#it’s the found father trope

[sticker-star-sketchbook]

watched the new ultraman movie a couple of days ago

it's very good and so beautiful! go watch it if you have the chance! :)

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

It’s not that Jason forgot, per se.

But between smuggling a toddler out of the League of Assassins, trekking halfway across the world, and finding a suitable hiding place that’s also child friendly… well, it kind of slipped his mind that he’s supposed to be… dead.

Something that comes back to bite him in the ass when he takes Dami out for some ice cream and just so happens to run into non other than Brucie-fucking-Wayne

[luvrloki]

logan howlett, in every universe, was meant to be a girl dad

[michealdontleavemeher3]

hi! i was wondering if you could do a marvel/avengers x reader? where reader came from kind of a bad background and has to kinda learn that eating and doing things is normal and that they dont need to ask for permission. And the avengers realise after watching reader that they actually come from a bad background and tries to reassure that their safe? is that too complicated? SO SORRY IF IT IS. it would be really cool if you just do anything Marvel tho!! BUT OBVIOUSLY NO PRESSURE or anything. Thank you for listening and sorry if you dont understand what i said

Sorry that it took so long😿 but here it is

(also I'm so sorry the other requests are taking so long, I'm kind of busy but I try to write as much as I can when I have time)

Save haven

The Avengers Compound was unlike anything you had ever experienced. It was a fortress of safety, filled with cutting-edge technology and people who were hero's. For someone like you, who had spent years on the streets and in rough situations, it was unreal

You had been given a room of your own. The bed was massive, soft, and the blankets were warm. But even so, you often slept on top of the covers, not wanting to disturb the neatly made bed. You woke up early every morning, creeping out of your room to explore the compound, careful not to make any noise.

The kitchen was the first place you visited, It was always well-stocked, with a variety of foods you hadn’t seen in years. But instead of taking what you wanted, you’d wait until someone else entered, watching them prepare their meal before hesitantly asking if it was okay for you to eat too.

One morning, you lingered by the fridge, your stomach rumbling softly. Tony Stark walked in, still half-asleep, and went straight for the coffee machine. He glanced at you, noticing how you stood there, hands clasped together, your eyes darting between the food and him.

“Morning, kid,” Tony greeted, yawning. “Help yourself. You don’t need to ask.”

You smiled weakly but didn’t move, waiting until he had taken his coffee and left the kitchen before you finally grabbed a small yogurt. You ate it quickly, standing by the counter, before hurrying out to avoid being seen by anyone else.

It wasn’t just in the kitchen. Throughout the day, you found yourself unsure of what you were allowed to do. You asked permission to use the bathroom, take a shower, even to sit down in the common areas. You tried your best to stay out of the way, not wanting to be a burden.

The Avengers started to notice your behavior, though it took some time for them to piece together the full picture. At first, they chalked it up to nerves—after all, you were new, and living with superheroes could be intimidating. But as the days turned into weeks, they began to see that it was more than just nerves.

One afternoon, while everyone was gathered in the common room, you were perched on the edge of an armchair, looking uncomfortable. Natasha was sitting nearby, watching you with quiet concern. She noticed how you stiffened every time someone raised their voice, even in laughter. She saw how you glanced around, seemingly searching for cues on how to act.

When Steve offered you a spot on the couch next to him, you hesitated, eyes wide, as if unsure if you were really allowed. “It’s okay,” he assured you, patting the cushion. “You can sit here.”

You nodded and carefully sat down, but even then, you kept your hands folded in your lap, as if afraid to touch anything. Natasha exchanged a look with Steve, who gave a small, understanding nod.

Later that night, Natasha found you alone in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. You were scrubbing the counters diligently, even though the staff usually took care of it.

“Hey,” Natasha said softly, not wanting to startle you. “You don’t have to do that. We have people who handle the cleaning.”

You paused, turning to face her. “I just… wanted to help. I didn’t want to be useless.”

Natasha’s heart ached at your words. She approached you slowly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re not useless. You’re part of this team now. You don’t have to earn your place by doing chores or asking for permission. You belong here.”

You looked down, feeling a lump in your throat. “It’s hard to believe that sometimes,” you admitted. “Where I came from, I had to ask for everything. If I didn’t, I’d get in trouble.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, and she guided you to sit down at the kitchen table. “You don’t have to live like that anymore. This is your home now. No one here will hurt you or punish you. You’re safe.”

As she spoke, Steve walked in, having overheard the last part of the conversation. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from you. “We’re your family now,” he said, his voice kind and sincere. “We’re here for you, no matter what. You don’t need to be afraid or ask for permission to be yourself.”

You felt tears welling up, but this time, you didn’t try to hide them. Natasha squeezed your hand, offering silent support, while Steve gave you a reassuring smile. It was the first time in a long while that you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could trust this place—these people.

The next morning, when you entered the kitchen, you saw Tony pouring himself a cup of coffee again. This time, you didn’t wait for permission. You grabbed a bowl, filled it with cereal, and sat down at the table. Tony noticed, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you take this small, but significant, step.

“Good to see you helping yourself, kid,” Tony remarked casually, taking a seat across from you.

You offered him a shy smile. “I’m trying.”

Over the next few weeks, you found yourself slowly adjusting to life in the compound. Clint would invite you to join him in watching movies, and you began to relax, realizing you didn’t have to wait for an invitation. Wanda started baking with you in the afternoons, teaching you recipes from her childhood, and you felt the joy of doing something just because you wanted to.

The others continued to reassure you in small ways. Steve always made a point to include you in conversations, never letting you feel like an outsider. Thor would leave small treats for you, gifts from his trips off-world, just to see you smile. Bruce offered quiet companionship in the lab, never pressuring you to talk, but always there if you needed someone.

One evening, after a particularly fun movie night with Clint and Sam, you found yourself laughing freely for the first time in ages. The laughter felt foreign, but good, like a weight had been lifted from your chest. You looked around at the team, realizing that you were truly beginning to feel like you belonged.

As everyone said their goodnights and headed to their rooms, Natasha caught your eye. She gave you a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of how far you had come.

“You did good, (Y/N),” she said, her voice soft and full of pride. “You’re doing great.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. “Thanks, Nat. I think I’m starting to believe that I really am safe here.”

She squeezed your shoulder gently before heading off to bed. Alone in the common room, you took a moment to appreciate the warmth and comfort that now surrounded you. It had been a long journey to get here, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were truly home.

And in that moment, you knew that this place—this team—was your safe haven.

[anonymousewrites]

Nature of the Human Soul

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Non-binary! Reader Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Non-binary! Reader

General Warnings: Hazbin Hotel covers difficult topics and has 18+ humor. Please be aware of what you are comfortable with.

Book 1:

Follows the Events of Season One

Prologue: Dying in the Roses

Chapter One: Welcome to the Hotel

Chapter Two: Commercial Problems

Chapter Three: Controlling Television

Chapter Four: New Hotel Guest

Chapter Five: Bonding through Battle

Chapter Six: Memories of Life and Death

Chapter Seven: King of Hell at the Hotel

Chapter Eight: Trouble at the Hotel

Chapter Nine: Going Clubbing goes Wrong

Chapter Ten: Deals and Darling Overlords

Chapter Eleven: Convincing through Song

Chapter Twelve: Preparing for Battle

Chapter Thirteen: Fight for their Souls

Chapter Fourteen: Show Goes On

Specials:

Pride Specials: 2024

Halloween Specials: 2024

Taglist:

@kyalov

@pandaquick

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@jaytheaceenby

@paastaboi

@bettybabys

@gxdoesstuff

@grippleback-galaxy

@just-here-reading

@dmitrytherat

@a-small-tyrant

@marxo5

@rory-cakes

@andsoigotabutterfly

@theblueslytherin

@romyoia

@ray-rook

@thereeallink

@pandaquick

@funkyexistence

@theyaremorethanjustfictional

@lanxianschoenheit

@justyourfriendlyneighbourhood1

@ringsofpersonti

@futureittomainn

@enderpearltv

@oo0lady-mad0oo

@falsemain

@a-huge-bi-nerd

@lost-in-the-hellaverse

@tagthetrekkie

@amberforest08

@picklehat3r

@lunalixya

@rl800

@crystal-freak24

@deadgirldreaming

@elaemae

@im-making-an-effort

@kitkatlover015

@snowy-violet

@wonderlandfandomkingdom

[koldefingre]

They are so not father son in the way that they so are father son. Yk?

[sidewalk-cracks]

rereading one of my favorite fanfics has me ruminating on one of my favorite found family dynamics more than usual

[imagine-darksiders]

A drabble from that Pseudo x Reader found family fic I never wrote.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Everything about you is out of proportion,” Pseudo grunts, gesturing to your hands.

You’re so bewildered by his assessment that you actually whip them up in front of you to give them a thorough examination, as though you might inexplicably find something amiss.

But no. They’re just as they always have been. Two thumbs, eight fingers, not any one longer or shorter than they usually are.

But then, you glance up at Pseudo, and it occurs to you for the first time, that in this strange and wild world you’ve washed up in, you might be the odd one out.

Your eyes wander to his scrawny waist and leathery, honey-yellow skin that’s stretched taut over his midriff, defining abdominal muscles and sinking slightly between the bars of his ribcage. But his chest is distended awkwardly, swollen and bare and by all means overbalanced compared to his middle.

Flicking your gaze up, you take in his neck, stained nearly brown with dirt and battle paint, lending it the look of a body part that’s been stitched on top of his sternum as an afterthought.

It's thick too, almost the width of his substantial shoulders, and it tapers gently until it feeds into a head with no chin, nor any visible nose - just two jaundiced eyes and a wide, lipless mouth that’s tilted into a permanent frown. There’s no hair on top of his head. In fact, the only hair on his body sprouts as coarse, single strands from his temple and grows sporadically down the length of his arms, black as night, like the hairs that used to grow on your grandmother's chin when she forgot what tweezers were.

Even his arms look far too long, and you find yourself regarding them from under your furrowed brow as he stirs the pot that’s bubbling away over the firepit. One hangs a good few inches lower than the other against his muscled thigh, each fore and upper arm extended well beyond the length of a typical human’s. You recall seeing gibbons at the zoo when you were eight, how odd and funny their arms looked…

On Pseudo however, they’re borderline scary. All muscle, no fat. Almost human, not close enough to be mistaken for one.

To Pseudo, a man for whom proportions have always been off-kilter, your unvarying symmetry must be a sight to behold.

Still stirring a wooden spoon around his pot, he suddenly shifts on his four-toed feet and pointedly clears his throat, and you realise you’ve been staring for just a fraction too long.

“Sorry,” you utter, averting your eyes to the firepit and drawing your knees up closer to your chest. You feel his alien gaze linger on your downturned face for a few moments before he grunts dismissively and returns his attention to the pot of boiling broth.

“Well, I think you’re very pretty!” a youthful voice pipes up.

Slowly, you turn your head and quirk a brow down at the little ball of soot-black feathers that has claimed the spot directly beside you.

From within the mass of ebony tufts, two enormous, round eyes blink innocently up at you, golden as treated amber, and the only features visible on the child’s feathered face. There’s a mouth in there somewhere, hidden behind a plumage so black, not even the firelight seems to change its pitch. You know because the Boy – his only moniker, apparently – is much more of a talker than his gruff protector.

No sooner have you met his curious gaze however than he abruptly seems to turn shy, dropping his stare and tucking his small, contorted hands underneath his body to hide them alongside his avian legs, like an owl settling down in its nest.

“Oh?” you prompt gently, watching as a single, slender finger emerges from his feathers to trace mindless shapes in the sandy dirt.

A slight shift in the mass of darkness suggests he’s shrugged his wing, avoiding your eye as he stammers out, “Well, I mean, you’re really nice. And your eyes aren’t scary at all, a-and you’re really soft to sleep on!”

Ah. Yes, you remember that. Well, specifically you remember blinking awake on the cot Pseudo gave up for you - after much arguing back and forth - and finding a small, obsidian shape curled up on your stomach. It had taken an insurmountable effort to refrain from screaming and tossing yourself from the cot before you remembered where you were, and that there was not, in fact, some kind of wild, scraggly beast sneaking into your bed.

You also recall swallowing back the yelp and turning your head to gather your bearings, only to spot Pseudo sitting by the firepit nearby, his sharp, yellow eyes wide and alert, fixed unwaveringly on you.

Apparently, the Boy had one of the best sleeps of his life.

And you, one of the worst.

You can hardly believe it's only been a few short days since you washed up on that beach.

Sighing dismally at the memory, you tune back in to the present and find that the Boy has grown slightly more confident in his affirmations.

He's raised his head to you again, and lowered his voice to a secretive whisper, golden eyes squinted shut with gleeful mischief.

“Not like Pseudo,” he tells you, “He’s like sleeping on a rock.”

That tracks. You've seen first-hand Pseudo's proclivity for martial arts. Nobody gets that good without some fierce and rigorous training that's left his body one, solid muscle.

You’re not sure that being nice and soft constitutes pretty, but you’ll take the compliments as they were intended.

“Thanks, Kid,” you smile, prying an arm away from your knees and laying your palm gently on top of his head, smoothing back his tufted ears and earning yourself a contented warble from an unseen throat, “You’re very cute yourself.”

At that, you see his eyelids flatten and he harrumphs, grumbling, “M’not cute.”

A sudden roll of soft laughter draws your gaze back up to Pseudo, who’s standing with a hand on his jutted hip, regarding the pair of you with the beginnings of a fond smile stretching the corners of his unusual mouth. “Hate to disagree with you, kid, but you are,” he teases.

The Boy whines, and the tip of his long, black tail starts to tap against the ground in mild agitation.

For the first time, you and Pseudo give each other looks of mutual accord, and you suddenly find his towering height and alien presence just a little less frightening, eased by the unexpected warmth in his otherwise stony expression.

“I’m sure you’ll be very handsome when you’re older,” you say to the grumbling sphere at your side, trying not to smirk when the child turns his hopeful gaze onto you, “But for now, you’ll just have to accept it...”

Giving his feathered head one last tousle, you return your hand to your lap and drop an eyelid in a lazy wink. “You, kid, are very cute.”

Puffing up indignantly, he lets out a strangled sound and casts his mind about for a retort.

“Oh yeah?! W-well… Well, Pseudo thinks you’re cute too!” he accuses triumphantly, pointing a wing out at his guardian, who almost drops the spoon into his bubbling pot before he manages to snag the handle with two fingers again, whipping his head up to stare at the Boy in muted horror.

Your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline, taken wildly aback as you meet Pseudo’s gaze, only for the pair of you to instantly snatch your eyes away from each other, and the latter to roughly clear his throat and argue, “I – When did I -? I never said-“

“-Yu-huh!” the Boy interrupts, suddenly excitable as he turns to you and blurts, “Remember when you fell in that pond? And Pseudo went in to rescue you, and then after, when you were drying off, I heard him say-“

The sudden clatter of a spoon hitting the ground promptly cuts off the end of his sentence. “-OH-kay, I think it's well past your bedtime,” Pseudo announces sharply, stalking towards his charge and reaching down to scoop him off the ground whilst staunchly avoiding your bewildered gaze.

“But I haven’t even had any supper yet!” the Boy protests, dangling helplessly by the scruff from Pseudo’s fist.

Dumping him soundly - but notably gently - on the straw-covered cot beside the tent, Pseudo grumbles, “One more word out of you, and you’ll be tonight’s supper.”

"Pseudo!" you scold through a smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, he's out for the count," you murmur, stretching your arms up over your head and waiting for the bliss of a good ache to flow down your shoulders.

"Good," Pseudo grunts just as quietly, watching your face scrunch up, enraptured, "He needs it."

You've found yourself sitting once again on a patch of grass just next to camp, perched near the edge of a cliff that looks out towards the cold Zonectic Mountains. The sky above you, unhindered by light pollution - or any pollution for that matter - is clear and bright as a mirror's surface, freckled from horizon to horizon by a myriad of stars.

You're staring up at them, trying to see if you can pinpoint any of the same constellations that you might recognise in your own sky back at home. Not that you were much good at it even before you wound up in Zenozoik.

"You're doing it again," his rich, dulcet voice mumbles, the rustle of grass clueing you in to his proximity.

He does this. Ventures close sometimes, not for the purpose of protecting you, as he does when you travel during the day. But when it's quiet and still after dark, and the Boy is asleep, the insects buzzing and cricketing away in their trees.

Pseudo continuously seeks you out, even though you had him pegged as a loner who neither liked nor trusted you when you first met. You chalk it up to simple curiosity. You suppose you'd be just as curious if an alien landed on your world too.

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you tear your eyes off the empyrean stars and turn to give Pseudo a questioning, heavy-lidded glance. "Doing what?"

"Thinking," he grunts, settling down in the grass next to you, leaving just a foot of space between you.

Again: Odd.

"Oh? Want me to show you how?" you quip.

It's become a mark of success for you to make the grizzled hermit smile, and as he lets out a low, breathy chuckle and leans sideways to knock his sizeable elbow against you, you allow your own grin to widen.

"Smart-ass," he huffs, turning sombre a moment later and heaving a sigh that nearly doubles his chest in size. "Thinking of how you're gonna get back to your world again, huh?"

"I'm never not thinking about it," you admit, "I just hide it better when You-Know-Who is awake..." Twisting your neck over a shoulder, you give the tent a tired look. "He doesn't like hearing that I have to leave."

Pseudo doesn't say a word in response, doesn't even meet your eye. He just stares straight ahead, his expression tight and locked on the distant peaks.

It's only when you raise your face to peer up at the stars again that he finds his voice.

"Would it be so bad?" he asks quietly, listening to a breeze pass through the camp and rustle the flaps of his tent, "If you stayed, I mean."

You miss the sideways glance he throws at you, and the hopeful gleam in his yellow eyes.

"Ha, yeah, Pseudo," you snort, "It would be pretty bad. I don't know how this world works. I'd have been killed ten times over if you hadn't found me. And I wouldn't even know how to begin building a life for myself here."

The two of you sit through another stretch of silence for several moments before Pseudo hesitantly offers, "I could teach you how..."

Once again, you fail to register the sliver of hope in his tone. It doesn't occur to you that this might be more than a polite suggestion meant only to ease your concerns. The idea that Pseudo might be extending a lonely hand towards you in the hopes that you'll take it doesn't even cross your mind.

Because how could a recluse be lonely?

"That's not the point." Exhaling softly, you reach down and gather your knees towards yourself, resting your chin on top of them and blinking up at the night sky. "I'm gonna get out of here, one way or another...." you murmur, mostly to yourself, "Just need to figure out how."

Again, Pseudo doesn't respond. And this time, he doesn't break the silence.

For a long couple of minutes, you and he simply bask under the light of the rising moon, your head upturned to gaze into it's too-large face, Pseudo's head tilted subtly to watch the side of your face.

Eventually, you hear him push himself off the ground, followed by the soft fall of his bare feet padding back towards the camp.

"You should get some sleep," he grunts over his shoulder without turning to look at you, "Tent's all yours."

Lifting your chin off your knees, you aim a soft frown at the back of his head, but you know by now that arguing with him is like throwing paper at a brick wall.

So, instead, you let out a weary sigh through your nose and softly call, "Thanks, Pseudo... You get some rest too, okay?"

The towering figure raises one, sinewy arm and waves it dismissively through the air. "Sure, sure..."

You'll hold him to that. "Goodnight, Soods," you tell him, "Sweet dreams."

His feet fall still on the dirt, shoulders locking up in surprise, but you've already returned your attention to the moon hanging in the sky.

[cevtoons]

Family.

[vixymix101]

I always felt a sorta father/daughter bond between them

[blitany]

moments between Ellie and Joel  that have physically grabbed my heart and squeezed it

Ellie parenting Joel the way Sarah parented him (”I’m taking a shower. And then you’re taking a shower.”)

“I’m not family?” and the shred of hope in her voice as she asks because Ellie’s never belonged to anyone, with anyone (not the way Riley did, not with a family), and she wants to so badly

“Look at me. They’re not going to hit you” and “Do you trust me?”

Joel being absolutely terrible at trying to talk to Ellie after the ambush but he’s trying to because she saved him and he’s both impressed that she did and feeling awful that she had to. it’s his fault, his job is to protect her. but she protects him without thinking twice. she’s still trying to prove herself to him, from the way she shoots Bryan to the way she hides her tears because she doesn’t want Joel to think she’s weak. and he doesn’t know how to tell her she shouldn’t have to be strong.

the implicit non-verbal communication and trust between them when she’s on the ground and he’s up in the church

when Joel goes to hug Tommy and Ellie watches on with this look of hurt and longing on her face - maybe because she wants that kind of care from Joel so bad, maybe because she thought he just wasn’t an affectionate person but now she sees he’s just not affectionate with her, maybe because she’s realizing that Joel is family to her but he already has a family and no matter how much she cares about him he’s never going to need her in the same way never going to view her in the same way because he already has what she never did

Ellie defending Joel to Maria because how dare this stranger judge her father figure? she knows all she needs to know about him, she’s certain that they understand each other in a way that nobody else does.

“i’ve lost somethin” and the first time i heard this i thought he meant Sarah but no he meant Ellie, he’s afraid of losing Ellie because she means something to him now, she’s not just cargo, but he’s too scared to say it out loud

when there’s a knock at her bedroom door at dawn and Ellie says “come in” so softly and hopefully because she thinks it’s Joel and she’s ready to apologize as long as it means they can stay together. then it opens and it’s Tommy and her whole body language shifts into this

Joel’s little barely-repressed smile when Ellie throws her bag at him and says “let’s go” because she’s choosing him, because she’s still choosing him even after what he said to her

the way Ellie leans against him and rests her head on his back while they ride and he just lets her

Joel telling Ellie he wanted to be a singer when he was a kid because he’s finally opening up to her and trusting her and he wants her to know him 

the desperate, pained crack in Ellie’s voice as she cries “jOeL” in the snow, her hand touching his face, begging him not to leave her

the look in Joel’s eyes as he watches Ellie go, thinking she’s leaving him, trying not to cry in front of her

and the astonishment and happiness when she comes back to save him, the way he can’t thank her for doing so because he knows it’d be better if she left but he’s just so glad she’s staying and how she looks at him for courage before she starts stitching him up and he grips her hand so tight and i love them so much

[luvrloki]

father daughter duos that will make me cry uncontrollably and be the only thing i think about for the rest of my life? sign me up!!!!

[michealdontleavemeher3]

Omg yes a platonic writer i love platonic fics there so rare 😭

Frr😭 the true struggle of being aroace😔💯

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Non-binary! Reader Platonic! Will Turner x Reader Platonic! Elizabeth Swann x Reader Platonic! Jack Sparrow x Reader Platonic! Tia Dalma x Reader

Book:

Based on the Events of Curse of the Black Pearl, Dead Man's Chest, and At World's End

Prologue: Found at Sea

Chapter One: Troublemaking at the Promotion

Chapter Two: Battling in Port Royal

Chapter Three: Commandeering the Interceptor

Chapter Four: Recruiting on Tortuga

Chapter Five: Arriving at Isla de Muerta

Chapter Six: Outrunning the Black Pearl

Chapter Seven: Stranded on an Island

Chapter Eight: Dueling on Isle de Muerta

Chapter Nine: Hanging a Pirate

Chapter Ten: Arrested at a Wedding

Chapter Eleven: Captured by Cannibals

Chapter Twelve: Visiting the Witch

Chapter Thirteen: Hiring on Tortuga

Chapter Fourteen: Finding the Chest

Chapter Fifteen: Sword-Fighting for the Chest

Chapter Sixteen: Attacking Kraken

Chapter Seventeen: Sacrificing for Escape

Chapter Eighteen: Meeting Sao Feng

Chapter Nineteen: Journeying to the Locker

Chapter Twenty: Seeing the Dead

Chapter Twenty-One: Escaping the Locker

Chapter Twenty-Two: Bargaining for Freedom

Chapter Twenty-Three: Calling the Brethren Court

Chapter Twenty-Four: Parleying with Beckett

Chapter Twenty-Five: Freeing Calypso

Chapter Twenty-Six: Battling the East India Company

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Living a Free Life

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

@andsoigotabutterfly

@insomniacneedssleep

@painstakingly-juno

@kitkatlover015

@chronicallybubbly

@froggyisfriend

@elliottheidiot2007

@paastaboi

@urlocalsabito

@speckle-meow-meow

@dmitrytherat

@vanessa-boo

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

@ceridwyn3

@heil-nah

@idonthaveanameforthisacc

@roo024

@rory-cakes

[soooooolar]

when the trope is found father but the father betrays them and actually i'm talking about batfam

[goryhorroor]

my favorite trope: found father