is spending all this time with you now. Before she has to share you.”

His scowl makes you snort as he drops his hand back to your ever growing belly. “She’s not spoiled.”

“Joe, as the kids say, be so fucking for real.”

“What?”

Ignoring the fact that this man literally probably still has an AOL email with out of touch he is, you continue with your very valid point. “That little girl is spoiled rotten. You give her whatever she wants.”

“She doesn’t ask for much.”

“Not you being in straight up denial.” He’s so down bad for Callie Bear. It’s not even funny. “Need I remind you of her little tantrum two weeks ago? Baby, the way you folded so quickly should have been recorded. Tribal Chief, my ass. Got taken down by a four year old.”

Joe shoves you gently. “Shut up.”

Laughing, you continue, “just admit it, she has you wrapped around her lil’ finger, and she knows it. That’s why she tried you the way she did, but I mean it, next time it happens, and it will, set her little butt straight. She can take it.”

Joe’s frown doesn’t make it any easier for you to hold in your laughter. “I don’t like being mean to her.”

“It’s not being mean, baby. It’s being a parent. As much as she loves to play with you like you’re one of her little friends, you’re not. You’re her dad. She needs to respect you as such.”

“She does,” he defends, and you sigh, knowing this is probably just a battle you won’t win. Quieting down, you decide to switch topics to something you’ve been thinking more about as you prepare for the arrival of your children.

“I’m gonna tell her, you know. When she gets older, that I’m the reason you weren’t there the first few years of her life.”

Joe sits up in the bed, removing his hand from your stomach, concern evident all over his handsome face. “Y/N—”

You lift your hand to silence him. “No, she’s going to eventually ask, and I’m not going to lie to her. Whatever anger she feels would be justified, and I’ll handle it.” 

You’ve thought about this more and more as you progress with your pregnancy. The fact that these babies will get to experience Joe from day one when Callie didn’t. There’s undeniable unfairness, and should she ever want to know just why Joe was MIA at the beginning, you will be honest with her.

You’ll make sure she knows that it was you who decided to keep her a secret from her father. How specific you’ll get will depend on her age, but you’re not a fan of lying to and holding secrets from kids when it directly impacts them.

You know firsthand how thinking your dad didn’t want to be around can fuck with someone’s mental.

You won’t let that be the case with Callie.

Joe looks just as bothered, like he doesn’t want you doing anything that could impact how Callie sees you. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I do and will, baby.” You place your hand to his cheek, his beard a little more outgrown and slightly unkempt as he truly relaxes in the embrace of vacation. “Because that’s one thing I never did and would never do. I never let anyone say any disrespectful shit about you not being in Callie’s life. Amir would try it a lot, and I shot him down every time.”

The mention of Amir brings a scowl to Joe’s handsome face. It’s a bit of a distraction technique you’re grateful worked. This will also be a revisited topic over the years, clearly. “I don’t know what the fuck you saw in him.”

Small smile on your face, you shrug, “he’s not ugly, and his dick was decent.” And before he can say anything smug and smart, “yours is better, duh. Why you think I’m giving you all these kids, huh?” He smiles and shakes his head. “You gotta have God tier dick for me to push out not one but gonna be four of your big headed ass children. Boy, I wish you would try to leave me. You gon be wrestling into your eighties with how much I’ll come for you in child support.”

He rolls his eyes and kisses your temple, “you know I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

“Of course not, who the hell is gonna want me with all these damn kids?” The topic at hand reminds you of the book on the side of your bed, the previous reason you two were taking a break from figuring out your approach for letting friends and family know about the courthouse wedding. “Now, we really need to start deciding on names. I’m almost five months.” Pretty soon you’ll be finding out the sexes of the babies. It’s crazy to you how quickly this pregnancy is passing by, most likely due to the happiness you feel. 

Time flies when life is good. 

“Did you get Callie’s list?” 

He curses. “Shit, I forgot.”

You wave him off. “No worries.” Sitting further up in bed, you shout out, “Callie Bear! Bring us your list for baby names!” 

She doesn’t say anything, and you start to try again when she comes running into the room, Disney notebook in one hand and her American Doll in the other. She doesn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and sit on her knees at the end, “here you go, mommy!”

You accept her notebook that’s already opened to her list of potential baby names that she came up with. “Thank you, baby.” Callie switches to sitting with her legs crossed, her doll that looks just like her, courtesy of her rich ass daddy, smack dab in the middle. “Let’s see.”

A smile falls on your face as you share the notebook with Joe, pointing out the first name that he also smiles at. 

“Moana.” Predictable. So predictable. “Maui. Hei Hei. Tamatoa.” Joe coughs beside you to clearly hold in his laugh. “Baby….are these all names from Moana?”

Callie nods happily. “And Toy Story and Encanto and The Little Mermaid,” she essentially continues to sing-song list off damn near every Disney movie ever created. “The babies have to like Disney too, mommy! Like me, you, and Grandma.”

“You’re so right.” To be fair, you really shouldn’t have expected too much more. She is one Disney loving kid, through and through. “Well, thank you so much for the list, Callie Bear.”

“Daddy, did you make a list?” She asks, head tilted as she gently caresses the top of her doll’s head.

“Not yet, baby. Mommy and I are gonna make one together.” 

“I like baby Moana.” 

He chuckles. “But you’re our little Moana.”

She pouts and corrects, “no, I’m Callie.” Her sass makes you laugh. Joe wasn’t entirely wrong. She really is a lot like you sometimes. “I want a baby sister named Moana.”

“What if they’re all boys?”

You and Callie have similar reactions. It’s just that yours is one of horror and hers is more of shock.

“Noooo, I want a little sister.” 

Adding onto Callie’s vehement protest, you make your own strong thoughts and feelings known. “And I am not pushing out three boys at once, Joe. You done lost your god—”

“What do you want for your birthday, Callie Bear?” You’re partially thankful for the save but also irritated he’s asking this question he already knows is gonna generate a wild ass answer.

“A puppy!”

See.

You do your best to use the perfect combination of understanding yet assertiveness. “Baby, we done had this conversation before, we are not getting a puppy until you’re at least ten.”

“But, I’ll be old!”

“Exactly, old enough to take care of a puppy.” One look at Joe, and you can see he’s about to open his mouth and probably find some reason to ‘agree’ with or at least defend Callie’s request. “Absolutely not. No dog until she’s older, and that’s final.”

Callie, understandably, does not agree nor like this rule, and it’s evident in her deep pout and the way she crosses her arms over her little body. “Not fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, buttercup.” You retort, quickly reminding her as you take in her appearance. “Speaking of, it’s almost time for your wash day….”

The infamous, dreaded day of nonstop hair washing and styling is enough to wipe her smile away and award her a brand new reason to start whining, “I don’t want to.”

The feeling is mutual. “Neither does mommy, but we gotta do it eventually, Callie Bear.” Looking over at Joe, you inform him, “and you will be present for this ordeal, sir, so you can learn how to do her hair for me.”

He looks confused, nose turned up. A chuckle is withheld at how much he and his daughter mimic each other in this situation. “Baby, I don’t know how to do hair.”

Sucking your teeth, you smartly point out, “you do your own!”

“I barely do anything with my hair. You know this.” 

Damn. He’s right. Lucky ass. “Regardless, when I get too big to be bending over the sink like that, someone’s gonna have to do it.”

Of course, Joe’s smartass just decides to throw out something that should probably be discussed before saying around Callie, “I’ll take her to your mom.”

Callie’s eyes light up a bit. “Grandma!”

“Joe.” Lord, this man got too much money or something. “You seriously are going to fly our daughter out to my hometown so my mama can do her hair?”

He shrugs, clearly not seeing an issue with what’s being proposed. “Yeah.”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you lean further back in the pillows of the bed. “You are too—” However, you’re cut short mid-sentence, face and chest dropping simultaneously, the change in your disposition enough to catch Joe’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” He’s sitting up even more, expertly masking the concern that’s growing by the second. Recognizing this, you will that small smile to start forming on your face, shaking your head as you motion for him and Callie to move closer.

“Mommy?” Callie is just as confused as you reach for both her and Joe’s hands, placing them on your belly, trying to find the spot of origin. “What—”

This time, she’s the one to stop mid-sentence as she feels it, the sensation you last felt when you were pregnant with her. Callie’s face is still set with understandable confusion, but your gaze on Joe reveals minimal concern and an abundance of amazement. 

“What is that, mommy?” Callie finally asks. The emotion in your throat takes you back a bit. You’re not typically a super emotional person, but there’s something about this moment, about feeling your babies kick for the first time and being able to share it with your fiance and child that does something to you. Knocks at those pillars that hold up your resolve. 

“That’s the babies. They’re kicking.” You explain, smiling a bit as Callie looks at you in horror.

“Why are they hurting you?”

“They’re not, sweetie. That’s what babies do. As they get bigger and grow, they need to move around and sometimes kick. You did the same thing to me.” Adding some playfulness into your voice, there’s a level of relief to see she appears less concerned. 

Your attention, however, is brought back to Joe as he kisses your temple, hand still planted on your stomach, clearly soaking up every bit of this precious, cherished moment. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your temple. It’s such a simple statement, a little three letter sentence that means more than anyone could ever understand. Moving your hand to the side of his face, you both laugh as Callie moves her face to your stomach. 

“Don’t kick mommy too much, okay, little babies?” The determination on her face should be captured and locked away for safekeeping for the rest of time. “She’s the bestest mommy ever and pretty and smart and—”

“—and still not getting you a puppy.” While your daughter is undoubtedly one of the sweetest kids you’ve ever come across, she’s also intelligent as hell. And you know her like the back of your hand. Enough to know where she’s headed with this. 

And, you’re proven correct when she rolls her eyes again, making a ‘hmmph’ sound that has Joe chuckling next to you. She then sets her little plotting sights on Joe as she takes her hand from your stomach and moves to crawl into his lap.

You have to keep yourself from rolling your own eyes as she pulls out that sickeningly sweet voice and holds onto his shirt. “Daddy?”

Joe doesn’t hesitate to answer right away. “Yes, baby?” One look at him, and you already know what the answer is going to be. This man is so weak for this little girl. It’s not even funny. 

“Hallie wants a friend…..” Joe’s eyebrows cave in confusion as he looks over at you. 

Gesturing to her American Girl doll on the edge of the bed, you fill him in, “that’s what she named the doll.” 

He chuckles, clearly amused by the name that rhymes with hers. “She does?”

Callie nods, that excitement building back up. “Two friends!”

Mouth dropping, you prepare to put this child in her place when Daddy Warbucks beats you to it, living up to his reputation.

“Well, then we need to get her two friends.”

“Yay!” Callie celebrates, hugging Joe who ignores your look of disapproval. “Can I make her friends too?” 

And once again, the first living, breathing bank to ever exist is quick to fold. “Of course, Callie Bear.”

“Yay!” She cheers yet again for another way too easy battle. It’s not even a battle at this point. Battle would mean that both parties have somewhat of a chance, and Joe is clearly putty for his little girl. “Thank you, daddy.” She seals the deal with a hug and kiss on his cheek before climbing off the bed, grabbing Hallie as she shares, “I’m gonna make them now!”

With her tablet, clearly. The tablet you’d bet any money Joe once again disabled the time limits on. 

Lord, you’re about to have five damn children to take care of at this point. 

It’s only when Callie is out of the room and on her way to celebrate yet another successful day of finessing her daddy that you punch this man in his big ass arm. 

“What?” It’s him having the audacity to sound and look confused that has you ready to kick him out of the room. 

“What do you mean what?” Angling your body more toward him, you explain, “Joe, why are you buying her more dolls? American Girl dolls, at that. I know you must have paid at least $300 for the first one you got her. I saw all them accessories.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it, because he can’t. Callie had always asked you for one, and while you could have scraped some money together to make it happen, you couldn’t come to grips with just how many other more useful things one could do with that money. “She doesn’t need them dolls, babe.”

“You gon’ let her get a puppy now?”

An easy ass answer. “Hell no.”

He has the nerve to catch a slight attitude with you as he affirms, “then she’s getting the dolls.”

Rubbing your temples, you realize this isn’t a ‘fight’ you’re not going to win. “You know what, whatever. You do what you want, but I’m telling you right now, these—” You bring his hand back to your belly. “—babies are not going to be spoiled like their big sister. They gon be like Oliver Twist and grateful for a bowl of soup.”

He moves his hand around, probably trying to see if he can feel any more movement. “Callie is grateful.”

“For now.” Not really wanting to have this circular dialogue with him, you grab your phone to see a couple missed texts but open the one from your mom first, instantly rolling your eyes. “Not this again.”

The shift in your voice catches Joe’s attention. “What?”

Shaking your head, you show him the thread, thumb right next to the link for an article on ‘melanin maternal mental health’. 

Talk about fucking alliteration. 

“I don’t know what’s been up with her lately, but she’s been sending me all these links for articles and like motivational photos about mental health and motherhood.” You explain to him, going to heart the message and send a quick response to at least show some appreciation. Because there is a little there. That your mom cares about you so much. But the concern isn’t necessarily valid or needed..

This is the happiest you’ve been in some time. A long time. If ever.

Nothing is going to change that.

Especially being a mother to three more children. 

Placing your phone back on the nightstand, a glance at Joe reveals he’s debating something. “What?”

He moves closer to you, hand pushing back some of your coils. “Been thinking about that movie thing…..”

The smile on your face grows as you move closer, eyes twinkling with all the curiosity in the world. “What did you decide?”

—------

Megan is having a wonderful day.

One of the best she’s had in a while.

Not only did she manage to wake up on time, but the coffee she ordered from this cute little cafe she found while on a business trip in Denver a couple months ago awaited her on the outside of her apartment door when she got back from her pilates class the night before.

And there’s few things she loves more than a delicious cup of morning Joe.

A smirk falls on her face as she hums “Here Comes the Bride” while engaging in her extensive shower routine, admiring the expert work of her wax lady. Body hair has always been an absolute no. But, it’s when she moves the loofah across the weight of her heavy breast that Megan imagines hands and not her loofah. Big hands that would cup her boobs roughly as he forces her to turn around, slams her up against the shower wall and fucks her hard from behind, her moans and shouts of pleasure dancing across the tile, alerting everyone of just who owns this pussy.

Hand gliding down her wet, nude body, she keeps the vision going, slender thighs clenching together at the thought of him forcing her on her knees, his dick down the back of her throat, eyes watering as he mouth fucks her.

“Joe….” Thin fingers slip past wet folds as she realizes she’s going to be a couple minutes late for work.

So worth it though. 

Because Megan hasn’t come like that in years. Her legs are practically wobbly as she finally exits the shower, bathroom mirror completely fogged to where she has to grab a towel to clear up a section so she can see herself.

The pink tinge of her cheek brings a sly smile to her face. 

“I can’t wait until we can be together, my love…” A sweep of sadness comes over her as she grabs her phone, admiring his handsome face on her lock screen and opens Apple Music to play his entrance music, selecting the repeat button before she continues with her routine. 

It takes her about the usual time.

And soon enough, Megan is out the door, having finished her delicious coffee and opted to just have a banana for breakfast. There’s no time for unnecessary caloric intake.

She has to start preparing for the wedding. 

Walking into the office, right away, she can detect the almost sullen atmosphere and does her best to match the vibe.

To play along. 

And before she can go to her office bestie, Paige, to “find out” why everything feels so off, the team is pulled in for a mandatory meeting.

Luke’s quiet demeanor does take her a bit back. He’s never quiet. She’s not complaining though. Not at all.

As soon as everyone is seated, he starts off with the general pleasantries that are weighed by the sadness in his voice. And then he gets into it. “I know some of you have heard, but for those who haven’t, I—uh—I got some bad news.” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “There’s uh—no way to say this, but Susan Jackson was found dead this morning.”

As an array of gasps and shocked countenances fill the room, Megan does her best to blend in, to play along with the genuine surprise of all of her coworkers.

Paige leans over to whisper to Megan, eyes also watery, “they say she killed herself. That she was found her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. Window was open and everything.”

Megan expertly fakes a horrified expression. “Oh my god, how heartbreaking.” She even manages to crank out some tears that don’t shed but get the job done. “I can’t believe she’s gone….”

“Megan.” She lifts her head, eyebrows also raising. “I know you worked close with Susan on a couple of clients, and you also know she was set to assist Roman Reigns on his debut film, but with Susan gone….”

Megan shakes her head, pulling out a few sniffles. “It’s okay. I’ll….I’ll do it. I’ll take Reigns as my client.”

And my husband.

Luke gives her a nod of appreciation, wiping at his eyes as he clears his throat and continues to address the room.

It takes almost everything in her not to roll her eyes. The woman was fucking fifty for crying out loud. 

She lived long enough. 

He says something about grief counseling, the suicide hotline, blah blah blah.

Megan does her best to listen but mostly tunes out the rest of the meeting. It’s irrelevant. She has what she wants. Now, it’s time to go after who she wants, the thought alone creating such an intense, euphoric feeling inside of her stomach as she casually traces the brand new tiny letter ‘J’ she now has tattooed on her ring finger.

[fancyfeathers]

I was thinking about Team YJ as babysitters in a situation where, due to a villainous technique, the gang becomes babies, and just to increase Team YJ's stress, they didn't lose their powers (the ones they had), so they'd have to deal with a speedster baby, an invisible baby, and a baby whose scream leaves you deaf.

I imagined Songbird proving to be an earthquake from a young age, escaping from her crib, and the entire team searching for her.

Burn It All Down

Absolute nightmare.

Most of them did not receive their powers until their teenage years or after they ran away, some of their abilities they were born with, some were self taught, and some of them were learned, so having literal children have the same abilities they did as full grown adults.

They probably had an encounter with some sort of magic user like Klarion, something that would also catch the attention of the Justice League and so by the time someone gets there it’s just a bunch of kids… literally, it is their kids as children, as in how they were fifteen or more years prior.

As much as they want to, they cannot both look after their kids and find a way to reverse this at the same time, most of them would love to have them be little again but in the end it would just prove more difficult than anything else, especially that most of them have fully developed powers and or abilities.

So while they figure out what to do, who is playing babysitter? The YJ team of course.

Conner has never seen his niece (and or sister? I mean Clark calls him his brother so let’s just stick with uncle) when she was little, he met her for the first time when she was at least fourteen, as he is a clone. So it is jarring to see her this little but he definitely understands why Ma, Pa, and Clark talk about how adorable she was when she was a baby, big ol’ eyes and very giggly, an absolute sunshine baby. Small problem though, she did not develop powers until she was around nineteen and now she has them as a four or five year old and she is has full Kryptonian powers, lucky duck. But she is not a very problematic child, she is very cuddly and playful but she doesn’t throw many tantrums so the most he has to worry about is her floating away when she laughs to hard.

Then on the flip side of things, Dreamcatcher was an absolute disaster of a child, so much so that when she was turned back into a child her adoptive father, J’onn J’onzz, only let her go when M’agnn insisted that she would be fine being left with them…

Spoilers, it was not fine.

Dreamcatcher was an extremely emotional child, after all her birth parents abandoned her after finding out she had telepathic powers, and she was isolated from other children at the orphanage before she was found and adopted into a family who actually wanted her. So her telepathic abilities were a bit out of control as a child, going absolutely crazy whenever she got emotional, a large reason her father did not want to leave her alone, being one of the only people able to calm her down due to natural Martian abilities. M’gann has absolutely no idea what to do with her younger cousin because every time she is left alone she gets scared and that has horrible consequences for anyone in nearby rooms, going through the worst mental pain they have ever experienced since she looses control. So M’gann can hardly leave her younger cousin alone for more than a few minutes, but when they are together things are really nice since Dreamcatcher was such a sweet child, just an easily overwhelmed child.

Songbird was raised just by her mother until she was around eight when they moved back to Gotham, essentially being forced back into a relationship with her former fiancé who she had broken up with after he would not leave behind being Batman. So with Songbird being five years old again, she has no idea who all these people are, just a crying mess, wanting her mom. It is just so jarring to see the ever stoic, serious, and deeply mistrusting Songbird, a crying mess, just wanting to go back home, her actual home. It just goes to show that she was formed like this, she was just a girl who was deeply traumatized when her childhood was ruined. Dick and Tim have no idea what to do with her because she is not even just mistrusting of them anymore, she is terrified of them, every time one of them picks her up or sits down next to her she starts screaming and crying. The only proof of her being Batman’s daughter is when it was the middle of the night and she tries to sneak out of the Mount Justice cave and she got as far of the Happy Harbor town before anyone even knew she was gone, and from that point on she has to be under constant supervision because she can be dead silent if she wants to be. She is also a biter, like anyone she doesn’t trust, Dick tried to hug her and she almost bit his fingers clean off.

Apollo was another sunshine child when he was little, always wanting to run around and play, the type of kid who always has scraped knees and bruised elbows, he was the type of kid who Dinah, Oliver, or his birth mom had to patch up when he came back inside playing (also the visuals of Oliver patching him up like when Apollo was kid is so cute to me). But again, nothing small problem, due to an emergency blood transfusion from Dinah when he was an adult he got her canary’s cry and now he has that when he was turned little. Anytime he cries to loudly or laughs to hard it just deafens everyone in the room. So when he gives Artemis those puppy dog eyes she just has to play with him, well otherwise then he would start crying and that would not end up well for anyone.

Huntian, another emotional wreck of a child, he was another who was adopted but the thing is his birth family are dead, died right in front of him, so just like Songbird he is asking where mommy and a daddy are, not even recognizing Diana. He just wants to go home, but you cannot tell a five year old that their family is dead and has been dead for years. He just sort of stays quiet in the corner, reading a book, and- is that an owl watching him?

Then oh my god, Blue Lantern is such a little wreck, just an absolute crying mess and having no clue what’s going on. She has no idea what is going on and suddenly her dad is leaving her with a bunch of strangers?! No she wants to go home! It is so hard for them to get her to let go of her daddy, absolutely clinging to him like a koala. Her twin brother on the other hand is probably the most creepy of the children, not like spooky creepy, but just very quiet and staring off, really just the quiet kid of them all. He really only talks to his sister and patting her on the back and giving her little hugs because he doesn’t really know how to calm her down as a little kid. He’s just sort who just likes to play with his own toys. Also the twins just take so many naps together, they are so easy to take care of because they are just so sleepy so much of the time.

Hex… oh boy… absolute nightmare child, so much so that the Justice League cannot leave him with the team out of fear of the chaos he’ll cause as a baby or toddler, so Zatanna has to watch him as she is the only capable and willing to deal with a magical child. It is quite the scene to see Zatanna trying to chase down her baby brother in the Watchtower between his teleporting, using magic to turn the floor into ice, even changing Batman’s utility belt into an actual rabbit, talk about a chaotic child. At some point, Zatanna will need a nap and it is as if he understands play time is over and stops misbehaving or playing, whatever you would like to call it, and just passes out with his sister instead of being a problem for other Justice League members.

Pisces is like Blue Lantern in the way that he is a very clingy and anxious baby, but cranked up to high heavens, so much so that he is another that just cannot be left alone with the team, crying for hours whenever he gets set down, just wanting to be close to someone familiar. The only three people who can hold him without him going off like a bomb are his father, mother, and, surprisingly, Kaldur’ahm, even though Pisces did not meet Kaldur until much later and does not know him as a child, something instinctively trusts him and allows Kaldur to hold him without breaking down.

Blitz is the most hyper baby on the planet, so much so that Barry just can't leave her with the team because Wally cannot keep up with her, and he does not exactly trust Bart to watch a speedster baby. So the Justice League will be in a meeting, and Blitz will be held by her dad, and just babbling, and literally no one can get her to be quiet. Barry literally cannot put her down for less than a second because if he does she will zoom off to god knows where and even though her legs are little they are super fucking strong, but it is so easy to gether to take a nap if you know the trick and Barry absolutely does, play music, play almost any music and she is out like a light, she loves music.

[starchaserwrites]

@jegulus-microfic / february 18: pet / word count: 572 cw: foul language and violent behavior

James doesn't easily get annoyed, but his biggest pet peeve is people who do not say hello when they arrive at a place, so every time it's his turn to be in charge of the till at the cafe where he works, he struggles to control the twitch in his eye. When the next customer only mutters "venti iced americano, hurry" without even looking up from his phone and throws the money on the counter, he just puts on his best customer service smile and clenches his fists.

Not even five minutes have passed since the order was placed but the man in his early forties is tapping his fingers loudly on the delivery counter and alternating between staring at his watch and at James insistently. Fortunately, there aren't too many customers at this time of day, so Lily and Mary don't take too long to get the man's order ready.

"Is it too fucking hard to make a good fucking drink? I asked you for iced and this is lukewarm!" says the man in a voice loud enough to silence the café that was previously echoing with the soft conversations of customers.

Under normal circumstances James would probably have explained that all that needs to be done to make the drink colder is simply to stir it, but putting on his best smile he offers a "Oh, sorry about that. We'll redo it!" the customer is always right and that shit, right?

So when the drink is handed to him for the second time and the man literally spits the sip he took on Mary, James is ready for a confrontation.

"Are you an idiot or some kind of mentally retarded? This doesn't taste like fucking anything! You bunch of morons were dropped on your heads when you were babies. And you pair of bitches..."

Just as James is about to leap over the counter and punch this asshole, the man is pushed and cornered against the wall in the blink of an eye.

"Can you shut the fuck up?" says Regulus, one of the regulars who comes almost every day after work, shaking the man by the collar of his shirt with his ringed hands. And if James always notices how he sits at the table closest to the counter, and they constantly exchange glances it's nobody's business.

"But-"

"I don't give a shit, you've been throwing a tantrum this whole time and I won't take it anymore so get the fuck out of here this very second or I'm going to shove what's left of your coffee so deep up your ass to see if you can finally taste it." Regulus continues before pushing him against the wall one last time and letting him go.

The lovely customer starts to walk slowly towards the exit, but halfway there he turns around as if to say something.

"I promise they'll be finding your remains for the next four months if you don't walk out that door now," the silver-eyed man says before the forty-year-old can add anything else. The thing is, he says it so menacingly, like he really means it, that James feels weak in the knees.

Physical or verbal violence isn't supposed to be attractive, but this may have awakened something in James.

So please, no one judge him when a few hours later he ends up tangled in his bed from head to toe with Regulus.

[11queensupreme11]

ASJDJDHDDHD I TOTALLY FUCKING FORGOT APOLLOOO I'm sorry king 💔 I didn't mean to throw shade but the shade kinda eclipsed ur whole existence I did not remember you existed 😔💔 the favouritism is so real with me. At least Percy loves you 💞 Not me tho I would drawn the line at the nymph harem and your habit of putting humans through horrors via doomed dick. Ty for having him Percy, now nobody else has to. Our Queen making sacrifices for us every day..

ALSO YES!! THE BEELCY KIDS ASK WAS ALSO ME!!! I forgor my new designation bc I was so sleep deprived 😭😭 but I'm so glad you recognised me!!

(ALSO added comedy for the dimension hopping demon spawn, but I feel like even if she wouldn't let it slip intentionally bc she doesn't want to minimise their inter-dimensionnal war crimes and shit, depending on the timing some of the kids would be having what amounts to a toddlers temper tantrum to her because of how fast the gods age. So she just distracted lying drops the bomb that "anyway I'm really sorry but he's only five so I'm hoping he'll maybe grow out of it with lots of special attention and guidance" and the universe inhabitants are just like??? THAT EVIL MF IS FIVE?? MY UNIVERSE IS HANGING ONTO A THREAD BC A TECHNICAL TODDLER BE BEEFING WITH US??? That or they're looking at her like she's crazy like 'lady.. this mf is NOT five do you see the DEVIOUS way he's looking at me when you turn your back...'

Also all I can say is RIP if any of them end up on Penacony. One of the kids would end up either murdering or making a pet out of that Death entity or whatever that shish kebab'd Firefly and Sunday would be having an aneurism because they're shattering his influence and ruining all his plans. Unless he gets lucky and its Cu's daughters (or maybe the Apollo kids depending on how well-behaved and non myrdery they are) that end up there, they'd probably be the most well-behaved and have a blast!!! Until their daddy shows up and then the planet is under threat for sure, they better hope he's too focused on his daughters to think about the implications of a planet that encourages them to experience all their dreams 😭 especially if his brain cells start putting in work and he figures. Dreams coming true. Hmm I wonder if my hopeless romantic daughters might've been imagining 👹 B O Y S 👹

Circumstances would go so differently depending on which kids end up where... God forbid this is all happening synonymously.. One of the Beelcy kids is going around swallowing plants because they were hungry and they looked like good snacks or smthn (and Beel is too distracted flexing on Ruan Mei or smthn like pshh you call THAT a SWARM? Watch this im gonna end your whole career and many species) and Cu's daughters are innocently frolicking somewhere and too innocent to consider that they're putting whatever planet they're on in danger just by being there even if they're being the goodest of girls 😔 bc daddy's a 👹 menace 👹 (If they do end up on Pencacony they'd probably be besties with Robin if she's still around there and not on tour or smthn. Sunday better keep his distance tho lest they get.. too attached... and start thinking 'wow!! A bestie AND a perfect Disney prince for a boyfriend HUSBAND!! This is great 🥰' Daddy would NOT approve)

💫

(from 💫 anon)

that entire first paragraph 😭😭😭 "Ty for having him Percy, now nobody else has to" DAMN YOU'RE KILLING HIM WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU LMAO 😭😭😭 our poor boy (i'm just kidding, flame him harder 👹)

also you're right percy WOULD just casually drop the bomb that the being(s) destroying their universe is just a wittle baby five year old

percy: pls help me find my babies ���

and then the babies in question are these psychos:

💀💀💀 she'd be 1000% serious too, cuz those literally ARE just babies to her ahshadfv hdvb 😭

AND CÚ CHULAINN'S DAUGHTERS IN PENACONY ASHFGHWGV

percy probably finds them all there first and they excitedly tell her all about the super cool dreamscape and she's like "oh what the heck, sure. i'll try it out, i can use a vacation!" so she joins them into the dreamscape while her husband's out losing his shit looking for them 😭😭😭😭

anyway, you know how you gotta fall asleep in the dream pool thingy to enter the dreamscape properly?????

imagine poor cú chulainn getting into the reverie hotel and finding his daughters and wife all knocked out in different rooms inside this weird pool thingy not waking up and he just fucking LOSES IT. HIS BABIES ARE UNCONSCIOUS HIS WIFE IS UNCONSCIOUS WTF IS HAPPENING. WHO DID THIS TO HIS FAMILY. CEARBHALL'S ASS IS GROUNDED

when in actuality, they're all having the time of their lives in the golden hour ashfahfv 😭😭😭😭😭

and then he eventually learns about what's going on and then loses it again BECAUSE WHAT IF THEY'RE TALKING TO 👹BOYS👹?! WHAT IF OTHER 👹MEN👹 ARE DROOLING OVER HIS WIFE???? WHERE'S THAT IDIOT SON OF HIS, HE SHOULD'VE STOPPED THIS 👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

also, i love the differences between the percy babies 😭😭😭😭

the sécy daughters in the hsr verse (except maybe luisne tbh 💀):

meanwhile some of the other percy babies 💀:

[pink-nube]

Remnant AU: between the ages of 0-5, what were each Remnant's worst temper tantrum?

Loz's worst temper tantrum happened when he was three years old and it was because he couldn't look at the book he was sitting on. Little guy was literally plopped down on top of the book and crying his eyes out because he couldn't grab it. AGS tried everything, from trying to explain that he needed to get up to grab it, picking him up to get the book from underneath, to offering a different book. None of it worked and he just cried more until he got tired and took a nap.

Yazoo's tantrum happened at five years old. Genesis and Sephiroth were having a "pacific" argument about which pie filling was better, Banora White or Pumpkin, so to stop the feud they made Yazoo try a bite of each one. He ended up liking Banora White pie better, Sephiroth begrudgedly accepted the loss and Genesis spent the next hour bragging about Banora Whites winning. Yazoo got so fed up he threw the slice of pie at his face and refused to eat anything Banora White related for a year. He got a big scolding after that. (Sephiroth was secretly hysterical)

Kadaj's tantrum happened when he was around four years old. Lately he had been refusing to drink milk and eat his veggies so Angeal said he needed to have them to "grow big!" and he took it very personal. So much so that when he noticed he wasn't growing taller than his siblings, even when he had milk and veggies, he "forbade" everyone else from having them. Nothing worked no matter how they tried explaining and if he spotted someone eating something so much as a lettuce he would screech at the top of his lungs like an alarm.

[paperstorm]

Alright. I am gonna say this once more and never again because I am exhausted. I never said I hated the idea of them having kids. I know every time I open my mouth I get shaded and then an inbox full of moldy takes so apparently there’s a literacy epidemic around here but I never said I hated the idea of them having kids. I have said I am hopeful that it will be done in a way that is respectful of Carlos’s feelings on the topic because they are valid feelings and being a father is not something that TK, or anyone, is entitled to if their partner doesn’t feel the same way.

I am personally tired of the “person does not want kids for very valid reasons, then person learns that they were wrong and did want kids all along and they are whole now!” trope. The way this was handled in Brooklyn Nine Nine, a show I love, felt particularly icky to me, where Jake doesn’t want kids for an extremely valid reason (quite similar to Carlos’s actually) and Amy makes it immediately clear that she won’t stay married to him without children and basically berates him into it. I would love some representation at some point for people who know they don’t want kids and don’t change their minds, or even where there is a disagreement and the partner who does want kids is the one who changes their mind. The way this was handled in season four was so beautiful because Carlos’s feelings were treated as valid and understandable and TK chose him and them, not the hypothetical idea of a future family. Treating wanting to remain childless as a valid and respectable life choice is rare.

Representation is literally just diverse people existing on screens, that’s all it is. Diverse humans with diverse perspectives and experiences exist and so characters who reflect that should also exist. If Tarlos has kids, it will be good representation for queer couples who want kids. If they don’t have kids, it will be good representation for queer couples who don’t want kids. If they moved to Appalachia and took up spelunking, it would be good representation for queer couples who want to do that. Representation is not a statement on *what* the people are doing. The existence of the characters is the representation because no group has a singular experience.

It does seem likely at this point that they will get Jonah, and I am not (apparently to the disappointment of some??) throwing a tantrum over it because I’m grown. If they choose to have children, I’m sure I’ll love it because this show rarely disappoints me. If it’s done in a way that is different from how I personally would have written it, I will say “oh well” and carry on with my life because I am not five years old. None of this is that deep, and the people gloating in my inbox right now that they’re gonna get Jonah and I must be so upset about it are telling on themselves a lot more than they’re telling on me.

[maxdibert]

I’m a huge fan of The Phantom of the Opera, and Erik is one of my all-time favorite characters — but I HATE with every fiber of my being most of the interpretations people have made of this story. Which creates this cognitive dissonance because, yes, I like the musical (the original one, that sequel they made is a narrative abomination, but whatever) and I love the songs and all that… but Lloyd Webber’s version completely kills what made Erik so interesting by romanticizing him to the extreme and ugh. Plus, it’s the reason why the brunette Christine Daaé became so widespread, which always grates on me. Or the reason of Raouls bashing and hate and sorry but Raoul is my son. But if there’s one thing I truly despise with my whole soul, it’s Phantom by Susan Kay. People treat it like the goddamn bible and honestly, if I start talking about it, they’ll have to lock me up. There’s so much wrong with the characterizations in that novel I could literally write a college essay about it, but the Raoul bashing has reached absolutely unforgivable levels. Like, Raoul de Chagny has never done anything wrong in his entire damn life and I’m honestly so tired of the people. That, and the Christine in Phantom is an insufferable Mary Sue, and Erik… I mean, whatever, I’m gonna shut up. I swear I’m gonna shut up because if I don’t, they’re gonna have to lock me up.

I love the original story because Erik is a total psychotic maniac throwing tantrums like my five-year-old nephew, and he’s clearly several screws loose and we love that for him. I’m rereading the book right now and seriously, what a ridiculous character. I adore him so much. He’s such a fucking lunatic, seriously — I love him so much. It’s like, Erik, you’re 50 years old, what the hell are you doing with your life? But at the same time, you get him, and you grow attached to him. And also, Leroux is super ironic in his narration, and you can really feel the influence of the emerging Freudian theories of the time, with so many analogies in that sense, and it’s just such a brilliant thing.

[rageprufrock]

Superposition | The Devil Judge WIP

Just a sneak peek into the inevitable outcome of me finding out that I can write a story about a 17 year age gap.

After the fire, Yohan wakes up every morning knowing that Isaac is dead. 

Elijah wakes up every morning convinced her father is alive. 

It's the crush damage of new grief each day, too big for her tiny body and too heavy for her to carry. It's worse than all of Yohan's years under his father's belt; it's not until he loses Isaac and Heejin, until Elijah cries herself unconscious in his arms, that Yohan realizes that his father had been a clumsy jailer, that for all his cruelty he'd been a blunt instrument compared to all the ways suffering can visit itself upon a person. 

It's a miracle Elijah is alive, surviving multiple complex fractures and then delayed treatment. They save the flesh and bone of her legs, piece her back together with literal pins and needles. Her x-rays are difficult to look at; the scarring across her ghost-pale skin is worse. She hurts, in a relentless way that is at first impossible to explain to a child, and then is so ordinary she goes quiet with it, turns it inward. She stops crying. She's too weak and immobile for her once-infamous tantrums. She goes quiet instead. She throws books, toys, anything that Yohan brings into her beautifully appointed private room to try to distract her. 

"It will be hard, and it will take time," her doctors say, with an infuriating paternalism, as if their performed empathy could dampen constant burn of searing fire across Yohan's shoulders, cut into the shell of him. "But she's young and she's resilient—she'll surprise you." 

For the first six months, Yohan spends his limited waking, functional hours desperately trying to hold back the flood with his bare hands. He wakes and he's in too much pain to function. He sleeps and his doctors adjust his pain management regimen. He wakes and he tries to comfort Elijah. He sleeps and he dreams about the skin grafts he's been informed are needed. He wakes and he calls Lawyer Ko. He sleeps when he knows Isaac's Social Responsibility Fund donation is canceled. He loses hours and entire days in the labyrinth of the hospital, winding between the VIP ward and the children's wing, meeting with Elijah's orthopedic surgeon, her occupational therapists, the revolving cast of nurses that transport her from procedure to scan to bedside. He arranges Isaac and Heejin's funeral, and ends up back as a patient when Elijah's meltdown at the gravesite has him tearing one of his barely healed graft sites trying to contain her flailing arms, to swallow all of her screaming pain into the bottomless well in the base of his spine. 

It's eight months and six days after the fire that Yohan hears Elijah laugh again. 

***

Later, he'll get a comprehensive readout from the hospital grapevine, but the day he meets Gaon for the first time, all he knows is that he's been summoned by the terrifying peds nurses because Elijah and her new friend have committed some kind of juvenile crime.

Yohan's not ignorant to the fact that Elijah is a nightmare child, but he's still a little confused about how a five year old who is—frankly—abysmal with her new wheelchair is any kind of threat to society. He fetches up at to the pediatric OT clinic fully prepared to act like a complete entitled asshole about this, because while Elijah is a monster, she's his monster and therefore completely innocent of all sin, original or otherwise. 

Except halfway down the hallway there, he hears the sharp cackle of Elijah's laughter, a goblin shriek of pure wicked joy. It lands like a punch, like a blessing, it leaves him lightheaded. 

When he rushes the door, it's to find Elijah in full glory, giggling so hard she can't speak. Her hair is tied up in a series of tiny ponytails that frame her face like a lion's mane, her face is covered in marker, and she's clutching a filthy orange cat to her chest. 

"Kang Yohan-sshi," says one of the nurses, who is trying and failing to look severe, from the way her mouth keeps wobbling and her voice is trembling. "As you can see, we have a situation."

"I—where did she get the cat?" Yohan asks, faint.

Another nurse, who is making no effort to hide her grin, says, "Apparently, they found him behind a trash can in the garden and snuck him into the hospital." 

Yohan slants his eyes toward her. "They?" 

"I'm really not sure how you missed her very obvious partner in crime," the nurse tells him, actively laughing now, and when Yohan turns to look again—turns to see anything other than the miracle of Elijah's smiling face—he sort of understands her point.

Because sitting next to Elijah is a skinny teenaged boy wearing Elijah's headband, all of his short hair pushed back and sticking out like a massive frill around his thin face, his nose colored black and whiskers drawn across his cheeks. He looks less embarrassed than he probably should be, and more incriminating, he's holding some contraption made out of stolen hospital supplies that looks like one those little fishing toys for cats—a single inflated glove hanging from the end—that the fat orange on Elijah's lap keeps reaching for with outstretched paws. 

Standing in the doorway, surrounded by staff and other parents who are barely containing their hysterics, the whole thing is even more batshit. Nurse Woo Yeji, the iron fist of the pediatrics ward, is looming over Elijah and the kid on the ground, hands on her hips as she booms out:

"Kang Elijah-sshi, give me that creature immediately." 

Elijah narrows her bright little eyes. "Oh no," Yohan mutters.

"My cat," she declares, her chin stuck out in defiance.

"He was so sick and skinny, we had to rescue him," the boy chimes in, with the admirable application of a pair of doleful, sweet eyes. It might be more effective if his face wasn't covered in washable marker and he didn't have a purple heart drawn over his left eyebrow. 

"That cat is at least 4 kilograms overweight," Nurse Yeji tells them both, unmoved. "And let me say: Kim Gaon, I thought you had better judgment than this."

The boy, Gaon, takes the comment with the ease of long familiarity with disappointment, but Yohan still sees his eyes go briefly flinty, briefly cold, before he pastes on a smile and says, "I rode my motorcycle into a wall. If you thought I had good judgement, that's your own fault." 

"Yah! Kim Gaon!" the nurse yells, which just sets Elijah off again into pealing laughter. 

And from the back of the room, Yohan watches the way this mouthy kid, this little punk, glances over to his niece, watches how the fake grin on his face dissolves for something softer—something run through with tenderness too old for his years. 

***

Kim Gaon is 17, orphaned, and a frequent flight risk from the group home he's been remanded to with both his parents dead. In the 13 months since his father had died by suicide, and the 10 months since his mother had followed, he's been picked up by the local cops at least a half-dozen times: for smoking, for drinking, for fighting. Yohan looks up photos of Gaon's once-happy family, reads SNS posts mourning the closure of their family restaurant, the police reports about the suicides, the note in Gaon's hospital file that notes that he's going into arrears for his parents' funeral costs. Kim Gaon's social worker talks about him with a sort of resigned apology, approaches Yohan's interest like another black mark in the boy's service jacket. She looks at Yohan's suit and briefcase, takes his business card and calls him Lawyer Kang, spills the whole of Gaon's history, reassures Yohan that however self-destructive, however volatile, Kim Gaon's never displayed any violent tendencies toward children, that Lawyer Kang should feel free to reach out immediately if he feels concern that Gaon has become Elijah's friend.

"If you'd like me to speak to him, to tell him you're not comfortable with him spending time with you niece, I completely understand," his social worker says. 

Kim Gaon has been treated for two different STIs and tried to kill himself with a motorcycle three months ago. The only people he has left in the world are a childhood friend from down the street and Judge Min Jeongho, who used to eat lunch at the Kim's restaurant every day. 

Kim Gaon is 17 and entirely alone.

Yohan smiles at her. "No need," he reassures her. "I'll handle this on my own." 

***

Too much of Kim Gaon's character reference is ultimately hearsay. Yohan doesn't trust himself, exactly, but he trusts his judgement, so he watches quietly from the sidelines, collecting data. Yohan hears all the nurses talk about how Gaon is achingly polite, how they can't understand how such a nice boy could be such an evident wild child he would ride motorcycles with reckless lack of self preservation. He watches Gaon do other peoples' homework, quizzing them on Joseon history and showing a middle schooler who's learning how to write with his left hand trigonometry. Kim Gaon plays Smash Brothers with a flock of elementary school kids and ruthlessly kicks their asses every single time.

The Kim Gaon that's considered a neighborhood menace, the one sends his teachers into a blind fury, that's the protective armor. Yohan knows from defensive adaptations. 

But being a nice kid isn't the same as belonging in Elijah's life in any meaningful way, Yohan acknowledges, and spends a pointless day drafting soul-killing discovery motions and wondering why he's devoting so much time to this distraction. Maybe it's how Elijah's sleeping through the nights better, communicating her pain and what she needs better. Maybe it's how she tells stories about her friend Gaon, and it briefly feels as if they've traveled backward through time, that Yohan's watching her for the night, hearing and becoming deeply invested in all of her day care drama. 

"Elijah-ah, why do you like Gaon so much?" Yohan asks her one night, midway through the intricate ritual of her bedtime routine.

From her bed, Elijah says, "Gaon is funny and cats like him and also his parents are dead, so someone has to take care of him," and without missing a beat, points her sparkling princess wand toward the closet, commanding, "Check there, too." 

Yohan climbs off of the floor where he'd been checking under the bed and goes.

"Would you want to see Gaon even outside of the hospital?" he asks her, doing a careful four-point inspection of the closet: more clothes than one child could ever wear, 200 pairs of shoes, a stuffed sheep the size of a horse—no monsters. "Closet's clear."

Elijah makes a considering noise. "Gaon-oppa said he was a really good cook, so I want to eat his food," she decides, and shy now, she waves Yohan toward her, tiny hands flapping. "Samchon, come here. I want to tell you a secret."

Yohan cherishes every secret he has with Elijah. Since she was born, he's kept so many for her: that she stole a cookie, that she's really really not scared of thunder, that she loves her uncle best, that church is boring. 

"I'm ready," Yohan promises, and sits at the edge of her bed with his most serious expression. 

Elijah looks left and right, as if there are spies around every corner, before she cups her hands around her mouth and Yohan curls over her so that she can whisper:

"Sometimes I forget I'm sad about Mom and Dad, but Gaon-oppa says that's okay because I never forget that I love them." 

It lands somewhere in Yohan's soft underbelly, in the forever ache of his scare tissue. He looks down into Elijah's solemn little face, her riverstone eyes, and he wonders what kind of benevolent God allows this—forces children to patch one another's broken hearts. He used to wish that he would have died instead, that he could trade himself for Isaac, for Heejin, but he's comforted Elijah through too many nightmares of his own death to entertain it any longer. Love's always been a chain, whether wrapped around his wrist with a cross or trapping him in his father's house. 

"You will, you always will," he whispers back. 

"And they love me, too, of course, in heaven," she tells him, with the haughty confidence of a spoilt only child, who'd grown up with three adults circling around her in constant adulation. 

"And I love you here, on Earth," he says, and does not add, your grandfather loves you, too, from where he's burning in hell.

Elijah goes suddenly quiet, thoughtful and a little distant, and Yohan waits patiently until she says at last, "Gaon doesn't think his parents love him in heaven." 

Yohan stills. "Did he say that?" 

"He told his friend, the unni that visits sometimes," Elijah reports, and staring dead into Yohan's eyes, she adds, "I was hiding behind a curtain listening. He also said he can't be her boyfriend." 

"Okay, well, time for little goblins to go to sleep," Yohan says, because he absolutely cannot start laughing about this because somewhere out there, in the beautiful hereafter that Isaac so fervently believed in, he would be furious if Yohan encouraged this kind of behavior.

***

For all Yohan's been investigating the mystery of Kim Gaon, he's wholly unprepared to be confronted by the reality of the boy while sitting in the hospital cafe at half past five, working his way through a stack of files for court the next day.

"Kang Yohan-sshi?" comes a voice, and when Yohan looks up, it's into the shaggy bangs and thin face of the boy who makes Elijah laugh, standing awkwardly at the edge of his table.

"Ah," he says, flipping his pen across his knuckles. "You're Kim Gaon."

Gaon's eyes round. "You recognize me?" 

"The nurses tell me you're friends with Elijah," Yohan says, and waves at one of the empty chairs at the table, shuffles a few folders around to make room. "Please."

It takes more than a little maneuvering for Gaon to take the offered seat, between his backpack and his crutches, his leg still in its cast, and Yohan offers him a steadying arm, takes his bag, helps shift the table this way and that way. Gaon looks mortified the whole time by these small courtesies, stumbling over thank yous and apologies. It tells on him in ways Gaon can't possibly know, but that Yohan can't possibly ignore.

"What brings you to my temporary office?" Yohan asks, when he's sure the kid isn't going to tip over and break anything else, and is only in immediate danger of blushing to death.

Gaon squares his shoulders, and taking a deep breath, says, "I wanted to talk to you about a cat."

This is how Yohan learns that the orange furball that he's first seen that day in the OT room all those many weeks ago is a stray that's been named Gam, and that Elijah's youthful enthusiasm for petty hospital-based crime has undergone a metamorphosis toward more elaborate heists.

"Not that I don't admire her ambition, but I'm pretty sure you'd notice the yowling lump in her sweater when you pick her up from OT," Gaon says, still nervous and too polite, darting wary little glances upward at Yohan. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she started arguing about how cold it was going to get and I had to admit defeat."

Yohan feels the corners of his mouth curl up, reflexive. "There's wisdom in recognizing when you're beaten," he says. "And I appreciate your letting me know."

"Sure," Gaon says before going quiet for a long measure, some unfinished sentence still hidden behind his lashes. Yohan's patient, waits him out, and is rewarded when a half-minute passes and Gaon says, with a brittle courage and poorly concealed vulnerability, "I—I'd take him with me if I could. I like Gam. But the house where I have to stay won't allow pets."

Yohan can hear a universe in between the confession here: that Gaon must have been worried about the cold weather long before Elijah even noticed, that he'd tried to find an answer all on his own. Yohan feels, tugging in the hollow underneath his breastbone, a hurtful recognition of a younger version of himself, all those raw edges fraying, and maybe—sitting here—he can understand a little of Isaac's quiet sadness, the way Yohan had carried all his suffering alone, as a matter of course, without ever trying to ask for help. 

He looks at the slope of Gaon's shoulders, the wrinkled collar of his school uniform shirt, his terrible haircut, the little divot of a piercing in his ear. Yohan thinks about the sunburst of Elijah's laughter and all the terrible things he's willing to do to sustain it; it's strange to realize he hadn't anticipated something so easy, something that wouldn't hurt at all. 

"Do me a favor," Yohan sighs.

Gaon's head darts up. "Um—if I can?" he says.

"Back me up when I tell her that I thought long and hard about this, and that I'm going to be a strict taskmaster about this cat," Yohan says, with a rueful certainty that there's no way in hell that Elijah is going to buy this narrative, because it looks like the sun is rising in the brightness of Gaon's eyes, the pink happiness of his too-thin cheeks. This kid couldn't lie effectively if his life depended on it. In this light, Gaon looks a little like Isaac, if Isaac was too thin and too hopeful, all gamine pleasure; it makes Yohan feel his bones creak just to look at him. 

"I will, I absolutely will," Gaon promises, smiling now and still shy, but so achingly sweet that it makes Yohan want to buy him hot chocolate, to tell him he's done a good job, to ask if he's eaten dinner. 

He forebears, and starts packing up his work documents instead. 

"Come on," he tells Gaon. "If I'm going to make a fool of myself trying to trap a feral hospital cat, you're coming with me."

Yohan ends up scratched to hell and back, his hand-tailored wool trousers covered in mud, while  Gaon laughs at him with a wide-open happiness that makes something in Yohan's chest feel too big for his rib cage. He decides not to think about it in favor of fetching Elijah from her PT and ferrying her down to his car, where Gaon is waiting for them both, a sulking Gam zipped into the front of his hoodie like an uncooperative child. His smile could light every building in Gangnam. Elijah's shriek of pure joy when she spots him leaves Yohan half-deaf for the drive home, and so the warm patter of Elijah and Gaon talking in the backseat rolls over him in indistinct syllable noises until he drops Gaon off at his group home and helps him to the door. 

"Thank you, for today," Gaon tells him, starry and still rosy, covered in cat hair. 

"Elijah's already drawing up plans for shared custody, so don't be a stranger," Yohan warns. 

He'd been ordered by Elijah to participate in an exchange of contact information with Gaon because everybody in the car had a unique and unaddressed relationship with the trauma of abandonment, and so of course Gam could not be suddenly bereft of one of his humans.

"I won't, I promise," Gaon swears, and nods back toward the car, where Elijah is holding Gam up against the window and waving his paw at them. "You should get her home."

Elijah talks nonstop during the drive out of the urban density of Seoul into the forested beyond where their family home is perched on a melodramatic cliff above a lake. Yohan hears about her nurses, her rivalry with another little boy in OT who sounds like he has a world-ending crush on her Gaon-oppa, and listens to the way Elijah sometimes stops mid-sentence when Gam meows at her and then replies, as if she can understand cat. 

Whatever is bubbling in his veins, its too violent to be the warm kindness of joy. This ferocity feels like some holy gratitude, feels like the way Isaac used to talk about God. Yohan has never any good at faith, but he thinks—to himself, so loudly he hears it over the roar of blood in his ears and the chattering happiness of Elijah, vividly alive—he thinks, thank you, thank you, to whoever is listening: to God, to fate, to fortune, to the fucking cat—to Gaon, waving at Elijah with both hands, a smile on his face and Gam curled close against his chest. 

[lightwing-s]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: sometimes you couldn't help yourself from hating everything, sometimes you couldn't help bumping into people, sometimes certain stains were hard to remove

word count: 1,2k

links: next ; series masterlist ; general masterlist

You hated this. The loud music. The crowded rooms. The sweaty bodies hitting against each other, devouring each other with no sense of modesty, dancing to the sound of whatever horrid electronic beat sounded from the many music boxes, scattered around the unnecessarily large house.

You hated the guys, eyeing you up and down like a meal to a starved man, undressing you in their minds and having thoughts you prayed you’d never get to hear. You hated the girls judging you with their unkind eyes. And most of all, tonight you hated your neighbor more than anyone in this entire world.

“C’mon, Yn.” She tugged at the sleeve of your jacket, trying to pull you to the dance floor along with her. “Let’s have some fun!”

“I’m fine, Nessie,” you uttered through gritted teeth. “Just do you.”

Your neighbor and, pending revision, friend rolled her eyes at you, dropping her shoulder before pulling you with her towards a corner. “You can’t let that call stop you from having fun,” she stated, boring her chocolate browns into you e/c ones.

After sighing deeply, you replied. “I’ll be fine.”

You didn’t think so, but you weren’t going to ruin your only friend’s night, even if you so wished to. She had been patient with you all the time since that damned phone call, even though if you were in her place, you’d have certainly snapped at your own stubbornness.

After much insisting, she gave up and let go of your hand to move into the crowd, going to dance or make out with anyone she could find close by. You stood still in the same corner, mopping under the blinking blue, red and purple lights, arms crossed on your chest and pushing away every guy that attempted to approach you with a single hostile glare.

One hour, then two hours had passed, your patience vanishing along with the late hours of the night. You couldn’t stand it anymore, too stressed, too pissed off, to be anywhere but home.

“Nessie!” you screamed after your friend, finding her dancing in the middle of two other people. She clearly didn’t hear you, and you had to take a deep breath before fighting your way through the warzone that was the dance floor.

Pushed from both sides, you had to literally dig your way between the waves of people throwing their sweaty bodies around, receiving one and another elbows to the face and giving some back in return. 

Almost approaching your friend’s spot, she noticed you making your way towards her and proceeded to walk to you, a smile spreading on her lips.

“Yn, you came!” she joyfully declared, throwing her arms in the air in celebration, instigating her new companions to join her excitement.

“I wanna go home,” you voiced out and her face instantly fell.

“No!” was her reply. “I’m having fun,” she stood firm.

Widening your eyes and puffing your cheeks with air, you wanted to turn into a five year old just to be able to throw a tantrum and dissipate all the anger you had in yourself without looking crazy. However, you were 22, a college graduate, and thankfully too mature to do so.

“Fine!” you let out instead. “I’m going alone.”

“Go sulk into your boring ass hell hole,” Nessie insulted, clearly intoxicated, and you flipped your middle finger at her before pushing your way through the crowd once more.

Your steps were heavy, weighed down and filled to the brim with your own rage. You pushed people aside, who looked back at you in displeasure, but you were not in the mood to fake an apology to any of them. Or anyone at all. You weren’t going to see them ever again anyways.

When turning a corner, about to step into the foyer as you approach the front door, a great wall bumped into you, sending you a few steps backwards, and the group around you let out shocked gasps. His drink poured over your chest, leaving you soaked in cheap alcohol and stained in red.

“FUCK!” you screamed out, rubbing furiously at your shirt with your jacket’s sleeve, tears slowly forming on your eyes. Your anger, if possible, grew by the minute, and you both wanted to punch the idiot that had done this to you and curl down in a corner and cry.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” said the male voice, apologizing with a little bit too much excitement. Drunk, awesome. “I did not see you there.”

He was kneeling down, picking up his cup and the ice cubes that had fallen to the floor. Gross.

“Obviously,” you whispered, hoping to flee this place as quickly as possible, but the tall man crouched down stopped you from taking any step further.

“Someone is angry,” he joked while standing up, mere inches in front of you. “Would you want to go somewhere where I could calm you down a little?”

He jiggled his thick eyebrows at you, other intentions evident in his offer. Finally getting the chance to stare properly at the clumsy douche that turned your white t-shirt red, you found his bright blue eyes that annoyed you just as much as his eyebrow move did.

“Why the hell would I ever want to go anywhere with someone like you?” Eyeing him up and down, you caught a glimpse at the tattoos decorating his arms, hands and neck. He smelled and looked like trouble, the kind of guy your p… You were always warned about.

“Ooh,” he blew. “Little Miss Stuck Up is angry angry.”

“Fuck off,” you swore, trying to push him away from you, but he didn’t even flinch.

“What? Don’t think we’d make cute babies?” he teased out of nowhere, stepping aside to let you pass.

“Why would I ever want to have a baby with you?” you asked over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Why would I ever want to have my dick inside you in the first place?” he asked back, forgetting his early offer, before you both rolled your eyes and walked in different directions.

You tried to dry the stain on your shirt as you walked away, continuously rubbing your chest as you left the house and on your entire Uber ride. You tried to wash it off when you got home, but the red stain wouldn’t disappear, not in the first, second or third tries of your washing machine, and neither the ones of  your desperate hands.

The stranger, whoever he was, made sure he’d leave his mark on you and that pissed you off even more, not because it was your favorite white t-shirt, not because it was new and expensive. But because it wasn’t just the stain he had left you with, as his bright blue eyes stuck to your head the entire weekend, as you sulked on your boring hell hole of an apartment.

As the weekend came to an end and the early morning sun announced the arrival of Monday, you stepped inside your regular gym. Freshly showered, headphones stuck to your ears, as you wished to relieve all your accumulated rage on every machine you could touch.

The gym was your haven, your place to find peace on stressful days and distract yourself from the world around you. You were ready to leave the place feeling refreshed and powered up for a new week of hard work and hustle.

You were gonna be fine, it was all gonna be perfect. If it wasn’t for you crashing into a large back, a water bottle splashing liquid on your face, and the same pair of blue eyes turning around and meeting yours again.

“Fuck!” you two said in unison.

This was going to be one hard stain to get rid of.

.

.

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[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

How would Vikings react to Ivar being remembered?

summary: it's in the title :)

notes: no warnings except for maybe mentions of death

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey, @ivarlover @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy @esme-viridian (hmu to be added/removed!)

masterlist | based on this request

Ragnar

Pretends he always knew (eugh he’s such a bitch ong)

Nooo I would never set my son out in the wild… meeee? No wayyy…

He takes credit for it for his ‘great parenting’ and ‘legend genetics’

If Ivar had any legend genetics, they came from aslaug

Aslaug

Proudest mom out there, acts like a soccer/pta mom when she hears

Aslaug actually always knew

She quotes her prophetic dreams from like, 853 AD?

“I knew since I was five years old.” (truth)

Lagertha

Okay? Who cares? What about Bjorn?

Totally not pissed that he may be more famous than she is (lie)

Defo sulks about it to torvi and then kills someone important to expand her own legacy

She’s in the fame biz

Bjorn

Bro throws a toddler tantrum

He will literally stomp the ground

“That’s not fair, I discovered the Mediterranean!!” (he says that in the stupid tone he gets in the later seasons)

So so bitter about it (he deserves that)

Ubbe

Ubbe’s smoking weed in America with Floki

He does not care

“That’s just bad taste from people from the future. Me personally? I’d admire the person who found a continent. Idk, that’s just me though.”

Gets over it the fastest

Literally just thinks that it’s so dumb of modern people bc Ivar is a silly little guy with anger issues

Hvitserk

Similar reaction to Ubbe, except he doesn’t have to get over anything

Just kinda shrugs, he’s too busy worrying about his own legacy

What’s he in the history books for? His cuisine skills?

Yeah, bro’s kinda busy managing his own shit and trying to stay alive

Sigurd

Don’t tell him

For your own safety

Will kill you and then himself

Ivar

Don’t tell him either

Never lets anyone hear the end of it

So so so annoying for a silly little guy

He just loves and hates himself so much that, at the same time, he so needs to hear this and also never, ever hear this ever at all

Floki

Floki is the same as Aslaug, he KNEW

Also, he takes credit for raising ivar and being a father figure (fair enough)

He’s a teeny tiny bit sad that ivar was friends (in a weird homosexual way) with Alfred though (kind of, and this only applies if we’re talking about tv show Vikings)

Honestly, Floki would be such a good source to add to the material we have of ivar

Ecbert

So mad he didn’t have a bigger impact on ivar

Also so mad that all the kids around him have such big legacies (Alfred, ivar) but not him??

He wants to get mentioned!! Footnotes aren’t enough!! He needs to be the main character, always.

Gets sad drunk over it way too long