#protective parents

[aventurineswife]

Can I request Argentine, Sunday, Aventurine (our beautiful man), Dr Ratio, and JingYuan meeting their newborn? Unless you’ve done that already? If you have how about their baby’s first steps? I love Hsr as dads🥺

“Aren't they lovely? Made from love...”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Parental Love, Newborn, Tender Moments, Character Growth, Protective Parents, Family, Emotional Journey, Vulnerability.

Warnings: Light mentions of exhaustion and emotional vulnerability, Heavy emotional themes around parenting and legacy.

A/N: I love HSR men as a dads too ☹️🥺💖 ugh... They make me sick 😔💔

The sterile scent of the hospital filled the air, but to Argenti, it was all a blur. He stood, frozen at the threshold of the hospital room, gazing at the bundle in your arms. His heart swelled, and his breath caught in his chest.

“Is this... truly our child?” His voice trembled, barely above a whisper, as his gaze lingered on the tiny face that was so delicately nestled within the blankets.

You nodded softly, your tired eyes filled with warmth as you carefully rocked the baby in your arms. The light from the window highlighted the soft glow of the room, casting gentle shadows over the peaceful scene.

Argenti stepped closer, his armor clinking quietly with each measured step, as if the weight of the moment demanded reverence. When he reached your side, his hand gently brushed against your arm. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the baby, whose small, perfect features were barely visible beneath the blanket. His heart swelled with a strange, unfamiliar emotion—a tenderness so deep it almost frightened him.

The baby stirred slightly, a soft whimper breaking the silence.

Argenti’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he reached down, his fingers brushing against the baby’s tiny hand. He froze as the baby grasped his finger in a reflexive hold, a bond formed in an instant. His chest tightened with a profound sense of responsibility, but it was more than that—this was a moment that transcended duty, that spoke to a higher purpose.

“This is our legacy,” Argenti murmured, his green eyes shimmering with something beyond pride. “A new beginning... a new creation of Beauty.”

His voice faltered, the weight of his idealism tempered by the joy of this quiet moment. It was his deepest honor, his most sacred path. He wasn’t just a knight of Beauty now—he was a parent.

You smiled, and without another word, you gently placed the baby in his arms. The warmth of the newborn’s fragile body against his chest made his heart leap. Argenti’s breath was steady but strained as he held them—he was no longer just a knight. He was their protector.

“Welcome,” he whispered softly, his voice a quiet vow. “To a world of beauty, my child.”

The room was still, the gentle hum of hospital machinery in the background as Sunday stood at the threshold, his eyes fixed on the small figure in your arms. His wings fluttered behind him in subtle movements, reflecting a deep sense of awe.

His usual reflective demeanor was replaced with something tender, something uncertain, as he crossed the room slowly. His steps were quiet, measured, as if he were entering a sacred space, a new reality that was no longer just his own.

“Is it... truly happening?” he murmured, his voice barely audible, almost as if he feared disturbing the fragile beauty before him. His gaze fixed on the baby, their tiny face framed by soft blankets. The baby’s peaceful sleep seemed to mirror the calm he had once sought for himself, the tranquility he dreamed could exist in the world.

You smiled, looking up at him with exhaustion, but your eyes sparkled with the joy of the moment. “They’re ours, Sunday. Our child.”

His gaze softened, the golden halo behind his head glowing faintly as he approached you. There was an ethereal stillness in the air, almost as if the very world was holding its breath. As he reached you, his hands hovered hesitantly over the baby, his fingers shaking just slightly. It was rare to see him unsure, but this was no ordinary moment. This was the culmination of a dream, of an idealism he had once longed to protect.

With great care, you placed the baby in his arms. Sunday’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded in his chest, but it was a strange, unfamiliar rhythm. The baby shifted slightly, letting out a small sigh as they rested against him.

The tenderness he felt overwhelmed him, and for a fleeting moment, he felt the weight of his past fade. This moment, with the baby in his arms, felt like a redemption—a chance to embrace a future untainted by doubt.

“They’re so small,” Sunday whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and vulnerability. “So pure...”

His wings fluttered again, this time with a subtle warmth, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the baby’s forehead. His usual philosophical distance melted away in the face of such innocence. In their smallness, he found a quiet hope—a vision for the world he had long sought to create.

“I promise to protect you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with a devotion he had never allowed himself to feel so openly before. “You will never be alone.”

Aventurine leaned against the doorframe of the hospital room, the usual confident smile still on his face, but his eyes... his eyes were soft. His usual bravado faded as he took in the sight of you holding the tiny newborn in your arms. His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

“This feels like a game I wasn’t prepared for,” he said, his voice laced with a playful lightness, though there was something else beneath it—something more vulnerable. He stepped into the room, his usual confident stride faltering slightly as he crossed toward you.

You looked up, exhaustion evident in your expression, but there was an unmistakable joy that made the hospital room feel warmer than it should have. “It’s real, Aventurine. Our baby.”

Aventurine’s smile wavered, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. His eyes lingered on the baby, who had barely begun to stir, their tiny fingers curling in a peaceful sleep. There was something about their quiet form that unsettled him, yet at the same time, it soothed him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“Well, this is a gamble I’m willing to take,” he said with his usual smirk, but his voice was softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard. “Not sure how much I’ve got to offer, but for them...” His hand, adorned with rings and bracelets, reached out hesitantly. He paused just before touching the baby’s tiny hand, his expression shifting for a brief moment, like he was uncertain about the stakes of this particular game.

“Would you like to hold them?” you asked softly, your voice inviting him into the moment.

Aventurine’s gaze flickered to you, a mixture of admiration and fear in his eyes. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward, allowing you to carefully place the baby in his arms. His usual air of indifference disappeared the moment the baby rested against him, their warmth radiating through him in ways he hadn’t expected.

“Never thought I’d find myself like this,” Aventurine admitted quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as if he were speaking to the child and not to you. He adjusted his hold carefully, his usual calculated movements softer now. “But I’m not one to back down from a challenge, especially one like this.”

He smiled again, the carefree facade returning, though now it seemed tinged with something deeper—something more sincere. “You’re a high-stakes gamble, my little one, and I plan to win.”

He looked down at the baby, his sharp, calculating mind shifting toward this new, unpredictable chapter of his life, and for once, the gamble didn’t feel so daunting.

In that moment, he understood something he’d never truly grasped before—there was no strategy in the world that could prepare him for this. And for the first time in a long while, Aventurine found himself willing to bet on something truly precious.

The sterile hum of the hospital room was a sharp contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in Ratio’s mind. He stood by the door, his usual confident stride stilled for the first time in years. The hospital room before him seemed alien, the soft glow of the lights and the warmth of the blankets a world away from his usual studies and experiments. Yet, there you were, cradling the tiny bundle in your arms, and everything else seemed to fade into the background.

“Is this... really our creation?” Ratio’s voice was lower than usual, a rare vulnerability showing beneath his usual sharp tone. His intense eyes were fixed on the baby, and despite his vast intellect, he seemed almost... uncertain.

You smiled softly, exhaustion in your expression, but your eyes sparkled with pride. “Yes, Veritas. This is our child.”

Ratio approached slowly, his mind still whirring with the logical implications of what had just occurred, yet his heart—unexpectedly—began to race. The baby stirred gently in your arms, their tiny hand curling around a corner of the blanket.

He knelt beside you, the brilliant mind now focusing solely on the life before him. His fingers twitched, hesitant at first, before they reached out and brushed against the baby's tiny, delicate hand. The baby’s tiny fingers grasped his in response, and Dr. Ratio froze, his breath catching in his chest.

“This... this is our legacy,” he whispered, the words feeling foreign on his lips but true nonetheless. “Our chance to eradicate ignorance.” His voice held a note of something deeper—an unspoken vow.

You carefully placed the baby in his arms, the weight of their small form bringing a strange sense of peace that Ratio hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. The warmth of the newborn’s body settled against his chest, and for a moment, all the grand theories and academic pursuits seemed distant. This was a different kind of knowledge—one of pure love and responsibility.

“Welcome to the universe, little one,” he murmured softly, his usual air of self-assurance softening. “I’ll ensure you have the tools to understand it, all of it.” His voice was firm, but there was a newfound tenderness there that even he couldn’t deny.

The room felt unusually still as Jing Yuan stood at the door, his eyes fixed on the small form you held in your arms. His usually calm and collected demeanor seemed to waver, and for the first time in a long while, a quiet uncertainty flickered across his face. The light of the hospital room reflected in his hair, making him appear even more ethereal, as if the moment was beyond his reach.

“Are they really... ours?” His voice, usually so commanding, was now tinged with awe, almost reverence. His gaze was soft, tracing every tiny feature of the baby nestled in your arms.

You looked up, your exhaustion fading in the presence of this tender moment. “Yes, Jing Yuan. This is our child.”

Jing Yuan’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, the usual air of composure replaced by something far more profound. He stood by your side, his large frame somehow looking smaller in the presence of such innocence. You carefully placed the baby in his arms, and for a moment, Jing Yuan seemed to freeze, as though unsure of how to hold this tiny life.

The baby shifted slightly, their soft breath a quiet reminder of the fragility of life. Jing Yuan’s hands, strong and capable from centuries of leadership, trembled ever so slightly as he adjusted his grip. His heart pounded in his chest, not with the rush of battle, but with something gentler, more protective.

“They’re so small,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking. The weight of the moment seemed heavier than any military battle he had ever faced.

He looked down at the baby, his eyes reflecting the love and wisdom he had accumulated over centuries. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead, and for once, the world seemed still.

“I will protect you, little one,” he vowed quietly, the soft flutter of his capes the only sound in the room. “You will know peace, just as we do.” His fingers gently stroked their tiny hand, and in that instant, Jing Yuan knew that the battle for this child’s future would be his most important yet.

[astrarium-angel]

Quiet Between Stars

The curtains were already drawn when the night settled properly over Grimmauld Place.

It came in slow, like ink soaking into paper—creeping along the high ceilings, slipping between carved banisters, settling into the corners of rooms that had seen generations of the House of Black live and breathe and argue and endure. The house was quieter than it had been all day, though quiet in Grimmauld Place was never truly silent. The old wood sighed. Pipes murmured. Something distant clicked and shifted like the bones of the building remembering themselves.

Upstairs, a door opened with a soft creak.

“Shoes off,” Walburga said gently, though there was still that edge of expectation in her voice, the kind that had been honed into her since childhood and softened only slightly by motherhood.

There was a small scuffling noise.

“I am,” came the indignant reply, high and sharp and very, very six.

Walburga did not look down immediately, but her lips twitched.

“Are you, Regulus Arcturus Black?”

A pause.

“…yes.”

Another pause.

“…mostly.”

She did look down then.

Regulus stood in the doorway, one sock already half off his foot, the other still planted firmly in a shoe he had apparently decided no longer counted as footwear. His dark curls were a mess, his expression caught somewhere between stubborn dignity and the very obvious fact that he was losing a battle with fabric.

Walburga exhaled through her nose, the ghost of a laugh following it.

“Come here.”

“I can do it,” he insisted immediately.

“I know you can,” she said, crouching anyway, fingers deft as she tugged the sock free. “And yet.”

He huffed, but he leaned into her as she worked, small and warm and still faintly smelling of soap and whatever sweet thing he had managed to sneak after dinner.

Behind them, the door shifted again.

Orion did not enter fully—he rarely did at this hour—but he leaned against the frame, one shoulder resting against the carved wood, arms loosely crossed. His expression was quiet, soft in a way that would have startled most people who knew him only by reputation.

He watched.

Walburga finished with the socks and smoothed a hand briefly over Regulus’s hair.

“Up you go.”

Regulus nodded, sudden urgency overtaking him as he scrambled across the room, climbing up with the determined clumsiness of a child who had done this a hundred times and still managed to make it look like a grand expedition.

The mattress dipped faintly under his weight.

Walburga straightened, brushing her hands together once before moving to the bedside. She reached for the blanket, lifting it and settling it over him with practiced ease.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

He grinned.

There was a rustle as he shifted, settling properly this time, small hands gripping the edge of the blanket. His eyes flicked toward the dark space beyond the bed, toward the shadows pooling underneath.

He went very still.

Walburga noticed immediately.

Her voice softened.

“What is it, Regulus?”

He hesitated.

“I—”

He swallowed.

“I’m scared.”

The words came out smaller than before, quieter, like they were trying not to be heard by anything that might be listening.

Walburga did not laugh.

She leaned down, resting one hand against the edge of the mattress, close enough that he could reach her if he wanted to.

“Why?”

Regulus’s gaze darted again, down, into the dark.

“There’s a monster under my bed,” he said, voice hushed with the kind of solemn certainty only children possessed. “And it’s really ugly.”

There was a beat of silence.

Walburga blinked once.

Behind her, Orion’s mouth curved, just slightly.

Before either of them could respond—

“Honestly,” a voice snapped from below, sharp with outrage and muffled by blankets, “fuck you.”

Walburga closed her eyes.

Orion bit the inside of his cheek.

Above, Regulus froze.

Then—

He burst.

Giggles spilled out of him in a bright, uncontrollable rush, laughter shaking his whole body as he curled slightly into himself, clutching the blanket.

“I didn’t say your name,” he wheezed, delighted.

There was an offended noise from beneath him.

“You meant me.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did.”

“I didn’t!”

“You literally just—”

“I said monster,” Regulus insisted, gasping between laughs. “You decided it was you!”

“Because it is me,” came the immediate, indignant reply. “Who else is under here?”

Walburga pressed her fingers briefly to her temple, then exhaled a quiet, helpless laugh that slipped through despite herself.

“Both of you,” she said, though there was no real reprimand in it, only tired fondness. “Enough.”

There was a rustle below, followed by a muttered, “I was comfortable until I got insulted in my own bed.”

“It’s my bed,” Regulus shot back.

“It’s our bed.”

“It’s my top bit.”

“Because you said you wanted to be ‘closer to the stars,’” came the grumbled reply.

“I do!”

“You can’t even see the stars.”

“I can imagine them.”

There was a pause.

“…that’s stupid.”

“It’s not!”

“It is.”

Walburga leaned down then, one hand smoothing over the edge of the blanket above, the other reaching down briefly to tap against the mattress below in equal measure.

“That’s enough,” she repeated, softer now.

The room quieted.

Regulus shifted, still smiling, the last of his laughter lingering in the corners of his mouth.

“Mother?”

“Yes?”

“…he’s still ugly.”

There was an outraged squawk from below.

“I heard that!”

Walburga laughed properly this time, low and warm, the sound filling the room like light.

“You will survive,” she said calmly, to the offended voice beneath the bed.

“I won’t,” came the immediate reply. “This is character assassination.”

“You’ll recover.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I—”

“Sleep.”

Silence.

A long, dramatic sigh.

“…fine.”

Walburga shook her head faintly, then leaned down to press a soft kiss to Regulus’s forehead. He leaned into it automatically, small hand catching her sleeve for just a second before letting go.

She straightened, then moved to the side, crouching just enough to reach down—

There was a brief pause.

“…are you still pouting?” she asked, dry.

“Yes.”

“Lift the blanket.”

Another pause.

“…no.”

“Sirius.”

A beat.

Then the blanket shifted, just enough.

Walburga’s expression softened completely as she leaned down, pressing a kiss to a stubbornly turned cheek.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.

“I’m wounded,” came the mutter in return.

“Go to sleep.”

“…fine.”

She stood.

For a moment, she just looked at them—the soft rise and fall of blankets, the way one set of curls spilled over the edge above while the other shifted restlessly below, the quiet, lived-in chaos of it.

Then she turned.

Orion was still in the doorway.

He hadn’t moved.

There was something gentle in his expression, something that belonged only to moments like this—unobserved, unguarded.

“They’ll wake the house,” he said quietly.

“They already have,” Walburga replied, though there was no irritation in it.

He stepped aside as she moved past him, his hand brushing briefly against her arm.

“Goodnight, my sons,” she said softly, just loud enough to carry.

“Night, Mother,” came immediately from above.

There was a delay.

“…goodnight,” came from below, quieter now, the edges of irritation already softening into sleep.

Walburga and Orion lingered only a moment longer.

Then the door closed.

The room settled again.

For a while, there was only the soft rustle of blankets, the occasional sleepy shift.

Then—

“…you’re still ugly,” came a whisper from above.

There was a long, exhausted pause.

“…go to sleep, Reg.”

A beat.

“…okay.”

Silence returned.

And this time, it stayed.

[chubbubbob]

I finally started transferring one of my fics!

This is one of my more recent ones and I'm trying to reread each chapter for any errors before posting them to AO3. This is also the one I mentioned in Creep.

https://archive.transformativeworks.org/works/87703076/chapters/232406316

It’s main focus is on Alastor's past, his familial relationships, and how they defined his life from the beginning. Check it out and let me know what you guys think!

[qolazz]

If you’re parents are still worried of you taking to people online I feel you like

Mom calm down also you interrupted byler theories 101

[riyerose]

You do be real popular for asks rn so I hope you don’t mind that I’m sending a punkflower idea your way!

You know that as soon as the dust settles and everything is smoothed over both Peter B & Miguel’s parent instincts would be blaring. Like they just look over to see rock n roll incarnate draped over the newest spider recruit and immediately go feral.

Miguel barely tolerated Hobie normally so I would kill to see how he would handle him in this scenario. Plus Miles was basically Peter B’s first kid.

Hobie would find it extremely entertaining and he would definitely thrive in the chaos.

I am crazy for the punkflower today so by all means, send the asks!

And you know what, you're absolutely right anon. Once the canon is restored (or Miguel finally calm his fat tits) him and Peter B. would be in agreement that Hobie definitely should not be dating their son!

Imagine Miles bout to leave HQ to go hang with Hobie in his dimension only for a web to shoot out and hit him in the back, pulling him back in.

Miguel: You're going where?

Miles: To Hobie's place?

Peter B.: Wouldn't you wanna stay and play with your little sister Mayday?

Miles: Okay wait, she's not my sister—

Miguel: You're not going to see /him/, understand?

[ya-boi-haru]

Thinking about how much of a Co-Parent relationship Ari and Will could have had with the Allays

[petalsandantlers]

Hi! This is a sequel of sorts. Set 2 months later. Lily & James are called to the kindergarten school because Harry got hurt trying to defend a girl from being teased/picked on:

Prompt:

“Mr & Mrs. Potter. Thank you for coming quickly on such short notice and sorry for what you are about to hear.”

“What do you mean? You said it was a serious on the phone. Did Harry do something wrong?!”

“No. He has always been a kind and considerate kid. Rarely picks fights. Always willing to help others. Though sadly, that quality caused something awful today. His friend, Audrey, was being teased/called names by Freddie. Harry told him kindly at first to stop. He started to make fun of him and Harry did the same. And things got out of hand from there”

“What did that kid do to our Harry???!”

“He.. punched Harry in the nose”

Hi! Thank you for the prompt, hope u enjoy xx the previous part (sort of) can be read here.

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

“Mr. and Mrs. Potter, thank you for coming so quickly on such short notice,” the teacher began, her voice steady but clearly nervous. “And I’m so sorry for what you’re about to hear.”

James leaned forward, his jaw tightening. “What do you mean? You said it was serious on the phone. Did Harry do something?”

“No, Mr. Potter,” the teacher said quickly. “Harry is a lovely child—kind, considerate, and always polite. He rarely causes any trouble. But today…” She hesitated, glancing at Lily, who looked like she was seconds away from snapping.

“What happened?” Lily demanded, her voice sharp. “Where is Harry? Is he hurt?”

The teacher sighed. “Harry’s friend Audrey was being teased—Freddie was calling her names. Harry stepped in and asked him to stop.”

“Good,” James interrupted, nodding firmly. “That’s what he should do.”

“Yes,” the teacher agreed. “But Freddie turned on Harry, mocking him instead. Things escalated… and Freddie ended up punching Harry in the nose.”

“He did what?!” Lily’s voice cracked as she shot out of her chair, fury etched across her face. “That little—what kind of school are you running where boys are punching each other?”

“Lily,” James muttered, though his own hand was clenched into a fist. “What did you do about this Freddie kid? Did he even get in trouble?”

The teacher raised her hands, trying to calm them. “We’re handling it, Mr. Potter. Both boys were separated immediately, and Freddie’s parents have been contacted—”

“Not good enough,” James cut her off, his voice dangerously low. “My son stood up for a girl being bullied, and he’s the one who ends up bleeding? What exactly are you teaching these kids?”

“Mr. Potter, please,” the teacher said, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “There’s more. Harry… well, he retaliated. Freddie ended up with a loose tooth.”

Lily blinked, her eyes narrowing. “So Harry stood up for someone, got punched, and had to finish the fight himself?”

“I understand your frustration—”

“No, you don’t,” Lily snapped. “Harry is five! He shouldn’t have to be defending girls or himself from bullies because this school can’t keep control of its students!”

James crossed his arms, his face like thunder. “You’re lucky Harry’s the one who knocked that tooth out, because if it had been me hearing this in the moment—”

“James!” Lily hissed, though she didn’t look entirely opposed to the sentiment.

The teacher cleared her throat nervously. “We’ll be reviewing our supervision policies and speaking with Freddie’s parents. Harry is such a sweet boy, and I hate that he’s had to experience this. I wanted you to hear it from me directly because… well, I know how protective you must feel.”

Lily exhaled shakily, her anger barely simmering beneath the surface. “Protective doesn’t even cover it.” She grabbed James’s arm and stood. “We’ll talk to Harry ourselves, but rest assured we’ll be having more conversations about this school’s handling of bullies.”

James followed her, his expression still dark. “And Freddie’s parents better hope they’ve got some decency, or we’ll have a long chat with them too.”

As they left, Lily muttered to James, “I hope Freddie really deserved that loose tooth.”

James smirked faintly, though his voice was still low with anger. “Of course he did. Harry wouldn’t have hit him otherwise.”

“Still,” Lily sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ll need to tell Harry he can’t always use his fists.”

James raised an eyebrow. “We will. But not tonight.” -------------------------------- Read on AO3

[rosetyler42]

Some what-if Bavis (Bill possessing Mavis) images I couldn't get out of my head. Wanted to give Johnny a moment of heroism since I didn't include him in the drawing with Mavis + Bill and protective Drericka, but I also wanted to see Drericka's reactions. Drac's mix of horrified and pissed abd Ericka's cool "You think pain's funny, do you? Well, get ready to laugh yourself to DEATH, Corn chip!" face.

Alternate:

Yea, This Is A Mess.

I couldn't stop thinking about how Drac and Ericka looked like Lilo and Stitch from the "A best friend knows when to Let you rip into a bitc

Prior:

Welcome to Fan Central Station!

I came up with a REALLY angsty idea: Been wanting to play around some with Bill and thought "Who of the family is most likely to make a deal

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