#got out of the house later

[kameyyy]

gnawing at the bars of my enclosure..

30 tag limit when I catch you 30 tag limit it's ON SIGHT

OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN. . . single dad! meian + f!reader

✮⋆˙ notes/CWs - brief mention of parental death, heavy underlying emotions, meian's a flirt when he wants to be, typos probably

It was all too early for the man that morning, the sun barely even breaking the horizon when his alarm went off. He rubbed at tired eyes the whole morning, fighting off the urge to do nothing more than get back in bed. But he couldn't do that, even if he had the chance - he had more than just himself to take care of. 

His daughter, Himawari, always, without fail, fought him on waking up; and now that it was earlier than normal, it was a complete lost cause. She fought against waking up, fought against getting ready, and fought against going outside because she refused to wear a jacket. But the chill outside turned her off to the idea of going to school all together. Stubborn, and moody from the change of schedule, he had to all but drag her to get in the car - she fought against that too.

They had to get to her school earlier than normal, his schedule clashed with all other times to meet with her teacher - a prerequisite, of sorts, to meet all new families at the beginning of the year - and he finally bit the bullet and asked for a time before school. Thank god her teacher agreed; despite the coaxing and near begging the man had to do to get his daughter in the building to begin with. 

She walked beside him, arms crossed over her chest with a scowl; a rather adorable sight at how small she was and the Hello Kitty bookbag she adorned. (But Meian told anyone who would listen to not let her fool them, she was as devilish as they came.) He shortened his strides whenever he walked with his daughter, he was tall enough that one stride was about three of hers; so he opted for picking her up with a groan. “Come here, you're killing me.” 

She fought against being picked up as well, “put me down!” A loud whine that nearly echoed in the empty hallway, “I don't wanna’ be held right now!” He only sighed as she squirmed against him, but eventually gave up once she realized she was no match. 

“It's not my fault you walk slow,” he groaned, but the smallest of smiles peaked at his lips once he cut his eyes over to her. She pouted, huffed, and did anything she could to make him feel bad; but it didn't work. 

“Maybe you just walk too fast.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Hima.” 

The hallway was long, almost liminal as the doors seemed to never end. Each decorated, or not, which showed the personality of who occupied it. The school was basically empty, besides the few staff members who got to work early on their own free will, and quiet. Quiet enough to hear the small sigh of defeat from his daughter, and she now rested her head on his shoulder. “Dad, I'm tired.” 

“I know.” Good god did he know. “Maybe if you went to bed on time you wouldn't be so sleepy.” 

“But I can't sleep when you're not there,” she sighed again. He felt his heart drop at her words, even though he knew them all too well. Every babysitter he ever had loved the girl, but every single one had never gotten her to fall asleep. The girl refused every time; and if she didn't, she laid in bed until she heard the front door open and shut, and the familiar voice of her father. She would drive herself to sleep deprivation all because Meian wasn't there. “I miss you too much to go to sleep.” 

“I know,” he repeated, much more softly than the latter. Filled with care, and hinted with regret, though he knew he had no other choice but to not be home. Games were important, not like the stray practices he would miss here and there; and the games that were later in the day he unfortunately couldn't bring her to. “I miss you too.” There was a small moment of silence, not knowing what to say as he felt his daughter fidget with the sleeve of his shirt.

The man prided himself with his encouragement skills and wise words, but more often than not he couldn't find them for himself. There was a missing piece to his mind it seemed, gaping and dreary as he wished nothing more than to be a good father - but to him, he always fell short. There were times he wasn't home, important events like school plays and concerts missed from commitments to his team, he couldn't help her with her homework as he wasn't home when she got back because of practice, and the period of time away for nationals felt like a stake through the heart every time it rolled around. 

An optimist with others, but a pessimist with himself. Always falling just shy of what he thought a good parent should be and what a good parent should do. It was utterly exhausting.

Despite his aching heart and rattling mind, he gave her a small smile and desperately tried to change the subject - more for himself rather than her. “Why don't you tell me about your teacher?” 

He heard the girl hum before she lifted her head to look at him with tired eyes. “I think you'll like her,” a tone that finally seemed to melt away the prior attitude. “She's really nice, not like my teacher last year, and she makes crafts with us.” She smiled, the first time that entire morning, “yesterday we read about bunnies and we made plates that looked like bunnies.”

“I know, you brought it home.” He smiled at the reminiscent thought; he came home just after she did, and she all but knocked him down running to show him the plate with construction paper and pom poms glued to it. “I'm actually pretty jealous, ‘sounds fun making bunny plates.” He chuckled, “you think the guys would want to make them?” Hima was well aware of the team he played for, moreover his teammates. She often saw them at the handful of practices and games that he took her to, but more so knew of them through the stories he shared.

She laughed at his question, and he took a silent sigh of relief. “Mr. Hinata might,” she giggled, “but I know Mr. Bokuto would!” The child picked favorites, most definitely; however, her favorite, out of all of them, was Sakusa - and he still had no unearthly reason why other than the dry humor he offered. Every practice he ever brought her to was always met with Hima hanging off of the man, annoying him, and pressing every button Sakusa had - and Meian let her, a silent act of revenge for the consistent arguments he started with Atsumu.

“You're right, he would.” Bokuto was just as childish as she, if not more - he would probably beg the man to make one if given the chance. “Do you want to show him yours later today?” While he didn't plan to take the girl to practice, the sentiment of longing still lingered in the back of his mind; twisted and turned until he felt sick. The awful feeling of thinking he spent too much time away from her returned; and he hoped bringing her with him might mend how he felt, and maybe make her tired enough she would, for once, go to sleep on time. 

“Really?” She asked excitedly. The girl cheered just before continuing on with her child like rambles. Himawari could go on for hours, days really, if he let her (which he more often than not did). She enjoyed talking about just about anything, and would find side story after side story as she went on through her rants. But the man never minded, he found it endearing that the girl had picked up his outgoing attitude. 

He smiled as she continued on, rounding a corner to the hallway that her classroom was on. The school was quite big, a primary school that housed kindergarten through sixth, so every grade level was split into smaller hallways. The man surprised himself that he could remember where to go, as the only other time he went was when she was in first grade. 

“She's really pretty, y'know?” Meian cut his eyes towards the girl, still holding her within his arms, and scrunched his brows.

“Who?” The word laced with confusion as his daughter only giggled again.

“My teacher.” He couldn't help but let a small breath pass his lips, and fought against rolling his eyes entirely. Himawari was prone to talking up the people within her life; which was an admirable trait to have, he was happy the girl wasn't a bully. But she was apt to make the older women around her larger than life - to play matchmaker. The girl couldn't remember her birth mother, she had passed when she was only a year old, but Meian made it a point to consistently remind the girl of her. Consistently reminded her, and himself, they were never abandoned. 

That never stopped Hima from yearning for another woman's presence though. Didn't stop her from the small smiles she would give her father when talking about women much older than she, his age, with an err of playfulness that made him roll his eyes. So to her latter statement he only hummed, “and what do you say about me then, huh?” 

“That you're old.” 

“Ouch-” he rolled his eyes at her nonchalant attitude, “I'm not even that old, Hima.”

“Yeah, ok.” Her sarcastic tone made him sigh, and he thought to himself that maybe he allowed her to hang about Sakusa all too much - his blunt choice of words rubbed off on her in ways he couldn’t imagine. Never rude, but curt replies that never failed to make him groan. But he kept his mouth shut on the topic as he continued walking, and thanked the stars he was almost to his destination. 

“Put me down, put me down!” The girl began to squirm in his arms, desperately trying to escape him to go to her teacher’s room that finally came within their view. The man quickly caved, picking his battles wisely with his daughter’s already flighty mood, and figured it wasn’t all that bad for her to be excited for school - quite the opposite really. 

He watched as his daughter ran through the doorway of the open classroom, and heard a cheery voice greet her from the other side. The voice was light and airy, joy mingling amongst syllables with every word spoken. There was an intent behind it that felt sound, secure - a voice that most definitely belonged to a second grade teacher. 

“Dad said I can bring my bunny plate to his practice and show his friends!” 

“Really? That's so cool, I bet they'll love it.” A small smile peaked on his lips at the woman’s words; although he couldn’t see it just yet, he could practically hear the smile she wore. “Did you get to show your dad yet?” 

Yet. 

The word alone made his steps slow just before he reached the door, letting his pace taper off before completely stopping and he let out a silent breath. It was her job to care, to provide comfort and joy, to create a sense of security and structure - but Himawara had no structure in her life. And it was all his fault, or so he thought. The girl, frankly, never knew her father’s schedule, as it always dialed and changed according to the needs of the team. He desperately tried, at any given opportunity, to cling to time with her - and while he cherished every second, it was never enough. 

He couldn’t help her as much as he liked with homework - yet. He couldn’t pick her up from school most days - yet. And he couldn’t find it within the chasms of his mind to give himself grace - yet. 

“I did! He put it on the fridge!” He wished he could be more like his daughter - happy and unknowing in the reality of real life. A childlike sense of certainty that everything was fine, that one could find joy in everything if they looked hard enough, and an unwavering belief that her father did everything under the sun for her. He couldn’t help but smile softly at the thought, and allowed the burden of ‘yet’ to pass him. 

“Now that's where real masterpieces go,” she mused. “Did you tell him the book we read?” 

“Not the title at least,” he chuckled as he rounded the doorway. “Everything else about it? Absolutely. I could probably quote it to you at this point.” A joke that landed fairly well, as he heard the woman laugh in response, but the comedic energy the man once held was quickly replaced with awe as he leaned against the doorway.

Himawari was wrong, utterly wrong. Her teacher wasn't pretty - she was beautiful.

He felt his stomach lurch to his throat, a brief sensation but one that made him cough. The realization that the woman was his daughter's teacher made him feel rather small, stupid even, and wildly out of his element. He woke up that morning and simply got ready for practice - a slam packed schedule as the practice started just after this meeting would be over - and now he deeply regretted it. 

“‘Morning, Mr. Meian.” He felt like a puddle of the man he once was only seconds ago, before she said his name. A subtle code switch that he picked up on from her - a voice for talking to children, and a voice for adults. He felt his mind go blank and nearly asked her to talk to him as if he were a child, maybe then he wouldn't have been so enamored. 

He couldn't help but linger in the doorway to the classroom, the exposed skin of his arm leaning against the cool wood of the frame. Hands shoved into the pockets of track pants as he watched the woman retrieve papers from her desk. Only then did she meet his eyes and his breath hitched in his throat. She paused for a fraction of a second, her pace stuttering just before forcing her eyes to the ground and continuing on. 

This was terrible. 

“You can come in,” her voice was softer in comparison to her latter statement, nervous even. It made him second guess why he was here in the first place, despite the flicker of his daughter playing with a puzzle on the floor nearby.

“How are you?” He asked, trying to fight against the heat that wanted to surge to his face. He felt silly making small talk, the man always fell flat on his face when it came to it, but felt even sillier if he had said nothing at all. 

“Tired,” she spoke through a chuckle, and he could tell. Behind a, semi, forced smile was tired eyes and a look of exhaustion. It was only Wednesday, and he suddenly felt bad for making the meeting in the first place. “But I'm here. How about yourself?” 

“About the same as you,” he smiled. “Sorry again for wanting this meeting so early, it's the only time that worked.” An apology didn’t seem like it should be enough now that he looked at the woman. Albite pretty, she looked weary, burnt out, and he sensed a twinge of discontent - like she didn’t want to be there in the first place. Groveling may have been a better thing to do, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice in the time he chose. He exhausted all other options from a meticulous schedule that was downright impossible to change.

“Don't worry about it,” she shrugged, “I'm just glad you didn't want it way after school.” 

“Feels like a crime to make you stay that long.” 

“It should be.” She met his eyes again and smiled, one that seemed genuine rather than forced this time. And he watched her eyes flicker to the other side of the room after a moment. “We can sit back there,” she motioned towards a semi circle table in the back of the room. “It's a little cluttered, but it's better than sitting at a desk made for a second grader.” The table didn't seem cluttered in the slightest; occupied with stacks of papers and different containers, each having a different color that he only guessed was for ease of organization. 

She sat down, he followed, and began shifting the papers and containers over, now lining the edges with organized chaos than the latter neat piles. “Sorry,” she chuckled. “They come back here to work with me, so keeping everything neat is almost unheard-of.” 

He let a laugh pass his lips just before he cut his eyes to his daughter, then promptly returned his gaze to her. “Trust me, I know. She'll pull out everything and decide she doesn't even want to play anymore.” 

He felt his heart squeeze when she laughed in response, it was a laugh he could easily get used to, a laugh he wanted to hear more often than just at school. It was gentle, lighthearted, and voluntary - it didn’t feel like a laugh she had to force, as he suspected she did often. His mind kept circling back to the sound as she spoke; he didn’t even realize she had formally started the meeting just minutes ago. His thoughts were the furthest from where they should have been, as he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. 

Dazed, seemingly on cloud nine, he didn’t register that she spoke of grades, behavior, and reading level. He simply nodded along as he tried to memorize every detail of the woman in front of him: her eyes were dark and tired, she had smile lines on the sides of her lips, of which he guessed were from years of doing nothing but, her clothes were casual but nice despite the knowledge that children were frankly disgusting, and the side of her dominant hand was stained with multicolored marker, which he only imagined was the set up of a craft for later today. 

“Do you have any questions?” The sentiment jerked him back to the present, and his fuzzy mind cleared quickly once he realized he didn’t register a single thing she spoke about. “Anything you want to add, maybe?”

“When's the next time you're doing these meetings?” The only query that made headway in his mind left his lips at the same time; speaking without thinking, and noticing too late what managed to tumble from his tongue. 

“Conferences?” There was a sense of confusion riddled in her voice; if he were listening, he would have known that his daughter was doing just fine - excelling even. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. And despite his better judgment, he doubled down on the sentiment entirely. “When's the next time I can talk to you?” He watched the woman’s eyes widen, and for a moment he felt like an idiot until he noticed a barely there, bitten back smile. 

“You could always email me?” It was a subtle change in conversation, but one that both picked up on quickly. He was convinced the woman was trying to make his heart stop when she locked eyes with him, a cheekiness to the once serious discussion now diminished. “I respond pretty quickly actually.”

“Do you, now?” He leaned forward slightly, enough to rest his elbows against the table. At first the distance between the two was vast, professional, but he closed the door to professionality and locked it when he leaned in closer to her. She bit the inside of her cheek, still fighting the smile that desperately wanted to bloom on her lips. “That's good to know. But, I feel like I get a million emails every day. I'd never live it down if I missed one from you.” 

“Things happen,” she shrugged with a gentle chuckle. “Did you have a better alternative though?” It was then he realized she wasn’t talking to him like a teacher anymore; instead, the tone had shifted again. This was actually her - not a teacher, not a professional - her. A coy change in the color of her voice that made his heart do flips, but played upon regardless. 

“Getting your number was one.” 

The battle between her and her ever growing smile ultimately ended in defeat at his proposition. Her lips pulled upward in an inviting smile and she cast her eyes to the table, a sheepishness washing over her at the man’s boldness - but she couldn’t deny that she liked it. “It's not every day I give a parent my personal number.” 

“We don't need to talk about school.”

“Then what exactly would we talk about?” 

“If you're free this weekend, or any weekend really?” The question left his lips with ease, despite the nerves that overflowed him when he first entered. He saw her eyes flicker back up to meet his own, catching his gaze once more, to which his heart hammered in his chest. 

“What did you have in mind, Mr. Meian?” 

“We don't have to decide that now,” a cheeky reply as he flashed her a smile. “We have until Saturday to figure that out.”

“I guess we do.” She looked down again, biting at the inside of her cheek, before reaching next to her at a stack of sticky notes. “You better not use this to ask me questions about second grade math,” she teased as she wrote the number down. Her handwriting was pretty and neat, a whimsy to it that matched her job to a tee. Once done, she took it off the stack and handed it to him, their fingers briefly touching as he took it from her. There was a pause when their fingers met; her fingers were cold against his own and it sent a shockwave through him. He could die happy if he was able to feel that again. 

“That sucks. Because I've been really struggling with adding and subtracting.” He broke the brief silence with a boldness, one that looked all too good on him, and he smiled again. She rolled her eyes and laughed at his statement, “I’ll text you later today.”

“I hope you do.”

taglist (open, send an ask)

@causenessus @softpia @renardiererin @kodzu-ken @phoenix-eclipses

@wyrcan @honeekyuu @wakashudou @wolffmaiden @eggyrocks 

@yogurtkags @bakery-anon @totallytatum @mollyrolls @aozui 

@jadeoru @hyunteru @kameyyy @nekozaki @sandwhitches

@knightofwands-upright

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Okay you can’t tell me that Vlad doesn’t have an organ somewhere in his mansion. Upon learning of this, Danny would teach himself how to play the Haunted Mansion theme on the organ and play it at 2am.

Vlad Masters is away on business in Gotham, and the Fentons are coincidentally there for a symposium on ecto-activity. So it’s perfect! Except he goes to the wrong house, er mansion.

Honestly, Danny thought it was one of Vlad’s many mansions. Scaring the old man is his favorite activity after all. There’s a higher amount of ectoplasm here, so it has to be Vlad’s place right?

When Bruce comes out (on one of his few nights off) and sees his carbon copy playing the organ, all thoughts fly out of his head. Danny finally looks up and also blue screens. They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity until Danny’s cell phone rings (the ghostbusters theme??) and he panics. He jumps up and makes a break for the other door rushing through apologies “SorryWronghousegottagobye!” And runs out of the room. “Wait! Who are you?”Bruce exclaims as he rushes after him. They’re on the second story in one of the rooms he rarely uses. How did he know where the organ was? No matter. He’ll catch the kid on the stairs.

Except the kid is already almost at the bottom. How did he get down so effortlessly? The kid practically floated down the stairs.

Bruce gets to the foyer just in time to see the kid realize the door was dead-bolted in multiple spots. He won’t be able to undo them all before Bruce catches up to him.

He slows down and stands behind a pillar, assessing his next move. He needs to be careful here. This is a child after all, no need to spook him any more than he already has. He needs to slowly approach, and ask his questions.

But then the kid does the unexpected. After looking around frantically, he takes a deep breath. Two rings form around his middle and travel up and down his body. His black hair turns ghostly white. He looks back, almost directly at Bruce. His eyes widen as if he realizes he’s being watched. He whispers, barely loud enough to hear, “I’m so sorry, please don’t follow me.” Then, he backs through the locked door and vanishes.

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a series of drawings featuring Riz Gukgak from D20 Fantasy High. In the first, Pok holds Riz's shoulders in heaven as says, smiling, when you work until the dead of night, your friends know you do it because you love them. In the second, Riz is having a group hug with his party and the text reads, but is it really love that drives you, Riz Gukgak... In the next, a desperate, pleading Riz clutches the shoulder of an indifferent, faceless person and the text continues, ...or is it fear? In the fourth, Riz is younger and digging through crystals with bleeding hands; the text reads, what use are you when you can no longer dig. In the fifth, Kalina, shrouded in darkness with only her eyes glowing, reaches towards the camera with a smile; the text reads, when you're too scared to think. Sixth, Riz is filling out Fig and Kristen's papers under the light of a lamp, serious and tired; the text reads, when you're too tired to work. Seventh, Riz is lying in bed, eyes hidden behind hair, hand on his father's picture; the text reads, too sad to keep the mood up. Eighth, Baron stares into the camera; the text reads, too lonely, too insecure, too weird. Ninth, Baron is holding a defeated Riz by the throat; the text reads, to keep moving? Tenth, Riz is standing in the distance, holding his briefcase, and behind him is a football/soccer ball; the text reads, what use is a ball that can no longer roll? The last drawing just says none in brackets on a dark background. End ID]

[sergle]

Ah fuck ah shit we found a kitten again

dude screaming his LUNGS out in front of some random building in lawton. literally just screaming as loud as possible. his plan to cry for help worked flawlessly.

[missescalientee]

Finally revealing one of my other blorbos, Niccolo Sonata! A mixed genre troll who poses as a Pop Idol up until world tour

He's a complicated bag, he's half rock half classical, his mother kind of low-key hates him, and his dad does care but is kind of paralyzed with various anxieties that comes with the fact that Niccolo is half classical (worried about his constitution and his wings) and things related to his mother (she doesn't want Niccolo to become like his dad and puts a lot of restrictions on him)

Both of his parents don't really know what to do with him, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He has a lot of internalized hatred towards himself and the two sides of his musical families, plus he is a secret third genre (symphonic rock) which he doesn't fully understand. He got picked on a bit in Volcano Rock City, they're a lot rougher than he's used to so he just kind of took it, which is why he looks so roughed up in one pic and the other he says they hate him in VRC

Again he's really complicated even tho he doesn't look it, if you have questions about him lmk

[sualne]

clothes!!!

[cloudwisp]

“I’m glad we found time for us. Every moment I spend with you is a precious gift.”

“A sweet thing to say—and did you also arrange the fireworks to make tonight more special?”

“Even I have a little tact when it comes to certain things, you know.”

[whetstonefires]

You know, judging by how fast Wen Qing caved on Wen Ning's showing up in Yiling with wwx and jc, even though she was real mad about it, I bet he has been doing this to her for years.

Probably started by bringing her injured animals to doctor on as a kid. Later on, not necessarily a lot later, he started dragging in bullied disciples to patch up and hide from Wen Xu or somebody, and then probably he'd just kind of...fold a lot of them into his canonical personal retinue of loyal subordinates, however that worked exactly.

Wet kitten Wen Ning constantly dragging smaller wetter kittens back to his big sister to protect. She has tried all the arguments already. She knows there's no budging him.

Also lmaoooo hang on, Wen Ning had Wen Qing outnumbered a lot of the time, didn't he. She didn't have personal minions she could trust like that. These people just extracted a high-status prisoner from the custody of an erratic and violent superior pursuing a personal grudge without blinking, for their Wen-gongzi.

Wen Ning's ability to get up to shenanigans due to all the pathetic life-forms she'd allowed him to accumulate must have dawned on her with belated horror.

[raylangivins]

I understand the appeal of Boyd and Raylan being childhood best friends, but it’s infinitely tastier to me if they were just passing acquaintances in high school who felt some sort of kinship because they could tell the other was smart but hated each other’s friends, and then they got to the mines and given the first opportunity to actually talk to each other without the panopticon of their peers and family, they got real weird about each other real fast.

[duckapus]

AU where Mr. Puzzles actually manages to kill Mario, Meggy and SMG4 during the fight in the engine room. Of course, because Mario's dead the universe starts falling apart, which was not part of the plan, and when he looks up the Lore and finds out why he finally completely breaks and whatever's left of him gladly welcomes the end, declaring that a world that can't exist without Mario doesn't deserve to exist!

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew out in the park proper are freed from his control (since he's not really even in control of himself anymore) just in time to see the world falling apart around them and SMG3's model start to corrupt. 3 then gets a crazy idea, gathers as much Meme Energy as he can in his current state, mixes in some long-dormant leftover speck of Youtube Remote energy he apparently had buried deep inside him all this time (remember, he ate the damn thing, why wouldn't it have some hind of lasting effect?), then hurls it at the rest of the group.

Somehow, this sends their minds back in time to May 7th 2011, the day "The Cake is a Lie!" was uploaded, with the mission to stop Mr. Puzzles from inadvertently ending the world again. And it also gives them a chance to make other improvements to the timeline along the way. Just a few problems though:

They're dealing with the pre-character-development Total Asshole versions of Mario and the SMGs to start with

Everyone except Luigi has to wait until the show gets out of the "fucking around in Super Mario 64 Mods with text" and starts using G-Mod to actually get directly involved

Saiko's back in her game, though Boopkins was apparently already playing it even back then so she's at least not alone

Tari's... actually not sure where she is. Her memory doesn't extend this far back. Apparently she's in some sort of weird facility? At least Clench is still active.

Melony is a watermelon and has no idea where her mask is

Apparently Inkopolis won't be retroactively inserted into the universe until Splatoon actually comes out in the real world in 2015 so they have to wait about four years for Meggy to even exist

None of them have any idea where Mr. Puzzles was or what he was doing up until that fateful Mar10 Day where he sold 4 the goddamn Demon Keyboard

As you might expect, Bob immediately starts putting his knowledge of the future to use so he can get filthy rich.

[im14andivebeen14foramonth]

i just know that when they were little kids, soda convinced pony he could fly and to go up on the roof with him and fucking. jump right off. like soda full on told pony he'd be able to fly if he jumped off the roof and pony was like 5 so he was all "okay :DD" and then cue pony falling straight to the ground and him and soda making eye contact for a second before pony just does the little kid sobbing and their parents are running out like ??? what the fuck happened???? and they see one of their kids on the ground clutching one of his wrists and hear someone says "oops" and look up and the other one is just. on their fucking roof.

that was pony's first broken bone and soda's first older sibling "oh shit" moment <33

[sesamenom]

Family Tree Version 3, now featuring dwarves, hobbits, and the intricacies of however ainur are related!

Double lines on each side of a line break are used where lines overlap (---ll | ll---). Dashed lines indicate unknown numbers of generations, and dotted lines are for adoption. Grey text is used for alternative/old draft versions and assumed relationships (such as sticking oropher in with the sons of galadhon, or putting one of the dunedain as the tooks' fairy ancestor).

Version 2 here

[seiwas]

SEL MY SEL …….. crawling over here for the ask game …………… you already know . who i’m going to ask for phdkdjdkdb IN MY DEFENSE I WILL NEVER GET OVER YOUR VERSION OF HIM !!!!!!!

….. sugu ….. with ’sun’ ……. maybe 👉👈

(🍵 <- a little matcha for your troubles … good luck with the writing exercises my loveee <33 i’m cheering you on!!!)

ARI 🥹🥹🥹🥹 hehe ofc i shall write sugu for u! writing him is always so fun 🥹 thank you for the prompt, and for the matcha!! i will be sipping it as i write this 🥹 it is not a trouble at alllll!! esp if it's for youuuuu 🫶

contains: beautiful, gorgeous, sexy neighbor suguru, mood can be a bit unsettling... honestly a little stockholm syndrome-y (does this count as dark? idk 😭), skewed concept of reality and time

suguru + sun

you move into a new neighborhood on your 24th birthday.

it's a quaint house, fully furnished with wooden panels lining its contemporary build. you consider yourself lucky for finding a place this well-kept at the price point you offered. you're honestly surprised that suguru, your now landlord, accepted your application.

the area sits a few kilometers on the outskirts of the city, but it feels neither too quiet nor too busy; a perfect balance with an impressive view of the rising sun this early in the morning. that, and the people seem friendly, greeting you as they pass by. they even offer to help you haul things out of your car and into the house.

to the right of your house is one that holds the same design elements at yours, although a bit darker in its tones. it's sleek and modern, befitting of a bachelor.

"you must be the new tenant," a voice speaks from behind you, syrupy and smooth. you didn't even hear his footsteps.

when you turn around, you're met with a tall man who greets you with his arms held behind his back as he tilts his head low. there's a calmness that radiates off him, a sort of gentleness that signals he’s someone you can trust.

you nod, introducing yourself with your hand outstretched towards him.

"suguru," he replies as his fingers grab yours delicately. your eyes widen in surprise, recognizing the name, and he merely chuckles in return, a soft laugh that brings out kindness in his eyes.

"i should greet you properly," he lets go of your hand, placing it back behind him. "hello, new neighbor."

.

over shared breakfasts by your porch and impromptu dinners over at his, you grow a liking to suguru. he's polite and thoughtful, often knocking at your door in the mornings to offer you a cup of tea to watch the sunrise.

"you'll only find sunrises like this here," he leans back on the wooden chair you set out as outdoor furniture. his head tilts towards you slightly, impossibly close as you notice the corner of his lips curl up into a small grin.

hues of pinks, purples, and orange blend to illuminate his face perfectly. the sun is beautiful in front you, peeking between clouds as it inches away from the horizon, but something about him is infinitely more magnetic. your stare is immediately drawn to his lips, smooth and supple, before it meets his gaze.

you don't know what's worse―wanting to lean in or be pulled by the look in his eyes.

he fixes things that break in your home, always somehow knowing just when to show up. at first, it was your windows, the one by the attic, too high and dangerous for you to climb; then, it was your kitchen sink, its pipes regurgitating the water going down the drain. he's begun to bring you your groceries too, often asking for a list of what you need when he makes trips out of town.

your days blur easily when you're with suguru, and time passes almost fleetingly as you find your hours filled with soft laughs and touches so delicate you sometimes wonder whether they're real.

it should be noted, you think, how much time has passed since you first met him―an anniversary of some sort.

.

you learn that he owns both houses―his and the one you're currently renting. it once belonged to a friend who had to move for bigger, greater responsibilities elsewhere, he'd said.

"why did you decide on renting?" you ask him one night, over wine and candlelight.

your fingers fiddle with his as he sits you on his lap, this thing between you growing more intimate lately. he rubs his thumb along your thigh, resting his chin by your shoulder.

"you could have sold it or something."

he presses his lips gently on your collarbone.

"i could've," his fingers trail up to your waist, crossing your chest before landing on your chin, cupping it lightly to face him. your heart is hammering in your chest, senses on fire as his nose kisses yours. you think you can count every mole that dots his face beautiful. then, he inches closer, lips grazing yours as he whispers, "but i was waiting for you."

.

you mark each day at sunrise.

your digital clocks and calendars stopped working after some time, but you don't mind. suguru always tells you what date it is when you ask.

this morning, you wake up in his bed, and the sun is still as breathtaking as you remember it, the same pink, purple, and orange hues streaming through his window. when you look closely, the clouds―

"good morning," he brings you tea in bed, his hair topped off with a bun, a half-up-half-down.

your stomach fills itself with something warm and fuzzy as you smile at him, "morning."

"slept well?" his hand reaches for your waist under the duvet, and you giggle, ticklish.

"very," you crane your neck to land a soft kiss on his lips. "what date is it today?"

"october 28," he supplies.

your eyebrows shoot up as you realize, "i have to bring my car to the mechanic."

it's been 6 months now since your last check, right before you moved, and though you barely use your car anyway, it's best to be safe.

you quickly move to get up but suguru's hand keeps you in place, firmly pressed on your waist.

"i'll do it," he says with a smile on his face, "you rest here."

.

you barely see your other neighbors except for the girl who smokes a pack of cigarettes a day and the twins down the street.

when you ask suguru about it, he dismisses the question quickly, saying, "must have moved," as he urges you to take another sip of your tea.

you dream of them that night, on bare streets; it wakes you in a cold sweat, the image of your neighborhood reduced to just your house and suguru's.

.

this is the 200th sunrise since you started counting, which means this is the 200th day since you and suguru officially got together. kind of.

your gift for him is a painting of the sunrise, because it reminds you of him; and because it's become your favorite thing to look forward to, too.

the pinks and purples blend together beautifully as it contrasts with the orange hues, and the sun continues to peak above the horizon as it settles between clouds.

suguru kisses you when you give it to him, the taste of tea right on his tongue.

he frames it on his bedside, and when you wake in his room the next morning, it greets you along with the back of his head, fast asleep.

your eyes flit to the view outside his window, the same pinks, purples, and orange hues. you tilt your head curiously, brows furrowing. the sun stays at the same spot above the horizon, and when you look at the painting again, the clouds hold the same position and shape.

a chill washes over you, your hearbeat pounding.

.

"what date is it today?" you ask suguru as you wash the potatoes in the sink.

another bag of groceries from suguru. now that you think about it, you don't think you've ever gone to the grocery store since moving.

"is it important?" he responds, slightly snappy. you've begun to notice that he hates it when you ask lately.

you eye him from the side.

"i was thinking of preparing a menu of what we'll eat during the holidays, if it's near."

the furrow on his brows smooths out as you give your answer, and so he says, "december 5."

and you know something is wrong, because that can't be it. it doesn't make sense with the sunrises you've counted.

.

you dream again, more and more as the days go by―dirt roads and your house and suguru's, run-down and empty. more things start breaking in your apartment, and suguru always knows when they need to be fixed.

there's a deep, twisting feeling in your stomach that intensifies, festering under your skin; it worsens in the mornings, when you sit with suguru at your porch and you think you see a crack in the sunrise.

.

sunrise valley the place where the sun never sets! ─── beautiful, bright, and destined for people who live just like you! find your new home here.

[DISCONTINUED] — FOR DEMOLITION ON DECEMBER 7. under investigation for suspicious spiritual activity and missing persons.

[bikananjarrus]

you know kanan and hera had the most sickeningly sweet, mushy, lovey-dovey honeymoon phase bc hera let kanan take her on a little island beach getaway to the moons of rion.

[menace-material]

Starcream (yes, Starscream minus the "s") inspecting the winter party while Shockwave does all the work (getting tea and grill the maitake) and Soundwave makes sure Organic-Ravage (let's just say that) is cozy

[torchstelechos]

I bet Tim sends Jason ao3 links to Batman/joker porn when he's pissed off at him. I think that's something he would find amusing, even if the consequences come quickly to find him.