#my dum sons

[jesusworesandals]

[purplepomegranate08]

Concept:

It’s a Saturday night the avengers are in the tower. Tony and Bruce are doing science bro things ,thors eating pop tarts,Clint’s crawling in the vents ,etc

The villains surround the tower ,blown up the doors ,breakin the windows

And earths mightiest heroes proceed to retaliate with home alone esc shenanigans which include but are not limited to

Creepy Russian lullabys

Glitter bombs

Exploding microwaves

And Tony and Peter almost committing homicide because a villain kicked dum-e

[vani-ash]

I actually have semi fleshed out (kimchay) AUs for like most of Jeff's MV but none of them are finished and I hate(not actually i love talking about them) talking about my wip before they're finished cause it makes me work on them less cause I'm like

I talked about it = I worked on it :)

and then I never continue writing then 😔

Anyway here is a couple of them:

Dum Dum - (currently 12k written)

KimChay are walking home one night accidentally walk into an alleyway where they see a group of gang members killing someone, Kim tries to help Chay escape but ends up knocked on conscious and Chay is taken back to their leader. Chay believes Kim died in the alleyway.

A year passes with Chay now living as the mafia bosses husband. Chays mind is broken and believes the mafia boss is Kim due to him living in delusions to deal with the trauma. One day someone plants a bomb in the mansion and breaks in. Sunshine is tattooed on their neck and Chay thinks its a mercenary sent to kill him. He insists his name is Kim, but Chay doesn't believe him. His Kim didn't have tattoos or white hair.

Lucid- (currently 6k written)

Chay lives by himself and tends to a large garden. one day he finds a man passed out in his garden. Chay takes him back to his home and takes care of him. When the man wakes up he is startled and scared of Chay and jumps out of Chays window.

A week later the man comes back. They grow close and Chay eventually learns the mans name, and that he is a fae. As they grow closer Chay starts to feel sick and he keeps forgetting things. One day he forgets Kim.

Another fae curses Chay to forget Kim every time they part cause they’re jealous Kim doesn’t want them (the curse also causes Chay to be in pain whenever they’re together it takes Kim a while to figure this out which is why he keeps coming back, he just thinks Chay’s sick) but you know Chay is Chay so he’s so excited to meet a fae and talk and help him etc. but eventually Kim figures out how to break the curse: he has to die.

(not MCD has happy ending)

Loop - (currently 4k written)

Kim is forced to work at his family's company but he hates it and is intentionally being bad at his job. When he gets paired up with one of the company's best employees to make him better, Kim starts to fall for Chay. Kim does star actually learned how to do his job but Kim continues to be bad at his job so Chay will have to help him more.

One day Kim overhears his father saying if Chay doesn't get Kim to start working better he will be fired. So Kim starts to actually do his job. And when he is finally doing well, Chay is forced to quit anyway cause Korn doesn't like Kim is in love with a random employee.

[gortashshairytits]

[kayvsworld]

OH MY GOSH..........................

@kayvsworld ‘s beautiful tony hc post……. this man making things in his basement and then making scaled tinier versions of those things…….

[transit-fag]

Okay so I shuffled my legally obtained mp3 files 12 times to get these songs, so we can decide this important question,

Good bye yellow brick road is by Elton John

[hurtspideyparker]

Tony doesn't tell the Avengers about Peter's secret identity, but Peter starts coming over constantly and chilling around the tower, helping Tony in his workshop or eating dinner with everyone.

Since Tony is weirdly secretive about who the kid is, and the fact that Spider-Man is still a small unknown (presumably adult) hero who isn't on any Avengers radars, they all collectively come to the conclusion that he's Tony's illegitimate child.

Bruce: They do have the same eyes...

Steve: This is an inappropriate conversation to have. If Tony doesn't want to tell us then we shouldn't pry

Natasha: Tony doesn't even like kids. There's no way he would tolerate one if it wasn't because of his guilt complex. I'm surprised there isn't more little Starks running around considering his previous lifestyle

Clint: *cough* drunk slut *cough*. Oh excuse my throat, I meant to say he was a drunk slut

Natasha: Steve they're the exact same. Talk too much, too fast, genius brains that go right over our heads, stubborn, like to cope with humor, same body language. They'll have the same smile lines when Peter grows into them. The only difference is that Peter was raised with manners

Steve: I'm not saying I don't agree, I'm saying it's none of our business. Anyone with basic observational skills can tell they're desperate to fill father and son roles in each others' lives, but Tony's really weird about it, so we should let him keep it private

Clint: We probably make him nervous

Bruce: Because he thinks he's a bad dad?

Natasha: I think he's kinda good at it. Which is extremely unnerving

Steve: Honestly out of all of us I had bets on Bruce having a secret wife and kids hidden somewhere. Tony stepping up to be a father was lower on my list than Nat

Natasha: You have a list?

Bruce: You think I pull?

Steve: That's irrelevant. I think it's nice that they're so close already, but we don't need to press. It might mess up a good thing

Clint: Wait can we go back to this list business. Are these like pragmatic, military leader lists, or are these for pleasure? What other kinds of lists do you have? What about which one of us is most likely to turn on you. Or what you'd turn for. Oh! What about a list of all our weak points based on accessibility and intensity, with contingency plans in case of defection or aliens or brainwashing or alien brainwashing causing defection

Steve:

Natasha:

Bruce:

Steve: This is why Tony won't share his personal life with us.

They last another week before Clint, Natasha, and Bruce team up to steal a strand of Peter's hair and test it for paternity. Steve knows something is up, and follows Clint to Bruce's lab.

Steve: What are you doing...

Natasha: Admit it, you know exactly what we're doing and you want to see the results

Steve: I... well if you already have them there's no point keeping it from me

Clint: Tony Stark is not the daddy!

Tony: Which of my exes have you been talking to?

Clint: AH oh hey Tony didn't see you there

Steve: I'm not apart of this

Tony: Is this about Peter? He told me something plucked his head when he was walking down here. Which of you murder twins was hiding in the rafters

Natasha: Y'know he's not your kid, whoever told you he was lied to you and I hope you get your child support back

Tony: My kid? He's my intern. What funky kool-aid have you all been drinking, that boy is sorting my tool drawer right now. He has slightly better dexterity than Dum-E, it's been quite helpful

Bruce: You have really poor professional boundaries if he's just an intern

Tony: Okay fine. He's actually Spider-Man. I didn't wanna tell anyone cause the Accords were still fishy, but everything should be good now. Anyways, he really wants to train with you guys so you'd have to know eventually

Clint: Who the hell is Spider-Man?

Steve: That guy in Queens who helps bring in peoples' groceries?

Tony: Well, yeah—listen, he's like 14 and he just got his powers. I'm not exactly sending him to fight armed terrorists yet. He'll grow into it, but trust me, there's potential. I'm kind of like his mentor

Steve: You really don't need to do that

Bruce: Yeah we'll all help out from now on

Natasha: Don't take too much responsibility for the boy

Clint: Oh god what have you been teaching him?

Tony: Thanks for the vote of confidence guys. Whatever, now that you all know he'll be hounding you all day for advice anyways. Good luck with that. Friday tell Pete to come down here, the Avengers are gonna train with him

Tony leaves them all, snickering to himself as loud footsteps come crashing down the hallway. If they didn't know any better they'd say several elephants were tripping down the stairs. Then, the doors burst open, Peter's mouth already running a mile-a-minute.

Peter: Really, you guys know, you guys will teach me? Can I use the shield, Ms. Romanoff can you show me how to kick, show me with Mr. Barton, or, or Mr. Rogers. I can take down someone bigger than me, I'm actually really strong. Wanna see? Why are we in Bruce's lab, is that my first lesson! Can I touch this? What are you making here, how long has this been distilling, what about my webs, have you ever seen my webs? I did them myself, but I bet we could make them even better, watch out it's really sticky—

Steve ends up with webs all over his face, several of Bruce's beakers broken from the white spray, one reacting poorly with it and exploding all over Clint and Natasha. Bruce immediately shoves them into the decontamination shower, leaving them as two drenched rats wearing skin-tight combat gear. Natasha is already fuming at the thought of trying to peel it off.

Peter: I'm really sorry, I didn't know it was on ricochet... the splitter webs were just 'cause I panicked

Steve: This is why I told you all to leave it be.

"Noted," they all say in unison.

[sayoneee]

☆ AND I KNOW IT’S OVER (STILL I CLING)

percy jackson, who never seems to know when to quit, keeps coming back. (2.9k)

contains: percy jackson x daughter of minor god! reader. post tlo (alt universe - everyone lives). book percy descriptions. apollo (derogatory).

kashaf’s note: book percy descriptions bc that was my first love. (sry if i get some of the words wrong, english isnt my first language pls be patient!!)

SUMMER BURNS. at camp half-blood, the scorching heat has dwindled to soft caresses, from the heat of the fire during sing-alongs where your cabin joins hands and toasts marshmallows to the cool breeze balming the sun’s glare at its zenith in the sprawling strawberry fields. at home, the scorching heat leaves marks — the biker with flames for pupils who clutched an openly bleeding wound as he thrust a first-aid kit at you, and the girl not much older than yourself with tears marring her face as she handed you a pregnancy test to ring up, avoiding your curious (sympathetic) gaze.

however, despite it all — you stand infallible, much like your grandfather’s part convenience store and part pharmacy, a poor man’s family heirloom.

you stand idly, flipping through an edition of seventeen when the rusty door swings open to admit a familiar face — with unruly black hair and an equally reckless grin (you know exactly who it is from the ba-dum of your heartbeat), the infamous son of poseidon (with the same smile as shawn hunter from boy meets world) is easily recognizable.

you glance at the crimson blooming around the crevices of his knuckles, tightly gripping a faded and worn-out skateboard, his scruffy converse squeaking across the tiled floor, raising an eyebrow as you coolly say, “band-aids are in the back, on the right.”

jackson laughs, an all-consuming sound (the wind-blown half-blood hill where apollo seemed to smile down at you, the laughter, like the memory, evanescent), “thanks, doc.”

you discreetly watch him perusing the aisles, before stopping in front of the ancient fridge — your grandfather’s store was something of an 80s pompeii with the peeling posters of back to the future and motley crue and the antiquated maroon and cream color scheme — and pulling out an arizona green tea.

when he finally goes to look for band-aids, you attempt to fix your attention back on the magazine in your hands, but like a moth driven to a flame, percy jackson was unbelievably hard to look away from (a magnet among mortals and immortals alike). 

jackson’s hands are on his hips, his tupac t-shirt creasing, thick brows furrowed as he decides between different types of candy with the same intensity as a single mother with two children and a nine-to-five (even in the mortal world, there is something else entirely about him, something that made it so that you could never truly write him off).

when he approaches the register again, it’s hard not to look up and watch his ascent. when he finally does come to a stop in front of you, he looks the same as he did the last summer, though the tiny silver trident earring is new, the camp beads resting peacefully atop his collarbones aren’t.

you ring up his items: a box of band-aids, the arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks, looking away from him all the while.

“good to see ya, doc,” jackson says, a wry grin on his face, and his eyes are so green — as green as they were at twelve.

“it’s never good to see you, jackson,” you snark back, reciting his total, “four ninety-five, by the way.”

he laughs again (your heart goes ba-dum again), and hands you a five dollar bill, shoving his things into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his baggy jeans, with a salute on his way out (his turning back was a sight far more innocuous than the last time).

the next time jackson breaks whatever tacit agreement lies between the two of you, your hands are similarly stained. reds and purples line your palms, much like the burgundy seemingly permanently staining your grandmother’s fingertips; the culprit (the bowl of pomegranate seeds) sits innocently beside you. 

“back again?” you say, glancing at the familiar scarlet stains adorning jackson’s hands (a familiar blue friendship bracelet sits on his wrist, edges frayed with five years of wear, and there’s a lump in your throat). 

“why, did you miss me?” jackson asks, again with that wry grin of his, skateboard in hand. 

“you’re the one who came back,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest, willing the constricting feeling to disappear.

“doc, i’m sorry to have to be the one that has to break this to you,” he sighs sympathetically, putting a bleeding hand over his heart, “but the sun doesn’t revolve around you.”

“actually, jackson, the sun kind of does revolve around me, ‘cause y’know apollo, the sun god apollo? my grandpa apollo? my grandpa, the sun god, apollo?” 

“going by your logic, that would mean time revolves around me, ‘cause y’know kronos, the time titan kronos? my grandpa kronos? my grandpa, the time titan, kronos?” jackson says, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets down another band-aid box, an arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks on the counter.

“y’know, if you cared this much, you might’ve passed greek,” you say, referring to the progress report cards you were handed at the end of summer.

he shrugged, handing you another five dollar bill, and proceeding to shove everything into his black holes of jean pockets, “yeah, well — wait, are those pomegranates?”

“yeah,” you say, “i peeled them myself — do you want some?” 

(your father liked these, your grandmother had said earlier this afternoon, your mother liked to peel them for him, as i peeled them for her, and your grandfather.)

jackson suddenly looked bashful, fidgeting with the hem of his a tribe called quest t-shirt, “i’ve never had pomegranates before,” he confessed.

you blinked, taken aback, “you’re seventeen years old and you’ve never eaten a pomegranate before?” you pushed the china bowl toward him, “now you have to eat it.”

“my mom liked telling me the myths when i was younger,” he begins, setting down his skateboard, and reaching for the spoon before halting, like he was shocked, “she told me about persephone —”

“jackson,” you say, sardonically, leaning over the register to look him in the eye (there was always a storm brewing in his eyes), “i promise you, hades won’t come out of the ground and drag you to the underworld if you eat the pomegranate seeds i peeled.”

“i know what my next sleep paralysis demon is gonna be — thanks to you,” jackson says, looking down at the bowl and its floral blue pattern around the edges, playing with the spoon, and shifting the seeds from side to side.

“percy jackson, i swear to asclepius, you’re missing out on pomegranates,” you say, coming out from behind the register, and looking percy in the eye again, and there is something so earnest, so raw about your next sentence that his breath catches, “and, i swear on the styx, if hades does somehow come out of the ground to drag you down to the underworld, i’ll come down myself to drag you out, even if it’s tartarus.”

a rumble of thunder can be heard overhead despite the clear sky and scalding sun; percy blinks, before breaking out into a slow grin (your stomach seems to grow wings of its own, on the verge of flight.)

“invoking your dad, huh, doc? these pomegranates must be serious,” percy says, finally taking a bite — stepping around the bomb you just dropped.

you watch him intently, studying him as you studied tennyson and homer, “they are that serious.” there is something innocent about the way he eats, starved like every other teenage boy with black holes for stomachs. 

“y’know, i can put that into a tupperware container and you can take it with you, right?” you offer. 

“really?” percy asks through a mouthful of seeds, looking up from the bowl at you, “won’t you think i’ll steal it or something?”

“not really,” you shrugged, “i trust ms. jackson.”

percy nods solemnly — sally jackson is sally jackson after all, a queen among women, and an achilles of sorts, with her soft smile and steely eyes. 

steeling your nerves, this is already the longest conversation you’ve had (ignoring the forever-ago late-night debriefs under a firmament of stars), you step up to the plate and take a swing, “how is she, by the way, haven’t seen her in a while.”

percy swallowed, eyebrows furrowing, “great — oh, wait, did i tell you she was seeing someone new now?”

“no way, really? good for her, honestly. i know, poseidon’s a god and all, but like, she’s always deserved just, so much more.” (you manage to make contact with the change-up thrown your way.)

there is something so sincere about your words, that percy can’t help but grin back, finally reaching the depths of his sea-green eyes, and there is something still so boyish about him, that you can hardly believe any time has passed at all, and that somewhere within this demigod who successfully defeated kronos, while saving luke, there is still a semblance of your percy. 

“yeah, the guy, paul blofis, he’s an english teacher — absolutely worships the ground she walks on.”

“sounds perfect for her.”

“you should come over some time — see her, meet paul, y’know,” percy offers, still funneling spoonfuls of pomegranates, meeting your gaze head-on (this is the home run you were waiting on).

you grinned, a slow smile overtaking your face, pushing your hands in the pockets of your jeans, “might just take you up on that, before you change your mind.” (you’re leaving the ball in his hands now; it’s up to him to tag you out or let you reach home base safely.)

“nah, i won’t change my mind, unlike someone else i know.”

you ignore the jab (a smaller, suppressed part of you itches to shoot a reply back), instead choosing to focus on the hesitant hand of friendship being offered — as your father liked to say, keep moving forward.

you shrugged, and you swear, for a second you think the intensity of his gaze has lessened, almost as if disappointed. almost as if mentally shaking it off, percy hands you the china bowl back, empty, running a hand through his shaggy hair with a sheepish grin.

you smiled wryly, glancing down at the bowl and back to his face. “fatass,” you say, affectionately, and then almost freezing, wondering if you somehow overstepped the invisible lines constricting you. 

percy laughs — a green light. 

“lucky for you, though,” you say, disappearing behind the register for a moment before reappearing with a tupperware container filled with peeled pomegranates, “i peeled more.”

you hold it out to him, and he glances down at your outstretched hand, then at your face, before seemingly making up his mind, and accepting the olive branch, “you’re really committed to seeing my mom, huh?”

“well, obviously — the other alternative would be seeing you, wouldn’t it?”

“aw, c’mon, doc, i know you missed me,” percy says, a bit smug, picking up his skateboard, the tupperware container in his other hand (the one he still wears your bracelet on).

“in your dreams, jackson.” there is a peal of odd laughter in your voice as if you were unused to this kind of jocularity when fumbling over his name.

“in my dreams, we do more than just argue,” percy says, with one last smug smile and salute, before walking out the door, leaving you behind in the worst state of confusion you’ve possibly suffered (percy jackson: 1, you: 0).

(your grandmother admonishes you later that evening as you stand beside her stooped figure at your kitchen counter, peeling pomegranates, you gave the rest of it to that boy, didn’t you? her voice is not scolding, but you feel like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar once more. your immortal grandfather, the nuisance that he is, stands in the doorway, hands in an 80s leather jacket and matching sunglasses, waiting to be welcomed in. in contrast, his son — your father — brushes past him, grumbling, and takes on your grandmother’s burden.)

the analog clock reads ten fifty-five as you start mopping the floor, yawning when the front door swings open with a jingling bell, and a sharp metallic smell wafts into the store.

you whirl around, gripping the mop in your hand as a baseball bat, immediately alert as your demigod reflexes come into play. you physically relax at the sight of percy clutching his side, crimson pooling on the edges of his white t-shirt. 

“of course you would attack a man when he’s injured,” percy says with a grin, blood dripping from a gash over his eye (luke had returned to camp some years ago, with a similar scar), and a split lip, collecting like rust on his t-shirt collar. 

you scowled, dropping the mop and immediately rushing toward him, your healing instincts kicking in. lifting one of his arms and letting it curl around you, you shouldered him to the register, cringing with every audible wince percy let out.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked, as you sat him on your stool, reaching for the ambrosia and nectar you kept hidden under the counter for emergencies (one could never be too careful).

percy grinned — it came out more of a grimace, “what isn’t wrong with me — that’s the question you should be asking, doc.” he nodded to himself, and then immediately cringed at the action.

you glared at him, shoving an ambrosia square in his mouth, before turning away from him to put antiseptic on cotton pads. “does ms. jackson know you’re here?”

“no?” percy says. you walk over to the fridge, grab a water bottle, unscrew the cap, and drench the part of his t-shirt covered in blood.

“ow? in case you forgot, i’m still injured here, doc?” percy clutches at his side.

“you dumbfuck, your mom is probably worried out of her mind right now,” you say, scowling, stepping closer to percy (he still towers over you, even when sitting down).

“i iris messaged her,” he shrugs, looking at you as you shift even closer to him, cotton pad in your hand, “she just knows i’m with you — pretty relieved at that, dunno why.”

reaching out to grasp his jaw in your hand, you begin dabbing at the bruises on his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut as you try to ignore the way his hot breath is fanning across your face right now. “you didn’t tell her what happened?”

percy opened his eyes, staring at you. “no, how could i?” he says, slowly, “you were her favorite — still are, by the way.”

you don’t say anything for a moment — after all, how could you? (sally jackson’s homemade cookies drift to the front of your treacherous mind — the sunny afternoons with her kind voice, and percy’s loutish laughter.)

“you didn’t come to see her,” percy says, the statement not accusatory, his eyes fluttering shut again (you try not to let the way his eyelashes sit so prettily distract you) as you dab at the gash over his eye.

“i didn’t think i was welcome,” you say gruffly, turning away to grab bandages. “after everything.”

while the deeper wounds have eased into far easier, superficial ones, you still make sure to wrap and bandage everything — percy had a penchant for getting into trouble (one that you knew all too well), so it was the least you could do.

“i just told you that you were welcome, last time i was here, didn’t i?” percy says, an accusation.

“yeah, well, it was hardly an invitation was it?” you say, turning away from him, packing your supplies up. 

“doc, you didn’t even come to take your tupperware back.”

you ignore him, moving to walk away when his hand is enclosed around your wrist (the hand that wears your blue friendship bracelet), tugging you around to face him. 

percy’s standing up now, his green eyes looking more like a swirling storm with each passing second — he still hasn’t let your wrist go.

“what do you want from me?” you ask, trying to snatch your hand back from him, to no avail — his grip is ironclad.

“i can’t let you walk away with your back turned to me again,” he says (the dim, lantern-lit night comes back into focus, and you wonder if you were too consumed by your own pride, if you had just turned around, if you had just stayed).

you realize too late that tears are pricking in the corners of your eyes, and you manage to successfully wrench your hand out of his grasp, a watery, sarcastic laugh escaping, “you’re a couple years too late, asshole.”

“i know that,” percy says, earnest, reaching out to cup your cheek, and wipe a stray tear (the action stuns you into paralysis), “but i miss you, and my mom misses you, and she hasn’t gotten off my case about you, yet.”

the thought of tender-hearted sally jackson scolding percy is an amusing one, and draws a laugh out of you against your will (percy’s smile grows a little brighter, and asclepius knows you’ve never been able to resist that smile of his), “i’ll come over for ms. jackson, not you.”

percy’s smile is even wider now (his hand is still ghosting your cheek), “same thing.”

“shut up,” you say swatting at his shoulder, trying to duck out from under his arms. 

percy avoids your attempts to escape him, instead latching onto your hand, and pulling you out of the store. “c’mon, she’s expecting us for dinner.”

you let out an incredulous laugh, and let yourself be dragged out anyway (you would follow this boy anywhere, even to the depths of tartarus). 

(your grandmother watches from the apartment window above the store, a soft smile gracing her lined features.)

[arminsumi]

it's the hair.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: lol this is just a dum fluff drabble i wrote instead of studying

SUMMARY — your childhood friend and classmate satoru positively kills you with his new haircut. but he misunderstands your reactions and behaviors, thinking he did something wrong.

WARNINGS — lowercase used, not proofread, misunderstandings between u n gojo, angst if you squint ??

WORDCOUNT ≈ 1.3k

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

you've been eyeing out gojo all day. he's not sure what to make of your expression — it's something mixed between comical worry and genuine distress.

"what? what is it?" he keeps asking you each time you give him the side eye look-over. "do i have something on my face?"

"no. it's nothing." you reply curtly.

he squints skeptically at you.

from class to class, he ponders alongside suguru. did he say something? were you mad at him? was it because he stole your soda from the vending machine yesterday? but he always does that, so why would you be mad now? maybe you were just not feeling well? did you not sleep well?

and suguru's ears flooded with all these theories.

"did i say something to y/n? she's acting strange today."

his best friend stifles a smirk. "dunno, did you?"

"i think she's mad at me. was it because i stole her soda? but y'know it's not my fault we like the same soda! and i promised to buy one for her next time!"

suguru now lowers his head into his arms, resting on the desk, trying so hard to keep his laughter in.

"maybe it's the weather — probably the flu — yeah, definitely the flu. i'll go get something for y/n at the store, d'you need anything, suguru? what! what are you laughing at!"

"nothing, nothing. i don't need anything from the store, thanks — unless maybe something spicy that catches your eye. 'better run quick, store's gonna close soon."

satoru furrows his brows in confusion, and eventually his entire expression becomes serious, like an old philosopher in deep thought about the universe. but it's not the abyssal void beyond the stratosphere that's in his thoughts, no, it's you — you're pervading his entire mind as he walks across the roads of tokyo, to the station, and boards the train.

holding onto the handles as it shudders and sways, shoulders taught as they always are when he's in thought. were you really sick? what if he did something bad? maybe it was nothing at all, and he was just overthinking it. maybe it didn't even involve him. did it have to do with suguru? or perhaps you were upset about something in the past, something irrational and long-forgotten, like the fact that he didn't attend your 7th birthday party. it's not like he had a choice, his parents barely allowed him to visit your side because they didn't want their prodigy son hanging out with...

he texts you.

satoru — are u home yet

he stares and waits for you to come online, then watches as those three dots move up and down and you start typing.

you — no why

satoru — where are u

you — bridge

satoru — what are u doing

you — lol so many questions

you — the sunset looks rlly good today i'm taking pics

satoru — wtf without me??

you — lol sorry didn't think u wanted to waste ur time watching the sunset

satoru — see u there

he's just boarding off the train, coming through its doors, when he texts you that. thank the benefit of his long legs for speeding to the store in time before it closes. he picks up your favorite.

when you see him come into view, you're waiting with your arms draped around the railing of the bridge.

"trying out for the track team?" you laugh, as he practically runs up to you. "did you run this whole way?"

he's catching his breath, clutching a plastic bag of goodies.

"are you sick?" he asks.

"what? no?"

"i thought you might have the flu." he's asking with genuine concern, it's bizarre. he usually doesn't talk like this unless he knows he's in trouble with you, or if something's really wrong.

"i'm fine." you blink, "i've just been watching the sunset. you missed the best part."

"i didn't know you enjoyed sunsets."

"why didn't you invite me!" he groans, coming over to assume an oddly attractive position by the railing. he slacks against the metal, leaning his weight on it. he lets the plastic bag with yours and suguru's favorites in it thud to the ground.

the cityscape is so pretty, and yet he's still prettier, you think.

"i don't care for them." he admits, "but of course i'll enjoy a sunset if you're watching it with me."

you look at him. he's not even facing the sunset. was something on his mind? you can hardly theorize, because you're giving him that peculiar look again.

he catches you looking at him, "what!"

"what?"

"did i do something wrong?" his breath is stable now, "are you mad at me?"

"no? why d'you think I'm mad at you?" you ask confusedly.

"because you keep lookin' at me like that!"

"like what?" you feel your cheeks warm up.

"like something about me is offensive to your eyes."

you break out laughing. "no! i'm not — it's not — you misunderstand me, like always..."

"what the hell?" he whines, "is it nothing serious? i've been worried. you've been looking at me weird since sunday and — oh... OH MY GOD."

you giggle, chin pressing on the railing. "did you just realize something?"

"is it the haircut!"

"it's the haircut."

"why do you not like it!" he fumes, that familiar satoru playfulness coming back now as he was put at ease knowing he didn't upset you. "you know it cost a lot, 'n i styled it and everything."

"i didn't say i didn't like it! it's the opposite."

"so you like it? then why do you look at me like you're having an internal crisis?"

you groan, "because you're giving me a crisis! you know i'm weak for undercuts!"

he shuts up. his heart races a bit. oh, so he misunderstood you not a little bit but entirely. oops. now why didn't he realize that his haircut would have this effect on you? when he subconsciously went to get an undercut because you mentioned you liked them in passing one school afternoon.

"oh."

"you're so dumb, satoru."

"well sorry!" he rolls his eyes.

now there's silence. he stops leaning his back against the railing and turns to face the final stages of the sunset. the streetlights come on, one is gleaming not too far from you two. it casts a dreamy light on his hair.

it really is a good cut, and it's styled in such a way that... well it gets your daydreams going, let's just say that. and here gojo was worried when he came out of the salon, thinking it was too short now. truthfully, it was a bit short compared to his other haircuts, but he wore it well. of course he did.

"so you like it?"

"i love it."

"well if you love it, then show it love." he teases.

"what on earth d'you mean?" you laugh shortly.

"fluff my hair." he says.

"no way, lice-boy."

"hey!" he pinches your cheek in retaliation, and your reaction endears him as much as it always has since you two were kids. "that was one time, i haven't ever had lice again."

he pouts. you look over. he is pouting. pouting. he's a nineteen year old boy pouting about not getting his hair fluffed by his childhood friend who he maybe sorta kinda has a crush on.

and then he encourages you. he leans his head on your shoulder. his hair tickles your cheek.

"damn. you're like an attention-starved cat." you joke.

he places your hand on his head himself. the brief warmth and glimpse at the size difference between his hand and your hand made him giddy.

you ruffle his hair lightly, and then he wears a satisfied smile. now early night has settled. it's quiet at the bridge except for the distant city sounds and lull of the highway.

"i was really worried that i did something wrong." he admits.

"i'm sorry."

he sighs, snuggling your shoulder. there's a nice silence between you and him.

then he breaks it.

"hey, i didn't say stop fluffing." his deep voice reverbs in your chest. he's playful and lively, but you can tell he's also tired from running all the way here.

"you're a menace." you tell him.

"but you like me, right?" it's more of an insecure question. he wants to hear you say it back, not as a playful joke.

"of course i do."

"good, good."

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

[asdfghjklmals]

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. WORD COUNT: 1.3k words. TAGS: adoptedkiddo!megumi x fem guardian!oc, nothing innappropriate.

SYNOPSIS: oc gojo girlfriend has always been megumi's emergency phone call. AUTHOR'S NOTE: taken and inspired by the manga chapter where the kiddos spill coffee on satoru's shirt. please let me know if my tag makes sense for megumi and reader, i don't want people thinking this is is an inappropriate relationship! REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

“we are so dead”, megumi thought to himself as he stared at the coffee that was spilled on the white dress shirt in front of him. ijichi had left gojo-sensei’s brand new and freshly dry cleaned button-up shirt with them for a moment and nobara just had to spill coffee all over it.

“you’ve done it now, kugisaki.” megumi chastised her.

“this is gojo-sensei’s, right?” nobara asked her two partners, “okay, who’s really at fault here? ijichi, who entrusted us children to keep a freshly dry cleaned shirt safe… or me, who spilled a little tinsy winsy bit of coffee?”

yuji and megumi shouted in unison, “you are at fault!”

the students started to panic while trying to dab at the stain with napkins. “you gotta dab it like this… this is how my grandpa taught me to treat stains.” yuji told megumi and nobara. his tongue was sticking out, eyes concentrated while dabbing at the shirt. megumi looked defeated. it was like he was working with tweedle dee and tweedle dum.

yuji picked up the shirt and laid it out on the table. the coffee stains almost looked like a design. maybe they would be able to get away with it. gojo-sensei wore some interesting things, he wouldn’t question it.

“it could pass for marimekko.” yuji said. nobara agreed while looking at the shirt, “if you look at it in this light and angle…”

“that’s so insulting to the fashion industry.” megumi stated. he was raised by the satoru gojo and (y/n) (l/n), so he was aware of the fashion trends due to both of his guardians having a shopping problem.

“why don’t we just get him a new shirt? i bet it’s replaceable!” nobara suggested to the two, “fushiguro, look up how much this shirt costs!”

megumi took out his phone and started googling. his eyes widened in shock, gulping as he realized it was a prada shirt, “uh, guys… this shirt is $1800…” he showed yuji and nobara his phone. they looked at the price with disgust and despair.

yuji, asking in fear, “is that before or after tax?”

“does it matter?! we don’t have that kind of money! we’re high schoolers!” megumi shouted at them. he could feel the anger boiling in him.

“well, i’ll put in $900 since i was the one that spilled the coffee and you guys put in $450 each, does that sound good?” nobara suggested as she did the math begrudgingly. she definitely did not want to spend her play money on replacing her rich sensei's shirt.

the kids heard the dining hall screen slide open, eyes full of terror. megumi shoved gojo-sensei’s shirt into his jujutsu high uniform as he greeted his students, “mornin’! ijichi should’ve left you guys with something for me… uh, megumi, you good?”

“oh yeah,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “ijichi said he was going to give it to (y/n) instead!”

the way megumi stuffed the shirt into his uniform made it look like he had boobs. nobara and yuji held in their laughs behind their hands, megumi’s lie was the nail in the coffin for them. he wanted to punch both of them in their faces, he was so annoyed. he stormed out of the room and retreated to a hidden faculty closet to make an emergency phone call.

“so, to what do i owe the pleasure of my adopted son calling me?” you teased megumi. he would've just gone to your office if today wasn't your day off.

“i need a favor…” he mumbled.

“what happened, kiddo? are you in trouble?” you asked him with all teasing aside, concern in your tone.

“not exactly. nobara spilled coffee on one of gojo-sensei’s expensive shirts. can you help me get it dry cleaned before he finds out?” he explained the story to you. mama-(y/n) instincts picked up right away.

“bring it home, i’ll take a look at it. satoru doesn’t come home until 6:30 today.”

you had a very soft spot for megumi and tsumiki. if they needed anything, you were there for them in a heartbeat. realistically, you knew that satoru wouldn’t be upset about his shirt since he could just buy a new one anyway, but it was cute to see megumi all worked up about it. you chuckled to yourself in the kitchen as megumi hung up the phone. he'd be home in a flash.

later that day: the gojo/(l/n) household

“(y/n)-sensei, i’m home!” megumi called out to you from the foyer as he took off his shoes and grabbed his slippers.

the familiar scent of the apartment he grew up in brought him back to his childhood, it was nostalgic for him. it was a mix of your nectarine and honey blossom perfume and gojo-sensei’s spicy and woodsy cologne.

he reminisced about when you and gojo-sensei first got this apartment. he would watch tv with tsumiki after school while you and gojo-sensei hung out in the kitchen making dinner. mainly gojo-sensei would watch and bother you, but to megumi's surprise, both of you were decent cooks at 18. he missed when you would read bedtime stories to him and tsumiki, he liked to think you were the reason why he loved reading so much.

he walked over to the wall next to the bathroom where gojo-sensei measured his and tsumiki’s height every month until he turned 12. a soft smile formed on his face when he thought about how his sensei would include his spikey dark blue hair into his height to make him feel better about not being 6'3" like him. oh what he would do to be 12 again...

after living in the dorms for a year now and only coming home on the weekends, he sure missed you and the blindfolded idiot. he would never admit it, but he actually liked living with you two. he was grateful to have guardians like you and satoru.

“welcome home, kiddo. we missed ya'. and what did i say about not calling me sensei? it makes me sound old.” you smiled and hugged him tightly.

he grumbled as you ruffled his hair, “ugh. you just saw me yesterday...” megumi shook his head and fixed a couple pieces of his hair that your slender fingers displaced. he hated when you and gojo-sensei would do that, but he always let it slide because well… it was you and gojo. and believe it or not, he had a soft spot deep down for you two.

“where’s the shirt?” you asked as megumi took out the soiled shirt from his backpack.

“yikes, not the prada shirt…” you tried to hold back a laugh.

“can it be saved?” he asked eagerly.

“i don’t know, megumi. you might have to do chores for a whole year to pay this one off.” you joked with him.

you sighed, there was definitely no fixing this. you retreated to your bedroom to find your purse, megumi curiously wondering what you were doing. you rummaged through your purse to find your wallet, taking out your black credit card and handing it to megumi. megumi eyes widened, he knew what the black cards meant, he grew up with you and gojo-sensei after all.

“take my card. go buy a new one exactly like this. he’ll never know.” you whispered to him.

“are you sure? this is expensive. nobara suggested we all pitch in to buy a new shir—”

you hit megumi upside the head with a spray of water from your cursed technique, “go now. the idiot comes home soon!” you grabbed his arm and dragged him from the kitchen table to the foyer.

he smiled at you and turned to open the door, but before he left, he stopped.

“(y/n)?” he said quietly.

“yes, megumi?” you watched him as he looked over at you.

his hand left the doorknob as he ran to hug you quickly, “you’re the best.”

his embrace surprised you. you wrapped your arms around your adopted teenaged son and laughed. everyone knew megumi loved you more than he loved satoru. there was only one person that he would call in case of emergency, and it was you.

BASED ON THE MANGA FILLER:

© 2023 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

[tender-rosiey]

Gojo's son saying his first word PLEASEE🫂🫂🫂

team up — gojo satoru x f!reader

“why do we need so much groceries?” your husband grumbles, watching you try to pick between two types of honey which he, to be honest, thinks are exactly the same.

you seem to have chosen one and finally place it in the cart before sassing him, “because a certain someone wasted all of our food on an experiment that was obviously going to fail.”

you then rub both your and your son’s noses together and coo, “right, sweetie?”

as if to answer you, he lets out a small laugh accompanied by a happy squeal and it makes both of your hearts clench even if it meant being teamed up on for gojo.

“well, you should be more supportive of my creations! what if I made a recipe that enabled me to become a three-star michelin chef?”

you smile softly at your dear husband, “hell would freeze over first.”

dear idiotic husband.

he whines and throws himself on you, “why are you so mean?!”

“you like it that way though, don’t you?” you tease, but you quickly lose your composure when your husband starts tickling you.

“sa—satoru! we are—we are outsi—de! behave!” you try to say between your laughs and wheezes, but your husband doesn’t look like he is stopping anytime soon.

he even has the audacity to start smothering your face in kisses, “well, maybe if you weren’t so cute then I wouldn’t have such a hard time holding myself back!”

you try to push him away; however, it just results in him picking you up and twirling you around a bit before placing you on the ground.

the two of you can’t stop laughing, while you just bury your face in his shoulder in the process and he buries his own in your hair placing a gentle kiss on it.

you guys stay in each other embrace for a while.

at least until, gojo feels a little smack on his hip. he then looks down to see that his son, who is in the cart, was the culprit, “what’s wrong, buddy?”

the little boy frowns before pulling on his dad’s shirt multiple times, “b-ave!”

“huh?”

you blink multiple times before picking your son up, “I think he wanted to say ‘behave’.”

a moment of silence passes, and it’s followed by your unstoppable laughter and your husband’s pale face because he found out that he has been scolded by his own baby.

“I seriously need to migrate from this country; I can’t handle the hate from your mother now I have to take it from you too?” gojo complains before summoning a hat and placing it on his head, “I will go and leave you guys to get some milk.”

he feels a tiny grip on his shoulder this time and looks at your son who is nestled in your arms comfortably.

the little boy pulls his father towards him with all his might (which isn’t much), but his dad indulges and is now right beside you with an automatic arm around your waist.

“yes?”

you rest your head on gojo’s shoulder, waiting and anticipating what your son will say next.

you were not disappointed.

“‘t-toru dum’!”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @bakugossanity @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @fiona782 @ginneko @kisakitwister @iamjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[gunsandspaceships]

Tony’s behavior: Teenager/Young Adult (16 years old)

In the first part we made our observations on Tony under the age of 13. Now we'll look at Tony between the ages of 13-21. The task is to identify Tony's character traits and compare him with the child he used to be. This post is not about why he acquired new behaviors (if any) or what happened to him over the years. These are tasks for another series of posts (see “Tony’s Childhood”).

Let's start chronologically with teenager Tony at MIT.

We have some photos and magazine/newspaper articles. Tony is 16 here. He studies engineering and builds robots.

Better quality, but cut:

In this article we can see confirmation of my conclusions that Tony was a quiet boy and calmly went about his business - creating things. Nothing seems to have changed since he was 3-6.

He is confident in his scientific and technological abilities, bravely willing to defend his creations, do what others consider impossible, and has a "single-minded determination."

He works hard and does not act like a gentle golden boy.

He still doesn't talk much. These are his only words from the articles:

In fact, Howard said more in the article about his son, than the subject himself.

Btw, this is what he was doing back then, and from what he was getting fun - creating, and participating in tech and scientific contests, improving, making more advanced tech every year. And again, he was doing it alone. There is no mention of friends or other students who might work with him (99% sure they didn't).

He was not interested in weapons at that time. Instead he wanted to improve everyday life, which corresponds with him building Dum-E and U, who do exactly that.

Note that people expected him to move from robotics to the military industry in the future. THEY wanted that, not Tony. There is no mention of Tony ever working on any weapons or any other military thing before becoming the CEO of SI.

Let's look at the photos:

Look where Tony is on them: he is not trying to attract attention to himself, he is on the periphery. The focus is on the robot, and it is Tony who makes the robot the center of attention, despite the articles being about him. He even stands on the side and crouches down to take up less space.

Conclusion: Again, he's not showing off. Soft smiles, no poses and gestures that we can see in the Alter Ego of the adult Tony or expect from him if we stick to the popular image. He is still the same kid he was in the part 1. No changes in behavior at all.

[hollyoongs]

˗ˏˋ 𝝡𝝪ꓴ𝖭𝗚ᒍ𝖠𝗘'𝗦 ᒍ𝝤ꓴ𝙍𝖭𝖠𝗟 (𝗇𝗼t 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝙧𝘆!!!) || M.J.H

—0.1: dear journal, i don't like her!

ᨓ 。bnd myungjae × fem reader ꒰🍭꒱﹕teeth rooting fluff ﹕489 words

𝙨𝗂𝗇𝗼𝗽𝙨𝗂𝙨

Jungkook didn't know what to do; he tried everything to tone down his son's energetic behavior after countless teacher's notes, but when he saw how his son loved to write him appreciation letters ever since he learned how to write (and how calm he stayed for more than five minutes), the idea of a diary came to his mind. But he didn't know that his son would love that journal (his son's words) so much to even write about his first love, but also how much she hated that girl with pigtails and a beautiful smile who didn't share some of her crayons with him.

The next day, Jungkook took Jaehyun to kindergarten, being greeted by Taehyung with a smile.

“Morning, Jungkook-ah! Jaehyun, ready for another day of adventure?” Taehyung asked cheerfully as Jaehyun bounded past them, already excitedly chatting with his classmates.

Jungkook chuckled, giving his best friend a quick nod. “I’m not sure he ever stops being ready. It’s like his energy never runs out.”

As they stood watching Jaehyun make his way into the classroom, Jungkook’s thoughts wandered back to the notebook. Last night had been a surprising success; after a little convincing, Jaehyun had spent a good fifteen minutes writing and drawing in it before bed, a rare moment of calm that Jungkook savored. It felt like a small victory.

“He was really into the idea of writing in his journal,” Jungkook mentioned casually, turning to Taehyung. “It wasn’t hard to get him on board after I explained it to him.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows lifted slightly, impressed. “That’s great to hear! Sometimes all they need is a little push in the right direction. I knew Jaehyun would enjoy it—he’s got a lot of imagination to express. Just like his dad.”

Jungkook smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I’m hoping this helps him focus in class. I don’t want him to struggle because he can’t sit still.”

Taehyung’s smile softened. “You’re doing everything right, JK. He’s not going to be perfect every day, but with your support, he’ll figure it out. And so will you.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the school day. Jaehyun waved at Jungkook from the classroom door, his wide grin and sparkling eyes a constant reminder of why Jungkook worked so hard every day.

“I’ll see you later, Dad!” Jaehyun called out before disappearing into the room.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Today I goed to scool and I playd with my frends but that girl with the pigtiles didn’t shar her caryons with me!! I HATE HER and her dum smily face >:( She allways gets the good colors and she never shar!! I asked for the blue one like a million times but she say NO!! I said it’s not fare!! She just looked at me and stuck her tung out. SO RUDE. Then Mr. Kim camed over and said we gotta share and he gived me the red one but I DIDN’T WANT IT. The red one is dum and ugly and it doesn't even look like fire when you drawed it. Blue dragons are way cooler, evryone knows that!!

But I drawded a dragon anyway cuz I'm a HERO and dragons are cool and now I don’t care about the blue one. Maybe I don’t hate her tho. But I still don’t like her smily face. She always smily. Even when she’s mean. I hope she shar tomorrow or I’m gonna tell Mr. Kim again. Maybe this time I’ll get TWO crayons and she gets NONE!!! Ha! That would be funy.

𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦: MASTERLIST 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 - 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵

𝘃𝗲𝙧𝘆 𝗂𝗺𝗽𝗼𝙧t𝖺𝗇t 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 (𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵)

@onedoornet @loserlvrss @tkooooop @jvngw0nlvr @hees-love @astrae4 @fae-renjun @nicholasluvbot @txtbrainrot @kwiwin @kkumistars @lynnimini @dalliesque @cherrycolaberry @seokkiez

© hollyoongs, 2024. please do not copy, translate or steal my story

[serialadoptersbracket]

Bonus Round: Elric Brothers Custody Battle (aka “mod’s brother is going to kill her”)

(As before with the Narumitsu edition, winner of this custody battle gets the kids)

Submitted kids:

Izumi Curtis, Roy Mustang: Edward and Alphonse Elric

Propaganda under the cut!

Izumi Curtis:

“#Are we really leaving teacher in the dust here #The things she did for the elric brothers' world view #Also mine. As a young child who would grow up into a big strong lesbian #Her and her husband sig? I'm sorry to say but this too is yuri #Goals. I look at sig Curtis and I go. My God. I have to get butcher #Ba dum tss #G. Get it #Because he. Because they run a b. A butcher shop he's a butcher”

Roy Mustang:

1. “This pathetic cringefail loser of a man managed to raise and guide two traumatized children into becoming well-adjusted adults. He also gets bonus points because those kids end up saving the world from disaster.

Also he's hot sometimes”

2. “He has two(2) sons!!!!! Weird little traumatized children!!!! He's also soooo dad shaped(a mass murderer)!!!! He such a loser too!! I love him so much I wanna chew on him <3”

3. “ok i'm not into fma buts its a popular source and my oomfs r into it and i hear a lot about them. like top five things i hear about whenever i hear them talk about fma. hashtag war criminal family swag”

[polutrope]

Hi!

▼, ★, ♡ and ൠ for Caranthir

Thank you so much!!

▼ - childhood headcanon

By the time Caranthir was born, Feanor and Nerdanel and their growing family were almost never in Tirion -- they were either travelling or settled temporarily in some village or other. Caranthir was born on the remote eastern edges of Aman, where the light of the Trees barely reached (how he got the name Morifinwe) and grew up in the wilderness, with very few people and lots of quiet. He did not adapt well to the hustle and bustle of city life, and while the delights of culture (food, wine, art) grew on him, he never liked the crowds of people and their social performances.

★ - sad headcanon

His lands in Thargelion were a great source of pride for him. He never talked about his grief over losing everything in the Bragollach. Except, eventually, to Maglor, who understood exactly how he felt.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Caranthir and his wife, Dornil (S.)/Nornawen (Q.), had a strong and devoted partnership and she stayed by him until his death and continued to serve the house of Feanor afterwards. Neither were very romantic people, and they were friends first before deciding to court. They were undoubtedly the most functional marriage in the house of Feanor. (She's a major character in my fic And Love Grew.)

ൠ - random headcanon

He wears rings on every finger, some more than one, which most people take to be a sign of vanity. Few know that every single one of them has symbolic importance to him:

his marriage band.

Feanor's marriage band, which he kept in secret after Feanor and Nerdanel's marriage fell apart and only wore openly after Feanor's death.

a gift from Celebrimbor, one of his early works and nothing special, though it is to Caranthir. Worn on his pinky because Celebrimbor measured it on his own not-yet-fully-grown hands.

a mithril ring all the way from Khazad-dum (that one is a display of wealth and success, and he's proud of it). On his right forefinger.

six for each of his brothers, which he wears stacked on three fingers. The two for Amrod and Amras and the one for Maglor were given to him by them; the others he had made to represent what Maedhros, Curufin, and Celegorm meant to him, and their symbolism is not entirely uncomplicated.

a gift from Ulfang, which he continues to wear after his betrayal by his sons as a reminder never to trust so easily again.

a gift of goodwill from Finrod, which he only starts to wear as a subtle statement on his feelings about Celegorm and Curufin's deeds in Nargothrond.

Thank you for the ask!

[kindlingkeen]

What are your favorite tropes or plot points in Jason fics and why do you like them???

That’s really hard for me to narrow down. I will read just about anything gen that’s Jason-centric. Usually what makes or breaks a fic for me is the quality of the writing and characterization, rather than specific plot points or tropes. That said, some things do stand out…

Competent Jason, my beloved, how I adore you. He’s makes killer (ba-dum-tss 🥁) plans, he can adapt on the fly, and he’s got the range and depth to go up against anyone.

That’s my boy, any story that celebrates this is golden in my book. (Images from Event Leviathan #3)

I like Bruce and Jason origin stories, or stories that deal with them being father/son and Batman/Robin, because these boys love each other so much and, honestly, I just want them to be happy together.

I like fix-its or what-ifs that center around the Lost Days/UtRH timelines, because Jason’s story is a goddamn tragedy and I like thinking about all the ways it could have gone better/differently.

I like stories that feature late UtRH or Outlaws era Jason where he goes through real growth and development, because dc refuses to give us any meaningful character evolution without ripping it away or undermining it, and I have to feed my soul somehow. Bonus points if Jason gets to be badass with his guns or sword (or both 🤤).

I’m always up for a story that deals with batarang incident, although preferably not Dick-finds-out-and-runs-off-to-yell-at-Bruce, been there read that. Also, time travel or alt universes where Red Hood is there for Jaybin, because of all the lovely angst and hurt/comfort (and when it comes down to it, time and time again, Jason can really only depend on himself—thanks dc 🖕).

Finally, I’m weirdly lowkey obsessed with Selkie!Jason. There’s just something about baby Jay as a baby seal that melts my heart. Plus I think the vulnerability of the Selkie coat mythology is a really good fit for Jason’s character, which is so often held hostage to the narrative or other characters.

I could go on, but that’s probably enough for now. Thanks for the ask, anon! 💙