just started fire emblem engage
i’m adopting the twins they’re my children now
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Henlo. I just wanted to tell you that I love your art. The turtles are so shaped and squishy. That's all, thanks.✨️
UEUEUUEEUUEUEUEUU THAMK YOU 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹
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Team Skull: delinquent's that tries to steal other peoples pokemon
Me: just gives them food and a pat on the head
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i am going to adopt quint and copy rock and no one can stop me
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I was poking fun at how unexpectedly silly the CHB kids looked in armour in the first two episodes of the PJO show (acting like an almighty army and all) and then it hit me. This is exactly how some of them will look like when they will be dying in the final battle. Silly. Tiny. Literal children
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like don’t you get it? by hunting ghosts you become a part of them. a presence that lingers. the memories you are making here right now is also what will survive of this place. it’s also what will haunt it.
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Prompt 113
“I seem to have been taken hostage.”
Batman’s words almost had Superman panic if not for the wry tone, a tone which the others didn’t know if their freaking out was to go by. Clark sighed through the comms, tired after battle and honestly wanting to go to bed now.
“I’ll be right over, what child has latched onto you now?” He asked while switching to a more private channel.
“I can already hear you making fun of me…” Wha- Oh. Clark bit his lip to keep himself from laughing as he took to the air. “They appear to be a pair of twins with…”
“You gotta’ say it Bruce, you gotta’,” Clark couldn’t stop the chuckle when he saw his friend on the top of a building, cape curled around his form in a way usually reserved for the robins.
“... with dark hair… and blue eyes…” That was it. Clark absolutely lost it in laughter.
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katsuki plays with your son's ears.
without thinking, really. it started when he was a newborn, and katsuki was unable to get over how soft your son's skin was—so squishy and tender and fresh, made of velvet—and it's followed the both of them all this way. whenever they're sitting together, either at the table or on the couch or with your little boy in his father's lap, you'll always see katsuki's hand come up to lightly fiddle with your son's little earlobe. tug on it, pass it back and forth between his thumb and his pointer.
you think it's an absent-minded comfort thing, for katsuki, like how he plays with the clasp of your necklace, sitting warm at the nape of your neck, or how he drums his fingers against your arm when he's waiting too long for something. how he keeps a hand on his chest when he's laying down, like he wants to feel his heartbeat beneath his skin, or how he rubs his hands on his pants even when they shouldn't be sweaty, just to be safe.
you notice your son doing it to himself when katsuki's out of the country, and then you notice him doing it to you, too.
just the same way—without thought, a little habit; after a bath, you're trying to wind down for bedtime by letting your son sit in your lap and lean back into your chest, his full little belly from dinner poking out under his pajama shirt. and then he rubs at his eyes and yawns and plays with his hair for a second, before reaching up to find your earlobe. to feel it softly between his fingers as he sighs, relaxed and sleepy.
(you'll remember to tell katsuki later, after you've tucked your little one in and are propping your phone up in the kitchen for a quick facetime chat. when the call finally connects, he almost immediately leans closer to the screen, to see you better, and you see his elbow prop up, his hand raise and the tendons of his wrists shifting as he fiddles with something you can't see—but something you know, anyway.)
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Parents, for the love of everything that ever pretended to be holy, do not make household cleaning a punishment for your children.
My parents did that. As an adult, I would rather stare at a blank wall for five hours straight than wash dishes. I would rather do math problems without a calculator and have my answers read aloud in public than clean a bathroom. If my hatred of cleaning was a capturable energy it could power interstellar travel. All because, growing up, cleaning house was a primary form of punishment.
Don’t fuckin’ do that. You’re not instilling discipline. You’re instilling hatred for something they need to be able to do as adults without hating every microsecond of it.
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okay some of yall are just ignoring natives at this point where is the outcry??? how loud do we have to scream? how many of us have to go missing or be found dead before you start screaming with us?
please sign the petition to let us keep our children! and educate yourself on the true history of turtle island: hint, you gotta talk to real natives to get the true story. history is written by the victors.
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