joker racing

ₕₑ ₗᵢₖₑₛ ₜₒ wₐₜcₕ ₘₑ ᵢₙ ₜₕₑ gₗₐₛₛ ᵣₒₒₘ, bₐₜₕᵣₒₒₘ, Cₕₐₜₑₐᵤ ₘₐᵣₘₒₙₜ
ₛₗᵢₚₚᵢₙ’ ₒₙ ₘy ᵣₑd dᵣₑₛₛ, ₚᵤₜₜᵢₙ’ ₒₙ ₘy ₘₐₖₑᵤₚ
Gₗₐₛₛ ᵣₒₒₘ, ₚₑᵣfᵤₘₑ, cₒgₙₐc, ₗᵢₗₐc fᵤₘₑₛ
ₛₐyₛ ᵢₜ fₑₑₗₛ ₗᵢₖₑ ₕₑₐᵥₑₙ ₜₒ ₕᵢₘ


I’m not afraid to say that I’d die without him
Who else is gonna put up with me this way?
I need you, I breathe you, I’d never leave you
They would rue the day I was alone without you
You’re lyin’ with your gold chain on, cigar hangin’ from your lips
I said “Hun’ you never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man.”

anonymous asked:

Hi there, would you mind doing a scenario with Ronald, Sebastian, William, Bard, Agni and maybe Joker reacting to a child calling them daddy in a positive way but the child had previously been abused by their real parents? Sorry to clog up your ask box if i am but this may be the only time i can ask this

//Of course! Sorry for the wait on this one, love! The children are of varying gender and age in each scenario. I hope you enjoy//

Possible Trigger: Past (mentioned) child abuse

“Daddy, please listen!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just in a hurry. We’re going to be–” Ronald cut himself off. Wait. Had Ronald misheard him? Did he just say that?

“’We’re going to be late,’ I know, I know. But if you’d just listen–”

“Wait, what did you say?”

“I was saying, ‘If you’d just listen, then you’d–”

“No, before that. Did you call me something?”

The young boy’s eyes widened before he looked down nervously, twiddling his thumbs and avoiding Ronald’s gaze. “I called you ‘daddy,’” he said quietly. “I won’t do it anymore if you don’t want me to.” His voice dropped to a mumble so quiet that Ronald could hardly hear, “It’s not the first time that’s happened.”

Ronald’s eyes widened, and he struggled to quickly get out a response, not wanting the child to feel bad over such a thing. “No, it’s fine! Call me whatever you want! It’s fine, really! I don’t mind, I like it actually!”

The child immediately looked up, a smile across his face and a light in his eyes. “Really? You mean it?”

Ronald couldn’t stop his heart from filling with grief at the thought of someone not loving this sweet child, of someone not wanting him to call them mother or father. Pushing those feelings aside, Ronald simply smiled at him, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Of course. Now let’s get going before you miss your doctor’s appointment again.”


Sebastian stood completely still, eyes widened and focused on the teenage girl–the teenage girl who had her arms up in defense, cringing and closing her eyes, appearing to be waiting for a blow.

The two had been fighting, bickering back and forth over who knows what, when she’d blurted out the typical phrase, ‘I hate you,’ accompanied with an interesting new word he hadn’t heard from her before–dad.’

Sebastian had turned around for a moment, grabbing a wooden spoon to continue preparing dinner–at least he could get something done while pointlessly squabbling. But, when he’d quickly turned back to face the girl after hearing no comments from her, she was flinching and throwing herself into a defensive position.

Immediately realizing what had happened–and what he looked like, turning around quickly like that, holding a wooden spoon–Sebastian called her name softly, slowly lowering the utensil and setting it on the counter behind him. The girl opened her eyes, and, seeing Sebastian’s calm stance and expression, gradually lowered her arms, looking to the ground shamefully. 

“I’m sorry–force of habit.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s fine.”

“…I don’t hate you.”

“I know.”

There was a minute of silence before the young girl finally gathered enough courage to ask a question. “You don’t… You don’t mind, right? If I call you that?”

A small smile made it’s way across Sebastian’s face. “Not at all.”


“Will you come play with me now?”

“Not at the moment. I’ve got work to finish,” William replied for what felt like the hundredth time.



“You can be the good guy in the game this time.”

“Not right now.”

“Ugh, come on. You’re no fun, daddy- William!” As soon as the word left the little boy’s mouth, he was scrambling to take it back, eyes wide and mind blank–William wasn’t faring much better.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I meant ‘William,’ I really did.” The boy was near tears, his voice getting higher pitched at every word, and he was slowly taking steps backward. “It was an honest mistake–I didn’t mean to!”

William couldn’t even think of a response, he was simply staring at the small child.

“P-please don’t be mad!”

At the sight of the first tear rolling down the little boy’s cheek, William snapped out of his trance. Getting up from his desk chair, he calmly told the child, “Now, now, there’s nothing to get upset about. You may call me whatever you like, I don’t mind. Alright?”

The child was sobbing now, furiously nodding his head as he tried to stop the tears. Once William got to the boy, he leaned down, picking up his small frame. He rested him on his hip, drying the boy’s tears.

“Calm yourself down, I think it’s about time we got to that game, what do you say?”

“No, your shirt should be pink, because pink’s a pretty color.”

“Does that mean I’m pretty?”


Bard was taken a bit aback at the little girl’s blunt answer. The two were splayed out in the floor, drawing portraits of this and that–and they’d been arguing over what color Bard’s shirt should be in the girl’s picture of them. Bard argued for blue or white–but the little miss just wasn’t having it.

“Well alright then.”

The two sat in silence for awhile more before the young girl looked to him and said, “You know, I really like doing this with you.”

Bard raised an eyebrow. “Me too.”

She looked back to her drawing, continuing to color. “My old daddy never spent time with me like this,” she said, not looking up from the paper.

Bard didn’t really know what to say to that. He’d known for awhile that her other parents weren’t good to her, but he never got used to the subject being brought up. He gave a simple “Oh?” in response.

“Mhm. That’s why I’m glad my new daddy does,” the girl said, giving him a big smile, showing off the gap from the tooth she’d lost last week.

Bard could’ve sworn his heart stopped. Sure, they’d lived like this for quite awhile, and he loved her with all his heart–but he never new she felt that way toward him. That was a big step for her, considering her ‘old dad.’

He gave her a grin and ruffled her hair. “Love you, kiddo.”


“Um, can I ask you something?”

Agni looked up from the book he was reading, giving the teenage boy his full attention. “Always.”

The poor boy looked nervous out of his mind as he took a seat in front of Agni. “Well, I, um.. Well, I’d-I’d like to go… to go to college someday!”

Agni let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in–he’d been fearing the worst ever since the boy came in looking like he’d committed a crime.

Before Agni had a chance to respond, the younger hurriedly said, “I mean, I completely understand if you don’t want to send me! I understand if I’m not worth the trouble! You see, it just was never an option before, so I thought I might give it a shot…”

Agni was shocked–shocked that the boy had gotten so worked up over such a request, and shocked at the references to his bleak past.

“Well,” Agni started, giving the boy a reassuring smile. “If that’s what you want, then we’ll certainly get you there. I’m proud that you have such high goals.”

The teenager visibly relaxed, a relieved and hopeful smile making it’s way across his face. He nodded, turning to leave the room.

He stopped just before he walked out of the door. “Thanks,” he paused, looking over his shoulder and grinning before adding the next part. “Dad.”


The small girl giggled, running as fast as her short legs could take her, doing everything she could to beat Joker in the short race they were having.

Crossing the ‘finish line’ first, she let out a victorious yell, letting Joker know she’d won. “Did you see that? I was so fast!” Her words were separated by short huffs and puffs as she tried to catch her breath.

“I did see! Would you look at that? My own little girl has outrun me!”

“Mhm,” she hummed, grinning up at Joker. He smiled down at her–before noticing just how messy she was. Her hair was wild, several pieces curling and falling out of her ponytail due to the sweat, and she had dirt patches all over.

“I think it’s about time we got you cleaned up.”

“No, not yet!” The young girl playfully screeched, running away from Joker, who was trying to pick her up.

She didn’t make it far, though. Not watching where she was going, she tripped over a rock on the ground, her knee taking the fall.

Joker’s eyes widened as he ran over to her, wails and tears already being produced from the small girl. “Daddy, it hurts!”

Daddy? That was the first time she’d called him that–to be fair, she probably didn’t realize she was saying it, considering the state she was in, but it was still shocking to hear. Sure, Joker called her, ‘his little girl,’ but she’d never referred to him as her father. Wow.

“Hey, you’re alright,” he soothed as he picked her up from the ground. “Shh, you’re alright. Look, it’s just a small scrape. We’ll go inside and get it bandaged up, okay?”

The little girl nodded, her crying turning into sniffles. “Alright.”

Joker paused for a moment. “Aaaand, then you’ll have your bath.”

“Daddy, no!”

trash-lizard  asked:

Can I request some of that Marx birthday bash. Can it also be super angst like I want you to rip out my heart

[I have literally gotten a dozen angst prompts like what is wrong with you guys we’re supposed to celebrate x’D]

It was quiet in the bedroom, a rare occurrence in and of itself. Kanna and Siegbert were fast asleep, the babies finally giving you a shot at a peaceful night. Marx’s arm hung loosely around your waist, and you enjoyed the gentle warmth radiating off him.

It was one of those few moments you adored Marx’s soft side. You were happy about those moments, especially now that he showed them more often with the arrival of your sons.

When he thought you weren’t looking he’d hold them closer, a chaste kiss to their foreheads while rocking them to sleep. Once, you heard him humming to Kanna when he woke in tears, making your heart swell even more. So you were more than happy to snuggle with your tender-hearted prince.

Those were the thoughts that caressed your mind into slumber, the smallest smile crossing your lips. You snuggled against him, falling into a blissful, peaceful rest.

That’s when you heard it.

Keep reading

The "preference" people who don't prefer Black

Why does it seem like those with a “preference” that doesn’t include Black people (Black women specifically) have the need to tell everyone about it?

Never once in my life have I been in a situation where my “preference” was the center of discussion. Where are they going that strangers must inquire about their preference in a partner? Oh right, that isn’t happening at all. These malcontents are just going around volunteering this information unsolicited, especially when there is collective praise and adoration for a Black woman. When called out on it, they say things like “It’s my preference. I’m not into Black women at all.” But who asked you? Seriously, who asked you? Nobody is sweating what you do in your private life. Please. Almost all the time when preference comes up, it’s to denigrate and insult Black women. They always find a way. Sometimes it’s subtle, but writing articles about why you aren’t dating an entire race (especially when it’s your own race) is not about uplifting and betterment, no matter how polite you are about it. It’s just “soft rejection”. Let’s get that clear and out in the open. People think that being civil and poised means that anything they say or write is acceptable or that their opinions are beyond reproach.

That said, nothing is quite as pathetic as the “I preferably find an entire race unattractive” jokers. Apart from the sheer irrationality of that position, even if someone actually feels that way, why must they insist on telling the very people they deem unattractive this information? To what end? What is the end goal? What possible reason other than being an asshole who wants to incite anger could there be for this?

That’s the poison of white supremacy and it stinks. It’s one thing when white people do it, what else is new? However, it’s really hurtful to hear it from your own, no matter what kind of shield or armor you have in place to protect your feelings. I’m not a Black woman, so I won’t pretend to lay claim on what it feels like to have vitriol hurled at me constantly from all angles hellbent on disparaging everything about my identity. Some of the comments on videos and articles on Lupita Nyong'o for instance are so hateful and full of rage. I didn’t think anyone could say something negative about the video of Lupita braiding hair. I was wrong. Lupita is a young woman out here living her life and prospering. Apparently that alone is enough to anger them.

I sound like a broken record, but you’ve got to love yourself. How can everyone like you be ugly and unworthy? What are you saying about yourself? I guess they are the exception to that rule. It’s always bizarre to witness people deride their own people. Do they understand how foolish they look? What are you even doing with your life if this is your position? Oh you’re Black but don’t find Black people attractive? I guess you’re a special brand of Black.

Anyway, one thing that is aggravating is this need some people have to quantify and analyze their dating choices. That needs to stop. No more thinkpieces about why you only date white women or anything like that. I read that lame ass Gawker article by Ernest Baker titled ’The Reality of Dating White Women When You’re Black’, and the entire time I was thinking what the point of it was. He tried to separate himself from “self-hating Black men” who make up contrived stereotypes about Black women, but then proceeds to pen an entire article rife with stereotypes about Black women and then said he’s dated white since he was 13 because Black girls at his high school wanted “thugs”. Okay guy. We get it, you only want to be with white women now. Your choices clearly reflect that. Date who you want. Question; why should we care about who you date?

For dudes like this, please just go away to whatever greener pastures you think exist. Stop explaining things no one asked you to. Stop bringing up high school. Are you still in high school? You’re a grown ass man. You don’t have to explain anything or start talking about the Black girls in high school who wanted “thugs” and not you, or that only white girls liked you. You’ve got to realize how much of a loser you sound like when you say things like this. Have dudes like this ever considered that maybe they were just cornballs? Why is that never considered? Why is it always about Black girls rejecting them? Maybe they rejected your corniness and wackness, not the fact that you weren’t a “thug”. Maybe you were just extremely wack and less discerning girls didn’t mind your wackness because they too were wack. Just like real recognize real, wack recognize wack.

Black men with the constant need to reaffirm why they don’t date Black women or why they only date white women need to go away. You will not be missed. They never go away though. They stick around to pontificate and explain why they don’t date Black women, as if they accomplished something. Why must their opinion and so called preference be center stage? No one is asking about their proclivities because no one cares. No one is having sleepness nights about this. No one is begging them to reconsider. No one is thinking about you. Move on with your life and whatever preferences you have. Truly. It’s for the best. In fact, life would be grand if these people just left for good. Go away. Never come back. Peace out. Ciao. Sayanora. Adios. Get the stepping. Vamoose. Bounce. Get out.

Whatever you do however, no more explanations about your “preferences” that are always Black exclusionary or your “reality” of dating white women, like you’re living with insurmountable hardship. God, just make it stop. Aren’t you clowns exhausted with all the ways you can come up with to denigrate Black women? Aren’t you tired already? Haven’t you had enough? How many ways can you let it be known that you don’t want Black women? You prefer white women. We get it loud and clear. Message received!

Are you a Black man thinking about writing an article about why you only date white women and why you don’t date Black women? Are you a Black man who is thinking “Gosh, you know what the world really needs right now? An article venerating my preference for white women and why I don’t date Black women.” Let me stop you right there. Don’t do it. Please reconsider. Do something more worthwhile with your time. Consider walking off a cliff or jumping into a barrel of acid. Both are more worthwhile endeavors to partake in than writing a thinkpiece on why you don’t date Black women.