In 2026, the chicest thing a gay actor can do is never explicitly come out as gay but also make it abundantly clear that he is. Coming out is too modern. Staying closeted is too old fashioned. But this method merges contemporary freedom with Old Hollywood glamour and allure, and it weeds out the dumbest people who truly don’t get it. I call it the Pascal Method.
You clearly don't go here or to queer history and signaling, or both, enough to have this conversation and I'm not going to explain it to you. You could have asked questions, you could have done even a modicum of research. You didn't and you made yourself look ignorant. Goodbye.
#I'm fucking crying#this is an instant classic#this is the next meme#i can't believe I'm here to see a baby copypasta nary two hours old#I can't#lol#i laughed way too hard#iconic
Summary: The twins call Sylus dad and it shooks him.
Content: fluff, comfort, cute short thing
Word count: 1k
The base was hushed, its usual sharp edges softened by lamplight. Shadows stretched long across the walls, but at the center of it all lay Luke and Kieran, bundled beneath blankets too big for them. Their cheeks were flushed with fever, their breaths uneven, as if they were lost in some uneasy dreamscape.
Sylus sat perched at the edge of the bed, a dark silhouette with a gentleness he didn’t often allow himself. He adjusted the covers around Luke, then brushed his fingers through Kieran’s sweat-damp hair. The boy murmured in his sleep, words tangled and half-formed, the fever making him wander between dream and waking.
Sylus thought of getting up—just for a moment—to bring them food, to coax them into eating something warm. But when he began to rise, Kieran’s hand found his, weak but insistent. His eyes blinked open, hazy, and his voice slipped out, fragile as moth wings:
“…Dad… don’t go.”
The word caught Sylus like a spell.
He froze, heart stumbling as if he’d never heard the title before—and in truth, he hadn’t, not like this. Not with such vulnerable trust. Something unfamiliar bloomed inside him, sharp and tender all at once, like the first breath of spring in a world that had known only winter.
“…Alright,” Sylus whispered, his voice softer than the hum of the air vents. He sat back down, folding Kieran’s small hand gently in his own. “I’ll stay.”
Kieran sighed, his fevered restlessness ebbing as sleep reclaimed him, calmer now. His hand slackened but did not release Sylus’s, as though anchoring himself to a safety he believed would not move.
Sylus, for once, remained still. He leaned back just enough to glance at his phone and typed a message for her:
Bring food. Don’t ask questions. I can’t leave them.
Then he set it aside, letting the silence return. He did not shift, did not think of time passing. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of a child’s hand curled into his own, and the strange, fragile wonder stirring in him—like discovering a door he had never dared to open was, all this time, waiting to be unlocked.
The night was painted in muted hues, the balcony bathed in the soft glow of the N109 zone. The lights below were artificial, nothing but projections against the steel bones of the city—but Sylus found himself watching them all the same. Fake or not, they flickered like stars, and that was enough.
He sat in his chair, one arm resting on the railing, the other draped loosely at his side. The twins were asleep behind him, breaths steady now, their fevers lulled into calmer tides. The quiet was unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome.
Footsteps approached, measured and light. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He knew it was her. Without looking, he lifted his arm, wordless, and she slipped her hand into his as though it had always belonged there. Her other hand rested gently on his shoulder, grounding him. He pressed her knuckles to his lips, a kiss placed with an affection he didn’t bother hiding, even without lifting his eyes.
Her fingers brushed into his hair, weaving through the strands. She stepped closer until she was there with him, her warmth filling the narrow balcony space. Then, without hesitation, she settled on his lap. Only then did Sylus finally look at her. His eyes held that pensive weight, the one he rarely allowed anyone to see. She smiled, unshaken, as if the heaviness of his thoughts didn’t frighten her at all.
“They’re alright,” she told him softly, her voice a quiet balm. “Just a fever. It’ll pass.”
Sylus exhaled, a sound more like a sigh than a breath. He hesitated, his thumb tracing circles over the back of her hand as though it helped him sort through the words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and almost uncertain.
“They called me ‘Dad.’”
He watched her face, expecting her surprise, bracing for it even—but she only nodded, her expression warm, understanding, as though she had been waiting for this moment longer than he had.
“And how did that feel?” she asked.
He leaned his head back against the chair, his gaze drifting back out toward the sea of fake lights. His words came slowly, careful. “Heavy,” he admitted at last. “Like… like I suddenly have this weight I never thought about before. A responsibility I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying. I’ve always taken care of them, but—” He paused, lips pressing together. “—hearing it said out loud… it changes everything.”
Her fingers curled more firmly in his hair, her other hand tightening around his own. “Then let it change everything,” she whispered, not as an order, but as permission.
Sylus closed his eyes briefly, resting his forehead against the back of her hand. And for the first time in a long while, the weight he spoke of didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like belonging.
His hand lingered in hers, his thumb tracing her skin absentmindedly as though reluctant to let the moment slip into silence. Then, quietly, he asked,
“And what about you? …How would you feel if they called you ‘Mom’?”
Her breath caught for a moment, then she let out a soft chuckle, the sound gentle against the hum of the night. “I think,” she said, eyes dipping toward the lights below, “that might not happen so soon. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve known me.”
Sylus shook his head, a small, certain motion. His gaze found hers again, unwavering. “You’re wrong,” he said simply. “The way they look at you—the way their eyes search for you when I come home—it isn’t how you look at just a friend. They’ve already chosen you.”
Her smile bloomed slowly, like dawn easing its way over the horizon. She tilted her head, fingers brushing along his temple as she answered, “Well then… I suppose we’ve found ourselves in new roles, haven’t we?” Her tone was teasing, but there was warmth in it, a quiet acceptance. “Do you like it?”
Sylus’s eyes softened, though his answer came after a pause. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, voice low, “if I would’ve been this ready if you weren’t with me.”
She leaned in at that, pressing her frehead lightly against his. “Then it’s good we’re here now,” she murmured, and for a long while they stayed that way—two people caught in a stillness that felt less like hesitation and more like home.
ꮼ alt!geto always finds new ways to prove his love.
ᦸ alt!geto as a boyfriend ⸝⸝ art by hunnismokah ⸝⸝ not proofread.
alt!geto who lets you toy with his various lip piercings during aftercare & honestly whenever you want, always getting lost in the soft touches & tugs as he practically melts into your fingertips.
alt!geto agrees to giving you piercings at home as long as you let him help you clean them up so they don't reject or get infected.
alt!geto has a peekaboo dyed to be your favorite color—always showing it off whenever he puts up his hair or gets the chance to show off his pretty hair devoted to his pretty girl.
alt!geto shares his entire closet with you, from his too-loose rings & necklaces, to his jackets, shirts & sweaters; he'll even buy certain shirts he knows you'll just steal out of his closet, just because you'll like them
alt!geto is big on DIY gifts; he'll make you trinkets from clay, sketch out posters for your walls, make a little box for you to keep everything of his in, and paint your favorite things. His favorite gift he's made was a bouquet blanket that he crocheted.
alt!geto lets you press him down flat on his stomach so you can color in the tattoos splattered across his back—teasing you occasionally by arching his back to distract you whenever you're too focused on his skin.
𖦹 your daughter fought another kid at the daycare ⋮ a gojo fluff fic.
♯ guess who is back 👀 from this request, thank you dear anon for requesting this, hope you enjoy it! the fic didn't meet my expectation but i hope y'all still like it 😔 love you guys!
water dripped from the edge of Satoru's umbrella as he followed you through the daycare's front door, shoes squeaking slightly against the floor. the building was quieter now that most of the kids had gone home.
your daughter sat alone in one of the tiny tables near the window. her arms crossed and her face scrunched into a glare.
Satoru leaned down beside you. "She looks just like you," he murmured.
you ignored him with an eye roll.
the teacher spotted the both of you and gave a small, tired smile.
"Thank you for coming," she said. "There was a little incident during art time."
"Little?" you repeated, eyeing your daughter, who sank lower into her chair.
the teacher sighed softly. "Another student commented on her drawing and she reacted.. physically."
"Physically? Like what?" you asked.
the teacher blinked at you. "She pushed another student."
"Oh."
beside you, Satoru crouched beside her chair immediately, resting his chin against his hand. "Okay, sweetie," he started. "In your defense, was he annoying?"
your daughter nodded without hesitation. "Really annoying!"
the teacher sighed again before gesturing toward the table nearby. "It started because of her drawing."
both you and Satoru looked toward the table at the exact same time. the drawing in question sat crumpled there. it was.. definitely something.
Satoru tilted his head slightly. "Is that supposed to be a cat?"
your daughter gasped. "It IS a cat!"
"Ohh," he nodded slowly. "Okay, i see the vision now."
you snorted loudly beside him.
"He laughed at it," your daughter continued. "And then he crumpled it!"
Satoru looked down at the wrinkled paper on table. then back at her. "... that's actually kind of disrespectful," he admitted.
she nodded vigorously. "He said it didn't even look like a cat!"
"It does look like a cat, sweetheart."
"It does?"
"Mhm," he picked up the paper, studying it for a moment. "A weird one."
"Dad!"
"But still a cat," he grinned.
you looked between the two of them and sighed. "Satoru."
"Right, my bad," he set the drawing down before crouching in front of your daughter again. "You still can't push people, though."
her shoulders immediately slumped.
"But he ruined it," she said quietly.
for the first time, she sounded more upset than angry. kids cried over things adult would forget in minutes. broken toy, lost crayon, a drawing they'd spent all afternoon.. to them, those things were important.
and Satoru noticed too.
"I know," he said softly.
Satoru reached over and cupped her cheek for a moment. "But next time," he continued. "You tell the teacher first."
"What if they're still mean?"
"Then you come tell me and mom."
your daughter's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, the stubborn frown she'd been wearing started to disappear.
your daughter reached over and smoothed one of the crumpled corners of the drawing before clutching it against her chest.
“like… you think our past lives are aligned in some way? that we’ve interacted in each lifetime before this?”
then you go silent, thinking about the answer to your own questions.
while rafayel is also silent, he thinks back to the sea, to a missing bride. he briefly wonders if your memories contain the same images as his. he lets himself hope so.
“anything’s possible, no?” he plays along, “who do you think we were to each other in our past lives?”
“must’ve been a lot. we’ve had many lives together… at least i think…” his eyes search yours for something more, do you really remember? alas, nothing found. you continue, “something scandalous would’ve been fun, no?”
“totally agreed. so a college professor and student.”
you laugh. “and you’d be the professor, you perv.”
“hey!”
“or two heirs of rival kingdoms.”
“two fish… who live in neighboring corals”
“...or in some kid’s fish tank.”
“that sounds like a short life.”
“but it was really romantic, you see. we were in different displays, all the way across the pet store. and then, finally, brought together into the same tank.”
“hm. i approve, cutie. our fishie selves died of starvation very much in love.”
how content the both of you were now. how utterly smitten you had to be with one another, to spend a slow morning thinking of all the past lives you could have spent together.
your conversation may have ended there, but the idea stays in your minds far into the night.
you take turns interrupting silences, coming up with new past lives. lifetimes spent as cavemen, the first humans on earth—those spent as citizens of an ancient civilization, being the last of their kind. you consider arguments you may have had, your breakups, if you’ve been married, have you raised a child together?
“but, what if this is all a past life? and we go into the next not even remembering this one. does that make this all… meaningless?”
you ask him in the darkness of the bedroom. the whisper travels across one pillow to another.
rafayel knows more about that than you think. for now, he’ll keep it to himself.
“even if it ends up forgotten, the present doesn’t have to be meaningless. i believe there’s something out there that’ll bring us back together once again. after so many lives, we can’t let our streak end here. wouldn’t you agree, my love?”
“yeah. we’ll find each other in the next one. i hope it’s good.”
from underneath the blanket, rafayel’s hand comes between you, with only his pinky raised.
“what’s this for?” you find yourself interlocking your finger with his anyway.
“this is me, vowing to never let my soul forget yours. to find you in our next life, no matter how long it takes to do so.”
each word flows from him so earnestly, you almost believe that something like it is possible. for a moment, all of your theorized past lives become your reality.
"…and i vow to always let you into my life when you do, and to love you as i have many times before."
rafayel releases your hand. "then it's settled. you can't get rid of me, cutie, even if you wanted to."
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Hey guys! I've been busy this week, so I haven't drawn much:_)
But I didn’t come empty-handed!
I tested different drawing styles and new brushes, and I must say I'm glad I drew Pierrot this way again! My Darling, it's been so long since I drew him🥹💗
First ray of the sun @joonipertree - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
