#and turned into its own little thing I guess

[endofthelinegang]

the things we don't say

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  john walker x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  based on the prompts "don't go on that date." "why?" "you know why." "say it." 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  cursing

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The zipper trembles slightly between your fingers as you pull it up. Not because your hands are shaking—at least not much—but because you’re second-guessing the decision you made twenty minutes ago. The jacket is soft, tan suede, something you haven’t worn since before the Thunderbolts—back when “casual” didn’t feel like an act of rebellion. Underneath is a black camisole that clings just enough to make you feel alive again. Real. 

You told yourself it wasn’t for him.

But in the mirror, you can’t ignore the way you check your profile—your hair tucked just right, your collarbones exposed, the gloss on your lips just a touch shinier than usual. Your fingers linger at your throat for a second too long, brushing against the delicate chain necklace you threw on without thinking. A gift to yourself. A piece of the old you.

The door creaks behind you. The energy shifts instantly. You don’t need to look. You already know who it is. That same low, smoldering pressure that always coils at the base of your spine when he’s near.

John Walker.

You can see him in the mirror before he speaks. He’s leaning in the doorway like he owns it—broad shoulders tense, one hand gripping the frame just tight enough for the knuckles to go white. He’s in black tactical gear, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms like he was either coming from training or looking for an excuse to fight. His hair is a mess, you knew he had been messing with it. His eyes are already on you. Not just watching—reading.

“You going somewhere?” he asks, voice casual—but the kind of casual that cuts, his shoulder was pressed into the doorframe, his body completely blocked up the space. 

You smooth your hands down the front of your jacket, mostly to keep yourself busy or at least to look busy. If you didn’t there was just the smallest chance you wouldn’t go anywhere. “Yeah. Civvies. Off base. Crazy, I know.”

He moves closer landing his feet on the ground from where one leg had been crossed over the other, a slow step that echoes across the floor. “With who?”

You shrug, not turning yet. You want to make him wait and you do not wanna give him the idea that his presence would affect anything. “Someone who asked.”

In the mirror, you catch the flicker in his jaw. That’s where it always starts with him—just a little tension that spreads like cracks through ice. He blinked and looked to the window before looking back at you. He knew you were making a dig, and man was he happy you did because it was giving him a reason to dig back. 

“Right,” he mutters, his tone shifting. “Let me guess—one of the new handlers? The guy who can't even clear a sidearm properly?” 

You turn now, slowly, facing him with your arms folded. A casual stance, but defensive. You catch the way his eyes drop—not to be disrespectful, but because he’s scanning. Reading your body, your outfit, the way the light hits your collarbone. His gaze lingers at your neckline a second too long before he tears it away. All that did was anger him more, not even he deserved to have you dress up to go do something with him let alone some other idiot. 

“You been spying on me now, Walker?” you ask, your voice cool, laced with something sharper. You knew he was, he had been for a while. At first it was to figure out what you liked and what he could be doing for you that would be considered little gestures. The biggest issue was that John had a hard time making up his mind on what to do about you. So he would go back and forth between bringing you lunch and organizing your laundry in its basket to not talking to you at all. Which is one of the biggest things that led you to this situation. 

He shrugs. That signature Walker arrogance, but there’s no real heat in it. Only frustration. “Just observant.”

You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth twitching. What hurt you was that you knew that he knew how you felt about him in some way. If he didn’t he would’ve never done any of the nice things he had been doing.  “No, you’re being a dick.”

He stiffens. The smirk disappears like you flipped a switch.  “I’m just wondering when you started going for guys who talk big and fall apart the second they’re in the field.”

You step closer, boots scuffing against the tile. “You don’t know him.”

“And you do?” he bites back. “What—he bought you a drink and suddenly he’s worth your time?”

You flare at that. Your fingers tighten around your arms, gripping your own skin like it’ll keep you from lunging. “What’s your problem, John?”

He’s silent, but his eyes are screaming. That unreadable expression cracks at the edges—his jaw clenched, shoulders rising and falling like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding. He takes a step forward, then another. The air between you grows thick, electric. You can smell the faint scent of cedar from his cologne, cucumber from shampoo, and mint from where he must have brushed he teeth , something grounded. 

“My problem is you’re going out with some paper-pusher while we’re still knee-deep in this Thunderbolts circus and pretending like it’s normal.” He was sounding meaner and meaner the more he talked, his tone was rough and his volume was rising. 

You hold your ground, you knew that he could be mean it was no shocker. “You’re right. It’s not normal. None of this is. But that doesn’t mean I have to sit around waiting for someone who doesn’t say what he means.”

That hits harder than you mean it to. You see it in his eyes. The wounded flash behind the blue. His hands flex at his sides—twitching, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and grab you or punch the wall behind you. His chest is heaving and he is tapping his left foot slowly on and off like he can’t stand to be in his own skin.  He steps closer quickly, if you didn’t know any better you would think you were about to be attacked. He was now close enough that the fabric of your sleeves brushes with every breath. Close enough that if either of you moved an inch forward, you’d be touching.

And at that moment, he hated himself a little.

Not for wanting you—but for waiting this long. For letting mission after mission bury whatever this thing between you was. He told himself it was about professionalism, about keeping a clear head. But really, it was fear. Because the second he let himself want you, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And guys like him? They don’t get the girl. They get grief, and consequences, and orders they don’t question. But watching you walk out that door tonight—for someone else—feels worse than any battlefield he's crawled off of.

The amount of control he was using was insane, his skin was turning red from being so angry and he was using his left hand to fidget just a bit. He doesn’t let himself touch you. So he speaks instead.

And then—

“Don’t go on that date.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but they punch the air out of your lungs. You are completely still, you are the deer in front of the car. You saw the sadness in his eyes, the desperation that sat there. This was not his forte, it never really was. The only girls he had dated before his ex-wife were just with him because of his physique or just to brag that they were with someone clean cut. At first he minded and really wished he could find something, anyone to be real. But eventually he fell into the game of who gives a fuck lets just have some fun. But when he looked at you he felt like that teenager again, the one who really did want something, anything real. 

You just blink. “What?”

His eyes don’t leave yours. His voice doesn't shake, but there's a quiet desperation laced through every word. He was above crying, at least he told himself that but he was not above begging at this moment. “Don’t go.”

You should walk past him. You should be the one who doesn’t break. He had done this to himself, you did nothing but show him kindness back when he graced you with his. In fact you had been the one who was constantly trying to figure out what was going on between the two of you. But the crack is already spreading. That part of you that had been trying to put the pieces together was still very curious. 

“Why?”

His lips part. His brows pull together just slightly. He looks at you like a man who’s spent weeks on the edge of a cliff, finally realizing the fall might be worth it. He moves his hands from his sides to put them on your waist but before he can he puts them right back. 

“You know why.”

That’s not enough. Not anymore. You need to hear him say it. He was not going to get away with just leaving things so broad that it could be taken as anything, this was all or nothing. 

“Say it,” you whisper.

The tension breaks like a snapped wire. His shoulders sag an inch, just enough to betray the weight he’s been carrying. The eye contact was unbearable. He hoped you could not see what he was feeling, but if you could he was hoping that nervousness was not one of those things. 

“Because he’s not me.” John was looking down at you, his eyes practically begging you to say something. But you had to see that he was being honest, that what he said was not some mean joke. 

Your throat tightens. Your hands curl, unsure whether to reach for him or shove him away. The silence that follows isn’t empty—it’s heavy. Charged. Like the moment before a lightning strike. The corner of your kip was now underneath the weight of your teeth. All of a sudden your clothes felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds and were hot as hell. And still, neither of you moves because the ball is in your court. Normally he would not care nor would he respect that but this was different. This was not the same shit he could usually pull. 

“John—”

It comes out quieter than you meant. Like the sound got stuck in your throat on the way out. Barely a breath, just enough to reach him. He flinches. You would’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely—the way his shoulders twitch, the way the line of his jaw tightens under the weight of that one syllable. Your voice, soft and uncertain, wrapped around his name like it means something. Like it still means something.

His eyes close for half a heartbeat. You catch the flash of restraint in his face like a wave crashing through him and barely receding. He exhales through his nose, slow and rough, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re burning. Not angry. Not wild. Wounded.

He’s standing there like a man carved out of stone—but you see the cracks. In his silence. In his knuckles, where his fingers twitch against the fabric of his pants like he’s desperate for something to hold onto. In the way he’s biting down on the inside of his cheek, hard, like he’s punishing himself for letting the words out at all.

You know what this is costing him.

You know what it takes for John Walker to admit that he feels anything.

And maybe that’s why your chest aches as you stand there, heat crawling up your neck like shame and hope are fighting for space beneath your skin. You shift your weight, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your boots scuff on the tile, the way your jacket feels too tight across your chest now, the way your lip is still caught between your teeth.

You want to ask him why now. Why not two weeks ago, when you sat next to him on that rooftop and the air between you had been just as electric, just as close, and he said nothing. Why not that night in the common area, when your knees brushed and he looked at you like he might say something real, then didn’t?

But you don’t ask.

Because you’re afraid of the answer.

And because right now, the way he’s looking at you—like you’re a decision he’s been avoiding for too long—it feels like he’s trying to make up for all of it in this one impossible moment.

He shifts his stance again, but he still doesn’t reach for you. His hands twitch at his sides—useless, hesitant, undone. He’s never looked more dangerous. And he’s never looked more unsure.

The silence after is louder than the words.He waits. Not breathing. Not blinking. Like he’s on a wire, waiting to be pushed. And you don’t know what you’re going to do next. You don’t know if you’re going to take a step forward or tear the door open and leave. Because there’s something in your chest clawing its way out. A scream. A sob. A kiss.

And then—

There’s a knock.

Sharp. Urgent.

Your head snaps toward the door.

His eyes follow.

Neither of you moves.

A voice calls your name from the other side. Too familiar. Too timed.

John’s jaw sets. You see the walls go back up behind his eyes—fast, brutal, practiced. His fists clench, and for the first time in the whole damn conversation, he looks away.

You take a breath, ready to say something—

But the door handle starts to turn.

And you’re both still standing there.

Too close.

Too quiet. Too late.

[sparrows4bats]

Another Damian as Selinas Sidekick AU

I love the idea that Damian becomes a doctor so much, but I am also aware that he is a little adrenaline junkie and would be bored and miss vigilantism.

So, instead of going to his father and asking for the occasional patrol or spar. Damian decides to go to Selina with his boredom.

Selina and he have bonded over the years. Their shared love of cats, their rough past, and their very different yet complicated relationship to the batman. So Damian meets her for coffee every couple of weeks to vent.

It's therapeutic, and Damian quite likes having someone who listens to his side of things without rushing to defend everyone else. Selina has been around a long time and is well aware of the flaws of his father and siblings. She understands his frustration and the fact that it doesn't change how much he loves his family.

Selina has a soft spot for the boy who was so hurt and angry when she first met him but decided his own path to helping people. So when Damian tells her how he misses the adrenaline, the adventure, but can't hurt people anymore. (He took an oath, and he doesn't want to anymore, never again if he can help it.) Selina has a wonderful idea.

If he won't be a vigilante anymore, why not a thief?

Damian protests when she suggests it. At first.

Then Selina mentions how an awful lot of the money she takes ends up in the hands of the community and that she is not active nearly as much as Batman. A good heist takes quite a bit of planning after all.

The thing that really sold him is when Selina said she needed back up anyway to steal this artifact from a private collector and return it to its country of origin.

Doctor Damian Wayne sits across from her, a cat in his lap, and smiles as she outlines the plan and agrees easier than she thought he would.

Now Damian is highly trained, turned into a weapon from birth, but Selina insists on showing him some of her own moves. Damian excels in flexibility and the more arobatic elements. He picks pockets and exploits alarm systems like he's done it for years. He grins as he tells her exactly how he used to get around his father. No one wise ever lets anyone know all of their skills, even allies.

Selina delights in teaching him social exploitation, how to use his looks and charm to convince marks to just let him in. She laughs at the disgisted face he makes as she describes how to flirt and distract. Selina is actually a little impressed with how well he does at it after a bit of practice on regular people.

They melt at his accent and pretty green eyes, tripping over themselves to give Damian anything he wants if only to have his attention a moment longer.

She giggles at the thought of Bruce's and the other bats' reaction to their baby becoming the object of admirers. She reminds herself to get him to use his new skills at the next Wayne Gala so she can watch the chaos.

Finally, Selina declares him ready and hands him his new costume. Which happens to be a skintight black catsuit made from what he guesses is reinforced material, complete with a mask to cover his mouth and a hood with cat ears sewn on top.

"No."

"But you'll look so cute kitten!"

"I'll look like an idiot!"

"You need a suit, I altered one of mine, so unless you're going to rob this guy wearing the Robin outfit, it'll have to do."

"Fine!"

"Do you have a name? Or am I calling you kitten all night?"

Damian sighs and thinks, "You can call me Stray."

The job goes extremely well. Catwoman and Stray get in, grab the artifacts and a few extras that catch their eye, and get out without anyone noticing. It's the most fun Damian has had in ages, flitting across rooftops once again.

After that, Stray makes regular appearances, never when it'll interfere with his work. He and Catwoman robb the corrupt and return culturally significant objects and wealth to where they belong. Afterwards, he goes to work and saves lives.

Damian and Selina don't tell the others about their escapades. Damian doesn't want the hassle of explaining his choices to them, and ever since he hung up the cape, his father and brothers have been overprotective to the extreme. Silena is waiting for the world's greatest detective to figure out his civilian son is now her sidekick.

Batman notices Strays existence months after Damian starts his new hobby. He meets his father in the house of a mob boss Catwoman had been targeting for years.

"Catwoman, whose your friend?" Batman grunts

"Oh, Batsy, meet my kitten, Stray."

Damian pitches his voice a little lower and carefully imitates a Gotham accent.

"Great to finally meet you Batman, my mentor has told me so much about you." Damian offers a clawed hand. His father doesn't take it.

"Get out of here. This guy is involved in a human trafficking ring I'm tracking down."

"All the more reason to liberate his ill gotten gains, don't you think?" Damian asks with a smirk.

Batman glares at him but let's them leave with a few nice paintings and doesn't bother giving chase. Damian ignores Selina winking at the Bat and whispering in his ear for his own sanity.

It goes on like this for weeks. When he sees his father outside the mask, the man is doting and worried if he's eating enough. When he he meets Batman, the man is cold and standoffish.

The other bats enjoy his humour but are thoroughly confused at his ability to evade them.

Bruce is losing it because the last time a masked figure showed in Gotham with vaguely familiar moves, it was Jason on a revenge mission. At least, Stray isn't beheading people, but Bruce needs to know who he is, like yesterday.

Silena says nothing but enjoys their frustration. Her kitten is having fun for the first time in years, and not even the bats are going to ruin that.

It works well, Damian helps Silena while he keeps his new life as a doctor without his family knowing his secret. He enjoys the adrenaline and sleeps better with some sort of outlet.

Then, all of the Batfamily are kidnapped.

Damian doesn't know how it happened or why he is the only one left to deal with it, but Silena called, and now he has to go rescue his idiots. Silena is with the sirens out of town, so Stray goes in solo. (he doesn't have time to find a robin suit.)

He finds his family tied up and mildly drugged in a large basement.

"Why are you here?!" Nightwing asks as he is untied.

"Because apparently you all are incapable of keeping yourselves out of trouble without my help!"

"We've never needed your help before?" Red Robin interjects, looking at him like a puzzle.

"Yes, take that tone! Agent A is waiting at the cave for you all, and God help me if any of you patrol again without me clearing you!"

"Wait-" Batman starts. "Damian!"

Every other bat looks at him in shock.

"No names in the suit, Father!"

All of the vigilantes start to talk over each other as Damian sighs. He has a shift in 5 hours and probably won't be able to sleep before it now.

Just as Damian has untied the last of his siblings, the door to the basement busts open to reveal a very serious looking Jon Kent. Tim had apparently activated the distress beacon.

Stray holds his face in his hand. "Bit late there, Superman." As he turns to a hovering Jon Kent.

"Damian?!" The Super gapes at him.

"No names in the suit, Hayseed!" Damian crosses his arms, his glare visible even if his scowl is hidden. Jon immediately turns bright red. Damians family look on in dread.

"I didn't know you even had a suit anymore!"

"It wasn't important!"

"Looks pretty important to me! What? Trade in the bird theme for... Are those cat ears??"

Damian glares harder. "They weren't my choice."

"Yeah, I got that. This is very different from your old Robin get-up." Jon looks him up and down. "Suits you, though."

Damian hopes his heartbeat doesn't give away how that comment affects him, but going by the smirk on Jons face, he already knows.

"NO!" Damians brothers shout from beside him.

"Stray, you are coming back to the cave." Batman orders

"But Father-"

"Now."

Damian really just wants to sleep, but his father isn't giving him a choice in the matter. He looks towards Jon and has a wonderful idea.

"Superman, I could use an evac." Jon takes a moment, smiles, and grabs the cat themed thief and flies them both away. They ignore the other heroes yelling behind them.

After a few minutes of flying, Jon sets him down in the middle of a field.

"So you're Stray now?"

"I needed an outlet that didn't hurt people, Silena suggested it." Damian says while taking down his mask and hood. "Thank you for the escape."

Jon chuckles. "Anytime." He steps closer. "If you want to repay the favour, you could take me to dinner?" He flirts.

Damian raises a brow. "Really?"

"I'll even pay."

"How is that repayment?"

"Was thinking more of a date, actually?" Jon looks at his lips as he says this.

"The Cat Costume really does it for you, huh?" Damian teases.

"No, you do it for me. I've been trying to ask you out for ages, but seeing you in skintight leather is definitely a hell of a motivation."

Damian hums. "Tommorrow then, you can pick me up after my shift. If you let me sleep before I have to work in the morning"

"Deal."

His family eventually interrogate him about being Stray, but not before they find Jonathan Kent waiting for him with flowers and a kiss.

Needless to say, Selina is highly entertained when she returns.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Florida Kilos | Pairing: Jason Duval x Ex!Reader | Author's Note: I need GTA VI neeoowwwwwwww!!!!!!! I NEED JASON DUVAL NOW!!!!! "THEY REHEATED THE ARTHUR MORGAN NACHOS!!!!!!" I scream as they drag me away to the asylum.

Jason Duval had a buzzcut now.

You noticed it before anything else, before the thick new muscle on his frame, before the gold chain catching light against his tan skin, before the way his arm was slung a little too casually around her waist. His hair — the long, sun-streaked mess you used to tug on when things got heated — was gone. Shorn down to the scalp like he was trying to erase the kid you used to know.

And maybe he had.

Because Jason wasn’t playing small-time in the Keys anymore. No, not with Lucia on his hip — the Lucia you’d heard whispers about, the one with the sharp mouth and sharper instincts, the kind of woman who didn’t play second to anyone.

Your stomach turned when you saw them, all wrapped up in each other like they owned the place. Lucia’s eyes were always moving, clocking everyone in the bar, but when her gaze slid over you, it was indifferent. Like you weren’t even a blip on her radar.

Jason, though — he wasn’t so smooth.

His eyes locked on you, and for half a second, that cocky grin twitched. Like he wasn’t expecting you here. Like maybe seeing you knocked him off balance just a little.

You let your eyes drag over him, slow and deliberate.

“Buzzcut, huh?” you muttered, stepping close enough that only he could hear. “Guess you really are trying to pretend the Keys never happened.”

Jason’s jaw tensed. That familiar tick in his temple. “Maybe I just got tired of dragging around dead weight.”

You almost laughed. “Is that what you call it now? Dead weight?”

Your eyes flicked to Lucia, then back to him. “Tell me, Jason — does she know you used to cry every time you busted up your hand? Or is that another thing you shaved off with the hair?”

Lucia’s brows lifted, finally paying attention. Jason’s hand on her hip tightened, subtle but there.

“You should walk away,” he said, voice low, dangerous in a way that used to thrill you but now just made your blood boil. “Before you say something you can’t take back.”

You stepped in, chest nearly brushing his. “Already did. Three years ago on that damn dock, remember? Or did you buzz that out too?”

For a split second, the whole room felt like it held its breath.

Jason’s lips curled into a sneer, but behind it — deep behind it — there was that flicker. That heat. That unfinished business that no amount of new girlfriends, new cuts, or new crimes could kill.

Lucia’s hand slipped down to his wrist, subtle but firm. Possessive. Like she could feel the shift in him too.

You smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

And with that, you turned on your heel, letting the weight of your words hang in the humid air. You didn’t look back — but you could feel his eyes burning into you as you walked away, every step stoking that slow, simmering fire you both pretended was dead.

You barely made it past the neon flicker of the bar’s open sign before you heard heavy footsteps behind you — fast, clipped. Jason.

“Hey.”

His voice snapped through the night, sharp enough to stop you in your tracks.

You turned slow, arms crossed like armor. “Took you long enough.”

Jason was on you in seconds, close enough that the heat radiating off him made your skin prickle. The ocean breeze did nothing to cool the air between you.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” His jaw was tight, eyes dark and storming. “Had to start shit in front of her.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry — did I mess up your little power couple moment? My bad.”

He stepped in closer, chest brushing yours now. That chain around his neck caught the light again, glinting like a warning.

“You think this is a game?” he growled, voice low enough that it rumbled through your ribs. “Lucia doesn’t play. You open your mouth like that again, and she’ll—”

“What? Finish what you started?”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his glare head-on. “Go ahead, Jason. Let her come for me. At least she’d be honest about it.”

His nostrils flared. That vein in his neck jumped — the same one you used to trace with your fingers when you still loved him, before all this turned toxic and ugly.

For a beat, neither of you moved.

The only sound was the muffled bass thumping from inside and the distant lapping of the waves.

Then Jason swore under his breath, voice cracking just enough to give him away. “You make me crazy, you know that?”

You smirked, sharp and mean. “Always did.”

His hand shot out, palm flat against the wall beside your head — not touching you, but caging you in. His chest heaved, close enough now that you could smell the mix of cheap cologne and sea salt, and under that, something familiar. Him.

Your breath hitched, just for a second. Mistake.

Jason caught it, his eyes flicking down to your mouth and back up.

His jaw clenched. “You don’t get to look at me like that.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips — reflex, but it made his eyes darken. “And yet, here you are. Chasing after me.”

His other hand twitched at his side like he wanted to grab you, shake you, maybe kiss you — maybe both. You weren’t sure which one you wanted either, and that was the real problem.

“I should go back inside,” he muttered, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “You should.”

Neither of you moved.

The air felt thick enough to choke on. Your heart slammed against your ribs, traitorous and loud.

Jason leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed your ear when he spoke. “Next time you pull that shit… I won’t let you walk away so easy.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “Next time, maybe I won’t.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, something dangerous flickering there — something old and raw and very, very alive.

Then, like a switch flipping, he straightened, scrubbing a hand over his buzzed scalp like he could shake you off.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked back inside, leaving you alone in the sticky Florida night, pulse racing and every nerve on fire.

He could still feel it sometimes — the ghost of your fingers threading through his hair, slow and lazy like they had all the time in the world.

Back then, they did.

Back before everything got complicated. Before the money, the jobs, and Lucia.

Your legs were slung over his, bare skin sticking to his thighs in the sticky Keys heat. You sat sideways on his lap, one hand absently twirling a piece of his long, sun-bleached hair while the other traced idle circles on his shoulder.

Jason leaned back against the rickety porch chair, grinning like an idiot as he watched you squint against the late afternoon sun.

“Y’know,” he drawled, voice thick with that lazy contentment he never found anymore, “you’re real bossy for someone who’s technically not my wife yet.”

You paused, fingers caught in a tangle of his hair. Your eyes narrowed, amused. “Yet?”

Jason smirked, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. He reached up, caught your wrist, and tugged you closer until you were pressed up against his chest.

“Ok, Mrs. Duval,” he teased, voice warm and rough around the edges.

You snorted and shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But he just laughed — full and loud, the kind of laugh that used to bubble up easy around you.

“Nah, I’m serious,” he said, grin softening into something more real. His hand found your hip, fingers curling there like they belonged. “You’d look good with my name. All official and shit.”

You stilled against him. The banter dropped a little, tone shifting like it always did when he got too close to the thing they never quite said out loud.

“Jason,” you warned, voice quieter now. “Don’t say that if you’re not gonna propose. That’s messed up.”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened — cocky but earnest in that dumb, dangerous way he had.

“But I will,” he said simply. Like it was fact. Like there was no world where it didn’t happen. “One day. I swear.”

You rolled her eyes, but he felt the way your body softened just a little like part of you wanted to believe him. Like maybe you did.

“Sure, Duval. I’ll believe it when I see a ring.”

Jason just laughed again, tipping his head back against the chair, letting your fingers go back to weaving through his hair like they were stitched into him.

And in that moment — sun setting, beer bottles clinking somewhere in the background, your weight warm and solid on his lap — he meant it. He really fucking meant it.

But now, standing outside some grimy Vice City dive with Lucia waiting inside, Jason could only feel the phantom sting of that promise.

Because he never did buy that ring. Never made her Mrs. Duval.

And judging by the way she looked at him tonight — all sharp edges and bitter heat — she remembered that too.

[mediumgayitalian]

MEMEMEME! ILL ASK ABOUT THAT FIC TELL EVERYTHING

(I'm trying to catch up on your blog I swear!)

HI BELOVED TAKE YOUR TIME. I KNOW YOU ARE BUSY. IT IS NOT GOING ANYWHERE. but as for the fic (i'm sorry. genuinely):

cecil and lou ellen are fighting. cecil is being a shithead and just driving her nuts, which is rare bc she is also often a shithead who drives ppl nuts, but she is at her wits end. and will is like halfheartedly trying to stop it but hes like Busy right. its summer. hes got an infirmary to run.

but lou ellen snaps and goes YOU WANNA ACT LIKE A CHILD? FINE! BE AA CHILD! and shes so mad the magic POPS off of her like cecil gets HEXED.

except.

cecil is his fathers son.

he is fast.

he ducks and will, who is less fast and also Tired, gets hit instead.

theres this huge glow of green light, everyone is shrieking, no one knows what's going on, then the smoke clears and there is will, on the floor, NINE GODDAMN YEARS OLD. and everyone is like oooooohhhhh gods what do we do.

and lou ellen is like I DONT KNOW I DONT KNOW IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I DIDNT EVEN HEX HIM I JUST KIND OF EXPLODED and everyone is trying so so hard to figure it out,m but will is unconscious, and he is LITTLE and there is PANIC

cue annabeth who is like OKAY. everyone chill the fuck out. someone go get him clothes that fit. hes gonna wake up and be confused. remember we're down a medic. the rest of you need to use your fucking heads.

so people are chill but BUZZING with the rumours bc baby will is so goddam Cute like actually but also like. is he gonna age back? is he stuck that way? and they keep side eyeing nico and nico is trying not to let it bother him but hes also like oh shit oh god did i just lose the love of my life please tell me this isnt happening oh my god fuck

someone brings harley's extra clothes, but since harley is jacked they're Way too big on him, also will is small for his age, so theyre like literally what is the point of giving him these he might as well wear his own clothes, and cecil is like yo wait a second. ur onto smth maybe. so he slinks off into storage and comes back with like a stack of will's old clothes. and they're just The dorkiest things in the world

but anyways someone comes hollering to dinner like HES UP HES UP so nico rushes over and everyone else too and hes up alright. he is Bouncing off the walls.

as they suspected he is very much a nine year old. like not current fifteen year old will in a nine year olds body this is Nine Year Old Will Solace. and he is a motormouth and jumping on the bed and asking a million questions and going YOOOOOOOO ANABETH YOURE GIANT NOW and shes like bruh. okay. guess we really are going back to baby will. hold on everyone.

and nico is still stressed but also like. oh my gods. will is SO cute he is melting a little. like its hard not to

but then

then.

will chills for six seconds and hes like hey where's lee? or michael? they usually work this time a day and Boy does it ever get real quiet real fast.

and its like.

do you tell this child.

this bright eyed child.

that his entire family is dead.

or do you just lie.

they lie!

thinking quick as hell annabeth is like "uhhhhh theyre on a quest."

"all twelve of them?"

"…they're going on four quests"

"oh okay word! how come i couldnt come"

"?? bc?? ur 9??"

"aw"

and its just.

the rest of the time as they try to figure out how to turn him back

its just. this time capsule.

this kid who is asking about all these people that half the campers dont know and the other half are remembering, vividly and painfully, for the first time in years

knocking on the athena cabin door like "hey malcolm!! is carter here? i wanna play soccer"

"oh, sweetheart. he's, uh. he's at school"

and will is suspsicious because what the heck! carter always plays soccer with him especially when lee is gone! and carter is the smartest guy ever he graduated when he was ten! what!

and hes asking clarisse and she doesnt know what to say to him. she is the weakest shes ever felt in his life. all she sees is silena.

and hes asking about beckendorf and percy can hardly breathe and hes asking about luke and conner and travis dont know what to say and its AWFUL. its awful. the entire camp is realising for the first time just how many people theyve lost.

he asks about castor and mr d almost kills him.

like its just AGONIZING its the worst

and the worst of all is that will starts to realise.

the longer it stretches on the more he realises hey they arent here. they havent been here.

he goes to pull a box out from under his bed and its one no one has ever seen before and its just Filled to the brim. pictures on pictures and home videos and letters and diary entries spotted with tear tracks.

"they're gone. aren't they."

"…yes."

"all of them?"

"i'm sorry, will."

like it ACHES

he comes back to fifteen eventually and its just

how have you carried that

missing them all for so long

forgot to mention that when will tries to go back to his cabin nico thinks quickly int he beginning. "uhhhh they tried to um. renovate your cabin. with paint fromt he big house. and it had lead in it? apparently? so you and your cabin have to stay with me actually. for a while." just to keep him from seeing that literally None of his sibling's stuff is there. and hasnt been for years. and then one day no one can find will until they find him in the apollo cabin, in the early morning, rifling through this box in this giant empty cabin and realising what has happened. what he loses in the future. crying quietly. then into nico's arms, who's choking his own tears back.

"i don't want to go back to a future without them in it. i don't want to grow up. i don't want to grow up."

"believe me, sweetheart. i know."

just HEARTWRENCHING

[fruit-fight]

YOU GET IT!

Hear me out!( Ramble that quickly turned into a dialogue mini fic)

Wukong finally starts to understand the beef when he starts attending PTA with Macaque, so he's like, "dw babe, watch this." And decides to show off their son's other 50% which as we all know is gremlin little shit(who also happens to be FILTHY rich). Imagine one of her kids is a fan of Monkey King(he's all over children's media), and another is a friend of Xiaoxing, so both get invited to his birthday. Linda has to go or she looks petty and can't pull the old "well you can't expect everyone to be available at the same time" bc Mac made a point to invite her and her sons, personally, in front of everyone including her sons. Her babies even got their own individual royal RSVP cards to feel grown up. She looks at the location. It's FFM and free, SAFE, transportation is provided. Wukong is standing behind Mac, looking far too pleased despite doing everything he can over the centuries to keep people out. Her sons are estatic. She can't refuse or bash it. But she's too stubborn to trust sending her boys only, so she's coming.

Wukong remodeled everything back to its glory days. The cave tunnel system are all rustic, beautifully carved hallways of the mountain that's technically a palace on the inside with modern touches in the more "commonly used" areas, like tech and plumbing(✨️Magic✨️) and hand painted murals. The mountain is literally a stone palace! The weather is perfection. The Monkies are perfectly mannered, gentle, and playful with all the kids Xiaoxing invited, and avoid Linda like the plague after she huffed and puffed about animals loving her. To the point it was almost comical watching them go out of their way to get away from her, a bold young one going so far as to throw a nut at her head to give another the chance to escape(theyre all over Macaque as usual tho). And the beaches are pristine.

Wukong worked on it for months just to see Linda's face as Mac had the time of his life rubbing it all in.

Macaque: "Oh, Linda, I'm sure your 5th husband would have party prepped an entire island, and payed for all the cantering, and bought a pile of expensive gifts, and payed for all the set up, and still be an amazing stay at home dad if you gave him the chance. Or was it the 3rd? Which one are you on now? I can't remember. At least you never get back with an ex, you're so much stronger than Wukong and I, in that regard. Guess we can't seem to let the other go" *sighs wistfully*

Wukong: *Slides up next to them with brightly colored drinks* Hey Mrs. ___! Hello, beautiful~ the Nannies you're sister recommended just arrived and bar is now open~

Linda, desperately latching onto the only thing she can complain about: Hello, Mr. Sun~ that sounds fun but I gave up most alcohol after my first litter, besides this is a children's birthday party. I wouldn't want that to be what breaks my streak. It'd be irresponsible of me.

Shadowpeach: *bombastic side eye*

Wukong: Well, that's no problem, everyone to their own. Virgin is an option for most drinks, and I caught that 'most', plum wine, and peach wine are both options available. Also there will be karaoke for the kids soon soooo

Macaque, genuinely surprised and pleased: *gasp* Plum wine?! You got my favorite? I haven't had that in forever!

Wukong: one correction, I made Plum wine with the grove I grew here for you. And yeah, I noticed you haven't had the chance to relax were you weren't to tired to bother with alcohol so I picked up a couple old hobbies. I had the time to kill anyway for a bit of research. Surprise!

Macaque, genuinely touched and lowkey forgetting the act for a second: Oh, mango, thats so sweet🥰

Linda:

Wukong: That reminds me, I'm also giving mango wine a go, so that'll be out of the cellar in a few months for taste testing.

Macaque, remembering himself and trying really hard(failing) to get his shit together: That'll be fun!

Linda, lowkey fuming as she watches the exchange: I'm sure. So what is that you have there Mr. Sun?~

Wukong, legit forgot she was there for a sec: oh! Right! *hands a rainbow drink to Macaque* This is a drink I saw online. Thought it would be fun to try.

They both take a sip.

Wukong: Oh!

Macaque: This is actually really good, what's it called?

Wukong, already giggling: Sex on the Beach

Macaque, rolling his eyes fondly: So Mature. Though that does remind me~ You worked so hard to make today perfect for Xiaoxing, how will I ever thank you?~

Wukong, caught a little off guard: *Stares. Looks down at his drink as though asking what was in it before deciding he didn't care rn. Looks back up at Macaque, processes. Glances down at the drink again before finally focusing on Mac and responding* I might be feeling inspired~

Linda, actually loosing her mind at being pushed aside so casually so many times: Maybe I will have a little treat for Mommy. Wukong, you seem to know your stuff, any recommendations?~

Wukong: I'm sure you'll get a much more interesting answer out of our bartender. Anyway, peach! You want me to adjust your dampening spell now or later? One of the kids seem really excited about Frozen.

Macaque, delighted by the way Linda's face crumpled at being brushed off by Wukong: I can wait until they pull out the machine, thank you mango~ *pecks his cheek just to rub it in*

Linda finally huffed and stomped off toward the bar as dignified as she can manage, leaving Macaque giggling into Wukongs shoulder. Wukong trying not to laugh as he watches her stumble through the sand on unfamiliar paws.

Wukong: Well pissing her off was fun

Macaque: Right! Did you see her face after she asked for a drink? I think she expected you to fetch it for her!

Wukong: I did! Dumb bitch. I'm literally a king. Even if I was interested, expecting me to wait on you is not how you flirt with me.

Macaque: I don't know~ you seem pretty eager to serve me last week~ you look so pretty on your knees.

Wukong: Stfu. I'm gonna go check on the other parents.

Macaque: Okay, I'm gonna go check on the kids and let the caterers know they can bring out the popsicles now.

When are you gonna drop a Linda design? I need to draw the beef!/silly

- @fruit-fight

Give me an animal to base her off of and I’ll get to work💃💃

[shmisky]

Ford and Stan discuss Ford’s feelings for Bill. Stancest.

Tags: abuse recovery; character study; meta in fic form; accurate and in-character to the best of my ability; undeniably spiteful; I needed to get this out of my system; mentioned past triangle/ford (you know the ship); emphasis on “past.”

4692 words.

“This isn’t some dark bible or cursed gateway—it’s the last pathetic gasp of a has-been who fears being forgotten. Bill isn’t a god, he’s a needy theater kid in search of a stage. [...] You can’t kill an idea, but you can think of a better one. [...] I’ve found my happiness.”

— Stanford Pines, The Book of Bill

“Ford.” Nothing. “Ford.” Nothing. “Ford. Hey, buddy, I’m talking to you.”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, Stanley, I was too busy studying these beautiful translucent scales,” he gestured to a pile of glittering stuff beneath his microscope, and alright, Stan could admit they were pretty, if only in the safe privacy of his thoughts where he didn’t have any grunkliness to uphold, “that Nayara—the redhead siren, if you don’t remember—so helpfully gifted us. Who could imagine that they can shed them, after all! Fascinating!”

In any other occasion, Stan would have asked for some to send their grandniece. This was not any other occasion.

“You sure... like... anomalies, huh. Monsters. Whatever. According to Dipper, you once dated a siren...?”

“Oh! Yes, yes. I have. I suppose that’s something I have in common with Mabel, despite sirens and mermaids not quiiite being the same thing.” He chuckled quietly to himself, and Stan knew his brother enough to identify the sheer fondness in that sound. It warmed his heart a little, like a single cup of coffee with sugar, before the Arctic chill rushed in again. “Really charming creatures! I could write an entire book about their mating—”

“DoyoueverthinkaboutBill?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Stan grunted. He didn’t believe in no god, double negative and all, but a mysterious force in the universe seemed to really hold it against him sometimes. Which was ridiculous, because Stan was innocent. Could it be that wretched pink lizard? Paul Bunyan would never.

“Do you. Ever think. About Bill.”

Ford’s sweet disposition changed almost instantly. Stan didn’t need to see his face, not when his shoulders visibly tensed. Guilt wormed its way in his stomach—he hated to be the one ruining his brother’s good mood, but he had been in a terrible one himself, ever since...

“Stan. You know I do.”

Stan cringed. Yes, he knew. He was the one to comfort his brother every time he woke up from a particularly vicious nightmare, sweating cold. Ford had learned to abandon most of his paranoia, but it had been a struggle all of its own to convince him a gun underneath his pillow was not, in fact, necessary. Bill had probably traumatized him for life, but at least that trauma could be managed with time.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t... I don’t mean it like that.”

“How do you mean it, then?” His tone now had a curious edge to it.

“I mean... If you still miss Bill,” Stan whispered, steeling himself for the answer.

“Sorry? I couldn’t hear you.”

“If you still miss Bill!” He had to remind himself not to shout. Ford wasn’t the one with the hearing problems, between the two of them. “I know, I know, you told me that I shouldn’t ever touch TicTac—TokTik—that strange hellish app Mabel likes so much, ever again, but! But I couldn’t help but be curious! I wanted to know what more they were saying! I knew it would be bullshit, okay? But I wanted to know what kind of bullshit! And guess what! I found out!”

“Oh, Stanley...” Ford had turned to look at him now. There was emotion in his eyes that could almost be pity, as if they were saying, Strangers on the internet, Stanley? Really?

Stan really didn’t need his judgement now. Especially not when Ford was supposed to be the focus of that conversation.

“So. Do you miss Bill or not?”

“Short answer: no.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t miss him. I’m relieved he’s gone.”

“Stanford. Be honest with me.”

“I am. I don’t miss him. Sometimes I do miss the being whom I mistakenly thought he was, in my utter blindness and naivety. Not his true self, not whom he really was.” Ford sighed. “The being whom I thought he was—I am free to admit it now—was especially fashioned to enchant me. It reminded me a lot of you, Stanley, in a period of my life where your absence was especially felt, down to the very nicknames you called me. Sixer, Fordsy.” He made what Stan was Pavlov-conditioned to identify as a self-deprecating noise. “I see it now. He took advantage of my loneliness, of how much I missed my brother and human companionship. He was imitating you, not fully, but at least a little. I am ashamed of how well it worked.”

Stan could feel his own cheeks warming. Ugh. Not the time to be a sap.

“But that isn’t news for you, is it, Stan? I told you about how I always needed that second, that other person. You, and then Fiddleford, and then Bill, and then even poor Dipper.”

“That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

“I want to know: Bill’s true self, for you, is...?” He didn’t finish, hoping his brother would understand the opening to elaborate.

Ford looked puzzled again.

“You have read my old Journal 3, haven’t you? It’s exactly as I have described him in there, both visibly and in blacklight: a monster, a screeching, graceless lunatic, an angular psychopath. The good guy he pretended to be never really existed, and it was that nonexistent good guy whom I once thought I loved, if only in an obsessed, quasi-religious sort of way.”

Loved. Past tense.

That was enough, Stan thought. It was more than enough reassurance. Any reasonable person would be satisfied with that and not continue to push further, not with something that clearly made their brother uncomfortable. Again, Stan was not a reasonable person.

“But what if he became that?”

“Huh?”

“What if Bill became exactly that, Ford. The good guy you thought he was. For real, this time.”

“He won’t.” He had never heard Ford sound as certain of something. “There’s no hope for a being like him, Stan. He’s irredeemable.”

“Pretend with me, okay? Indulge me, like you say.”

“Well, then... good for him, I suppose. It would mean the Axolotl’s therapy worked.”

“And?”

“And, what? Stanley, if you’re not clear with me, I can’t know what you mean. Communicate, remember? Imagine Mabel is here. Imagine her saying what you know she would say if she knew—”

“Can it, Poindexter! What I want to know is if you would forgive him!”

“The Axolotl? There’s nothing to forgive, really. Do you mean it in a classic ‘God wasn’t here when I needed it’ way? No worries about that. I understand that, in the end, the Axolot’s ways are not our ways and things would have turned out—”

“Not the fucking lizard, you dumbass genius! Bill! Bill! Would you have forgiven BILL!” To hell with the no shouting policy.

Ford tilted his head like a confused dog. He had seen that gesture on the twins, before. It was cuter on them.

“Me... forgive... Bill...?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

Stan nodded.

“Stanley, do you have a fever? Are you drunk?”

Stan shook his head.

Something too quick for Stan to identify passed like lightning through Ford’s face.

And then he smiled.

“Alright, then,” he said in a far, far too cheerful tone. “I’ll just have to be a liiiittle more specific, Stanley! Just a little bit.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. An almost manic expression he had never seen on Ford’s face. “What do you want me to forgive Bill for?”

“I—I dunno, the—the whole—”

“For deceiving me? For making me distrust my brother and my friend? For traumatizing poor Fiddleford? For haunting my dreams and giving me sleep aversion? For controlling my body like a puppet and bruising it all over? For threatening to commit suicide with it just because he could? For using it to ruin my reputation with the townsfolk? For tattooing it without my consent as a sign of ownership? For making my eye bleed, driving a nail through my hand, and making me eat live spiders? For persecuting and terrorizing me? For pulling my bones out of their sockets and subjecting me to excruciating pain? For threatening to erase my memories and messing with the meaning of words in my brain? For calling my brother’s number and threatening to commit suicide? For ruining my entire goddamn life?”

Stan was impressed, it nothing else, with how quickly Ford was able to name all of those things. Did he keep a mental list? Less impressed, however, with the clear annoyance behind them. Directed at Stan? Uh-oh.

“Stanford, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no! Let me guess!” The fake cheerfulness was grating in Stan’s ears. “For deceiving and possessing Dipper? For leaving a message to Mabel threatening Dipper’s suicide? For hunting me down in the multiverse? For taking advantage of Mabel’s feelings? For mocking one of my deepest insecurities? For humiliating me publicly? For turning me and the townsfolk into statues? For torturing and electrocuting me? For attempting to blackmail me? For turning Fiddleford and five more people into tapestry? For threatening to kill the three people I love the most in the world, for wanting to destroy the entire planet, for relishing in human agony, for being one of the most feared beings in the entire multiverse and terrorizing other dimensions to the point that their inhabitants were afraid to pronounce his very name?” He took a deep breath, as if recovering his energy. As if getting ready for more. “For—”

“Stanford, I’m sorry, okay? I really am! You don’t have to keep listing shit!”

Especially not shit Bill had done to his family. Stan wanted nothing more than to bring him back and kill him ten times over.

Something in the tone of Stan’s voice—or the fact he was offering a sincere apology, and those didn’t come easy to him—must have finally snapped Ford out of it. His visible anger gave way to deep-seated exhaustion.

“Oh, Stan, no. No. I’m sorry. Remembering all those things... I couldn’t help but... take it out on you. I forget myself sometimes. It wasn’t fair and I... I apologize.”

“It’s all good. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just...” He didn’t know what to say.

“You didn’t offend me, Stanley,” Ford assured, even though he was now rolling his eyes. “I was angry at him, not at you. I am just surprised with how forgiving you are.”

“Forgiving? Me? Oh, that triangle can fucking rot, I—”

“Not towards Bill. Towards yours truly! See, only a few months have passed since we decided to sail away together and you’re already forgetting the forty years I spent holding a grudge against my own twin brother for two mistakes he never even meant to make? Have you forgotten, perchance, the kind of unforgiving bastard I am?” The grin on Ford’s face was genuine, now, and Stan had to smile at that. “Mabel hasn’t forgiven him. Mabel. You saw her drawing about what she would do to him if she ever saw him again. And you think I would? Me, of all people?”

The unbidden image of Mabel eating the demon like a crunchy nacho came to Stan’s mind, and yeah, he was fully laughing now.

“Frankly, it sounds like you don’t know me at all,” added Ford in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, you shut your yap! I do know you, okay! It’s just that... those people on the internet...”

“I haven’t observed a lot of insightful, sensible discussion on this inter-net.”

“Internet,” he corrected, just for the petty satisfaction of being the one to point out his brother’s mistakes for once.

“Yes, yes. An impressive pool of human brilliance.”

Stan really could do without the sarcasm.

“As I was saying,” he continued, perhaps a little too defensive, “those people on the internet... they seemed to think you would feel...” He swallowed. “Incomplete. Without the... dorito.”

And just like that, any remaining anger vanished from Ford’s face.

“Oh, Stan.” His brother’s tone was very, very familiar, now. Guilt. Ford’s best buddy since Weirdmaggedon and the bane of Stan’s life. “I’m—I didn’t—” He seemed to fumble with his words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were feeling neglected.”

“That I—what?”

“Stan. You’re one of three people I love the most. The most important person in my life. You know that, or at least I hope you know that. I’m sorry I haven’t demonstrated that in forty years, I’m sorry I’m not being as loving as you perhaps thought you would be, but I promise you, I’ll do better. You’ll never again think Bill was more important than you, because he never, ever was, and I’ll make sure that we learn how to—”

“Ford, what the fuck! I’m not feeling neglected!”

Ford’s eyes widened at that. Mabel was right. He did indeed look like a startled owl.

“No? I thought that perhaps this whole conversation stemmed from your low self-esteem. It was the only explanation why you would think I was feeling incomplete when my real soulmate and adventure partner is right in front of me. Bill couldn’t ever compete against you.”

Paul fucking Bunyan.

“Stanford, I’m not having a self-esteem crisis.” He sighed. “I am worried about you, because I happen to know that many... abuse victims... have mixed feelings about their abusers, and... um. that’s, uh... that’s valid, you know. Totally valid.”

“Do you? How do you know that, Stanley?” He raised an eyebrow. “Who ‘abused’ you?”

“Stanford, again, I don’t—”

“Pa... Of course!” Ford spat, brows furrowed, protective rage all over his features. “Pa was your abuser. I’ve never associated this particular word with him before, but now I see it. I really do. I’m so sorry, Stan... I’m sorry I took me so long to see it...”

“Pa wasn’t an... an abuser! He just didn’t—”

“See! Defending him even now!” Ford ran a hand through his face. “Stanley, I know that this happens. You are the living proof of that. Dipper told me about how you talked about Pa’s ‘tough love’ approach, as if it was something you were grateful for.”

“We are talking about you, Ford!”

“Are we? Because I think we’re talking about you. I think you’re projecting your own experiences with abuse onto me and expecting me to feel as you do.”

Wow. Candid as ever. Some of his hurt must have shown on his face, because Ford’s face softened.

“I’m sorry, Stan. That was mean. But what’s up with that kind of talk? It almost seems like you’re the one going to therapy, with that... uncharacteristic wording.”

“Alright, alright, you got me!”

Slight surprise flashed across Ford’s face. An arched brow was quick to follow, a knowing ‘caught you with your hand in the cookie jar’ glint in his eyes.

The pomposity. The audacity. Stan would bet his ass Ford couldn’t guess the truth in a million years.

And that was why, obviously, he crossed his arms. Exactly like the petulant, immature child Ford thought him to be. Because he wasn’t that.

“Well?”

Oh, to hell with it.

“You know I like writing my own Duchess Approves stories, right? And I might or not have mentioned it to Soos and he might or not have told me it’s apparently called ‘fanfiction’ and that there’s a big public on the internet for that, so I asked him to teach me the basics. Turns out there was a fandom of Duchess Approves—if you don’t know what a fandom is—”

“Stan. To the point.”

“Well. People were saying that the Duchess’ mother was a ‘narcissistic mother’ and an ‘abuser’ or something and using all kinds of shrink talk and that got me feeling weird because her mother was just... she was just like Pa.”

“And?”

“And I may or not have created a self-insert fanfiction with characters based off all the people I knew and written about our whole love story in the guise of an AU. Alternative Universe, you know. Like a different story from the original.”

“And?”

“And the fans are getting weird about you and the triangle.”

Ford laughed, looking tired but genuinely amused.

“Oh, only you, Stan...”

“No, really! They loved the plot and that made me over the moon! Like wow, people really like what I write? Soos was right! They made fanart and everything!”

“Congrats!” Pride was added to Ford’s amusement. Stan felt like a petted dog.

“They adored your relationship with that godsforsaken demon and kept drawing you two smooching and at first I was like ‘ugh’ and ‘yikes’ but then I was like ‘alright,’ you know, ‘cause that had been my own fucking fault for writing it based on my stupid fucking life. I was not going to take it personally, I decided after the third our fourth fanart. They all thought it was fictional, and... and I suppose you did have a relationship with Bill, right? So to each their own.”

Ford didn’t seem very surprised. Nor impressed. Nor offended. Stan supposed that the Thirst Comments Incident had left him thoroughly desensitized.

“But?”

“But then it started getting out of control! Now some of them are pretending Bill was just a silly little clown or a poor lonely misunderstood soul who just wanted some lovin’—”

“Classic case of delusion—”

“—shoving even his most horrifying actions under the rug—”

“People do the same for corrupt politicians, don’t they? One just needs enough charisma and lying skills, so I doubt—”

“—and twisting everything I write for their own sick purposes and—and they’re saying that I meant things that I most definitely didn’t mean! They’re seeing clues and parallels where I didn’t intent them to be at all and now... now everything is fucking fuel!” Stan was aware his desperation was seeping into his voice, but he didn’t care. Ford had to know. “No matter how much I try to make it obvious that you are totally over Bill! For real, Poindexter, I tried, I swear I did! I tried answering their comments, I tried making a disclaimer, I tried—”

Ford started laughing again, now, which was more annoying than endearing.

“I take fandom very seriously, okay?”

“I can see that.”

“Their arguments started getting to me! Some of them were really well-worded and smart-sounding! Like as if it was you talking to me, with ‘evidence’ and stuff! So I thought that maybe, just maybe, they knew what they were talking about, perhaps...” perhaps more than me, he didn’t say, because that would be ridiculous. They couldn’t know Ford more than his own twin brother and lover, right? Even though Stan hadn’t lived with Ford for four entire decades...

“Hm-hmm.”

“And I answered your questions, so now get back on track, nerd.”

“Are you sure I am the nerd here?”

“Stanford.”

“Alright, alright. Just looks like you’re stressed over nothing, that’s all.”

“Stanford, you don’t understand! They seemed to consider your relationship with Bill more important than your relationship with... with your family!”

Ford raised an eyebrow. Ugh, his brother knew him too well.

“... Than your relationship with me,” Stan admitted through gritted teeth. “Yes! You were right! I was feeling insecure all along and Stanford Pines is always fucking right! Satisfied?”

“Not if it makes you suffer, no. You do know they are wrong, certainly...?”

“Well, y-yes, but...”

“In my own experience, it really is like you said—some abuse victims do feel like that, and it’s... it’s ‘valid,’ or whatever the kids are saying. It’s valid if you feel this way about Pa! But the contrary is also true and also valid. I am being completely honest with you when I say I do hate Bill.”

“You know what they say, though, right? People in general, I mean, not just on the internet. Hatred is close to love and all that. The contrary of love is not hatred, but indifference.”

“Oh, yes, and what an indubitably sensible perspective that one is. I was feeling very loving towards Bill when I was fantasizing about and orchestrating his death and humiliating downfall at my hands, and similarly, naturally, feeling very hateful towards the you and the children when I was willing to give up the entire universe for a slim possibility to save you.”

“You... you did hate me, once!”

Ford sputtered.

“Hate you? Hate you? Are you insane? I have never hated you, nor Fiddleford, for even a second! Nor did I ever thought I did!”

Oh.

Those were news. Stan could address them later, though.

“I’m not that emotionally unintelligent, Stan.”

“Ford—Sixer—can I call you Sixer?”

“Of course you can. And Fordsy, too, even though it annoys me. I’ll be damned if I let Bill ruin anything else for us. I don’t want nothing related to him ever remaining a taboo.”

“Sixer. Can you, uh, explain exactly how you feel about him as if I’m dumb? ‘Cause I kind of am.” Ford opened his mouth, probably to reassure Stan of his nonexistent intelligence, but he continued. “Just... be clear. No sarcasm, okay? It would put an old man’s mind at ease. You know what Mabel would say to that, too.”

His brother didn’t miss a beat.

“Stanley. Stanley, I loathe him. I fucking despise him. I’m over him, but I’m not indifferent. You saw, with my initial reaction to his book, that I’m not indifferent. I can’t bring myself to be indifferent, even if indifference is the commonly accepted ‘opposite of love,’” he included air quotes, then, also rolling his eyes to make sure Stan knew how stupid he thought that was, “because he utterly and thoroughly ruined my life and traumatized me. I’m but human. He made me afraid of my own shadow for decades. He will always remain my enemy, it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. It’s really that simple.”

“And... and before the betrayal?”

“It’s complicated. Have you ever had a religious experience?”

Stan shook his head no.

“Do you even have to ask?”

Unless the whole thing with Paul Bunyan counted, that is...

“He was like a god to me, and not only in the ‘powerful’ sense. He was my Muse. I worshipped him. I was obsessed. I don’t know if that counted as love, Stan, but let’s say it did, for the sake of simplifying things. Let’s make it easier for you to follow, let’s say I ‘loved’ him.” He sighed. “I thought I loved him religiously at least, and... after reading his book, looking back...” His voice grew quieter.

Stan understood. The romantic “rejected ex” undertones of that book were very hard to miss. Bill was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.

“I might indeed have loved the person—sorry, the triangle—I thought he was, once, and he was the center of my stupid galaxy, and that—that was a beautiful but cheap illusion. An illusion that was very, very painfully shattered and cost me very, very dearly.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Any love that I could have retained for him in spite his initial deception—any sympathy in spite of his gut-punching betrayal—was gradually but completely destroyed by Bill himself, poisoned by my own hatred and resentment, and eroded until nothing was left. I have loved him for two years, and hated him for thirty. Now I look back and only feel pity for the wide-eyed, dreamer boy that I was. I mourn what could have been, had Bill not been... well, had Bill not been himself.”

“He didn’t get over you, y’know. Bill, I mean. His pathetic little book left that very clear.”

“Oh, yes. I do know. Thanks to you, I now see that it was pathetic. And desperate. And deluded. Guess he finally realized what he lost.” He smiled again, although it looked more like baring his teeth, and something cold flashed in his eyes. “Good. I want him to suffer.”

Perhaps Stan should be alarmed, but he wasn’t. He felt like he was truly relaxing after a good while, a knot undone in his stomach.

“I did wonder, you know. While in the multiverse, I hated him so much, and I often wondered if I hated him only because I didn’t allow myself to feel nothing else. I am very, very good at ignoring and repressing my feelings, Stan.” His brother chuckled, as if he and Stan were sharing an internal joke. His feelings for Stan, he realized. Those were the ones Ford repressed. “So, deep down, I wondered and wondered and wondered. I wasn’t sure I didn’t love him at all anymore until the moment I had to kill him. I was shocked to look inside and find no regret, no fear, no remnants of love. All that was gone, lost forever in a distant past. There was only the bleak determination to rid the world of his evil. You weren’t there, of course, but Dipper was. You can ask him. My hand didn’t tremble. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t flinch. I was proud of myself for that.”

“I just—Dipper mentioned once as we were having breakfast that... that you cried after his defeat, and I thought... maybe... I didn’t know what to think, really, but after all I saw and read in the Duchess fandom... I was feeling unsure.” It was still hard to talk about his feelings. “That’s why I came to ask you.”

“I did, Stanley. I cried for you. It was a bitter victory, because I loved—I love you—way more than I have ever hated him.”

Woah. Stan could feel the glitter of those damned scales getting to his eyes. They were watering.

“I supposed I shouldn’t have given him the honor of a funeral, even a mock one with dear Mabel’s witty disrespect, but... I wanted to. I wanted closure. To revolve my life around my loathing towards him was to revolve it around him all the same, but I wanted visual proof that this chapter of my life was over—dead along with him. It might not be over for him, but hah! That’s not my business. Not anymore.”

Stan didn’t think it was possible for him to relax more, but it was. Oh, thank Paul Bunyan.

“And Stanley... promise me you won’t give those people on the internet the time of day, alright? If there’s one thing I learned the hard way, it’s that human beings, smart or not, always see what they want to see. I have been exactly like this once, remember? Twisting everything in my reality to fit my worldview. You could make my post-Weirdmaggedon character—”

“The term is ‘post-canon’... by the way.” Stan supplied, trying to sound casual and non-nerdy. “And his name’s Duke Oglebottom.”

“Alright. You could make my... ‘post-canon’ character... Duke Oglebottom... hunt down and viciously stab Bill’s character—”

“Count Billiam—”

“Count Billiam? Seriously, Stan? Anyway, you could make post-canon Duke Oglebottom hunt down and viciously stab Count Billiam twenty-three times and they would still—”

“—ship them, yeah. And think they’re meant to be.” Stan sighed. “They would.”

“Ship them? Ship them to where?”

“It’s, like, wanting them to be together. People just really, really like yaoi.”

He didn’t tell Ford, but there were definitely people shipping Duke Oglebottom with his long lost twin brother, the humble but dashing stable boy, too. Those freaks. He was proud of them.

“Yatch? Like a boat? Are they that interested in sea adventures?”

Stan sighed.

“Forget it.”

“Well. No matter. My point is that people would still see what they want to see.”

Ford get up from his chair, then, holding Stan’s face with both of his wide hands.

“Stanley, you might not believe this, but the void left in my heart by Bill, if there ever was any, has long been filled. By the children. By you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Stan’s forehead, then to both his eyes, then his nose, and finally, his lips. “And if you can’t believe that, believe this, at least: even if I ever forgave him for the innumerous, terrible things he did to me—which, rest assured, I sure as all hell won’t—I’ll never forgive what he did to whom I love. If he ever attempts to hurt you, Mabel, Dipper, or Fiddleford, any more than he already has, I’ll rip him apart.”

Stan shuddered. His nerdy brother really could be scary when he wanted to, not that he would ever admit it. Again, privacy of his thoughts and whatnot.

“Is that good enough for you, my love?”

“Y-Yeah.”

[taomyou]

nerds do it better - chapter 3: VITAL BRACE_normal_manual_10

synopsis: You know, most people wouldn't be all that interested in getting to know the weird Digimon kid. Good thing you're not most people! - or, you and Gojo meet at a Digimon TCG game night and become really, really good friends.

tags: gojo satoru x reader, nerd!gojo, fem!nerd!reader, modern au, college/uni au, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining, first date, gojo!pov, requited unrequited love, aquarium date || wc: 10.4k

ao3 || tumblr masterlist

As soon as the door’s open, Gojo giddily rushes past you and into the room, dropping his bags just before jumping onto the bed. He beckons you to come and join him, and you happily oblige, quick to close the door and haul your things further into the room. You let yourself fall backwards onto the bed next to him, and you sigh in delight as you feel its plushness absorb you.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” you marvel, looking up at the soft yellow light on the ceiling.

“I can!” He beams, stretching his arms up towards the headboard, moaning happily. “Need me to pinch you?”

“Nope. I believe you now.”

You and him both turn to face each other, the space between you too big to reach across the two beds. Still, Gojo looks pretty fuckin’ stupid trying to pinch you from where he is anyway. The two of you then silently agree to just close your eyes and roll around on your respective beds, making rather… suggestive noises as you both stretch out your tense muscles. You haven’t really got the brain power to register the groans he’s making as anything actually suggestive, thankfully, oh, you’re totally lying to yourself though because you’re too preoccupied by the relief that washes over your body as you lay on your stomach and fully extend your limbs to release the tension in your spine.

The car ride to get to the hotel was boring enough; the two of you decided that leaving a day earlier than you really needed to was the best course of action to avoid any traffic, so you’re just going to be in the hotel room for a half-day and a night before you have to lug yourselves over to the convention center down the street. 

And, Gojo, the persistent and considerate loser he is, forced you to let him drive the whole way (even though you knew he was gonna be nervous as all hell to drive the nine-ish hours it would’ve taken if he listened to you and just went a little bit faster than the speed limit). You thought he’d be sufficiently tired by now between all 11 hours behind the wheel and his neverending rambling about all the things he was excited to get to at the convention (and if those two things weren’t enough to tire him out on their own, you figured he’d get annoyed by your sarcastic cheering whenever he’d successfully make a difficult driving maneuver).

Turns out you couldn’t be any more wrong.

Gojo pushes himself up, now sitting with his elbows propping his torso up. He lets his head fall back like he’s basking in the sun (which he is, I guess, if you count the early afternoon sun that’s coming through the highrise window).

“So,” he starts, a lazy smile on his face, “what do you wanna do?”

You whine and bury your face further into a pillow, turning your head just slightly so you still have space to breathe. “I wanna take a nap.” You’re half-lying—you are tired, but your nerves are fuelled by something so foreign and new that you don’t think you could truly sleep even if you tried—but Gojo doesn't have to know that.

“Oh, come on, you’re not really gonna go to sleep, are you? Let’s go do something fun!”

You turn over again, now on your back, forearm over your eyes to readjust to the light. “How do you have so much energy? You drove.”

“Well,” he nervously laughs, “I am tired, but I—.”

Nevermind. Guess you were right.

“Then go to sleep, Gojo.” You roll off the bed towards him, bending your knees before you’re at the edge so you can land and stand up fairly quickly. “I don’t want you to be too tired for the actual con. We’re here until Monday, anyway, we can do something then.”

You don’t mean to lecture him, but all the sugar in his system isn’t going to keep him awake forever, and you’d feel awful if he wasn’t able to properly enjoy the convention weekend because he’s too sleep-deprived. 

“Ok, then, we could use Monday to catch up on sleep. I know you’re not going to actually sleep, you knocked out way earlier than I did last night, so I don’t want you to get lonely if I’m taking a nap either.” He interrupts himself with a yawn, pushing off his elbows to sit up even straighter, and he rubs his eye to satiate his tire.

Guess he can read you better than you thought he could. 

“Besides,” he yawns again, “I wanna make the most out of us being here,” Gojo says softly, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

The sentiment makes you blush, but, thankfully, you’re facing away from him.

By now, you’ve gotten back to standing with your hands on your hips as you lean to the side to crack your bones, biting at the back of your lip to keep yourself from smiling too hard. After taking a second to recompose yourself, you turn back to him and approach him slowly, then pouncing on him to push him back down on his back.

“Aw, you’re so sweet, you big nerd!” You have to tease him because, otherwise, you’d take his words to heart.

“Woah, woah, hold on!”

You know he’s ticklish behind his ears (he’s a bit like a puppy, you suppose; you found out when you tried getting his attention at the library by poking him there with your pen and he laughed so hard you both got kicked out for the day), so you run your nails gently there to get him laughing and smiling again. He writhes underneath you, loud with thrashing limbs and all, but he’s careful not to hurt you as you continue to tickle him. Eventually, once you’re too lazy to keep teasing him, Gojo pushes you off him and positions himself on top of you to ghost his hands at your sides where he knows you’re ticklish. 

In front of the bed is a large, ceiling-to-floor mirror that spans nearly the entire wall, and the two of you catch glimpses of your forms in the reflection. In any other scenario, you’d find the composition of your bodies like this incredibly… lewd, but the two of you look so wildly unsexy that you can’t help but roll your eyes at how in-character it is for the two of you to be like this, Gojo in a faded orange Tsunomon shirt and you in a Gabumon hoodie he regifted you after he couldn’t get Geto to accept it as his birthday gift, both of you in sweatpants.

Your heads turn back to face each other, and you burst into giggles as you push Gojo off you before he can get back at you, him rolling off onto the bedspace next to you. You stare up at the ceiling again, used to the light now because it’s nowhere near as bright as Gojo’s smile, and you sigh contentedly, slightly out of breath.

“Okay, okay, truce.”

Gojo squints at you, taking off his glasses to glare at you. “How is it a truce if you got the last hit!?”

You roll your eyes again. “Because I said so.”

“...Okay.”

You turn over to lay on your stomach, elbows propping you up so you can see Gojo better. “Now, mister, you take your nap.”

“But you’ll be awake on your own,” he says with a frown. “All alone without me.”

“I’ll be fine, promise.” You hold out a pinky for him to link. He complies with a half-smile, putting his glasses back on to free his hands. “I need to grab stuff for the room anyway. You don’t have to worry about me, like, gazing at your sleeping figure or anything creepy like that while you’re sleeping, either.”

“Oh, so you’re leaving me here all alone instead?” Gojo wails.

“Yes, Princess,” you scoff. “Your Prince Charming must leave you to slay the dragon and go downstairs to the ice machine.”

“Who are you calling ‘Princess?’”

“Please,” you snort. “Just go to sleep, Gojo, you’ll survive.”

“I guess I am pretty sleepy,” he yawns again, rolling over onto his side, still facing you. “But we’ll do something after my nap, right? I don’t wanna be bad company.”

“Sure, if you really want to.” You get up, stretching your arms up to the ceiling again to fully reawaken yourself. Gojo still looks so stiff, so you lean down slightly to ruffle his hair to try and get him to loosen up. He leans his head into your touch (again, like a puppy). “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay,” he muses, closing his eyes and reaching for the pillows. “If you get bored, you already know I'll sleep through anything, so do whatever you want. Have fun getting… ice, or whatever. Also, can you ask the front desk for—”

You pull away your hand to go back to your bed, cutting him off. “I already know, Princess, here are your pillows.” Before he can interrupt to say you need your own pillows too, you keep talking, moving again to take off his glasses for him and set them on the nightstand so he doesn’t crush them in his sleep. “I’ll grab more from the front desk for myself, just use those.”

He sighs happily, spreading out his body and spreading his limbs again to make a snow angel on his sheets. “You really are my Prince Charming!”

You’re already slipping on your shoes at the door by now, but you look over your shoulder back at him, now curled up in a ball as he hugs a pillow to his chest and has all the others around him. From your own backpack, you see his little Agumon plush peeking up from the not-fully-zipped side pocket.

Poor thing. Gojo hadn’t even remembered to pack him until he was already 5 hours into the drive. Little did he know, though, that you’d swiped him the night before at your little slumber party at his place.

You’ll consider this payback for all the other times Gojo’s taken your things. Not your fault he said he was sure he had everything when you asked him before you started the road trip.

You smile to yourself as you rush back to go grab the cute orange digimon from your bag to leave him at Gojo’s headboard, excited to see the look on his face when he realizes you’ve properly gotten back at him.

☆

When Gojo wakes up, all he hears is the faint sound of fabric rustling and the drone of the air conditioning. He’s slow to open his eyes and even slower to grab his glasses from the nightstand, but as he’s barely-awake and feeling around, his hands meet the familiar feeling of felt claws. He bolts straight up, leaning on his hands as he turns his upper body to see Agumon sat at the headboard.

What’s he doing here? Had he gone back to grab him during the drive? There’s no way that happened, right? Uh, or, maybe, he really did remember to put him in his luggage and the plushie digitized to appear on the bed. That’s what happened, right?

“Good morning, Princess.”

Gojo’s head whips to the direction of your voice but is only able to see the top of your head, you sitting on the floor. He pushes himself straighter-up sitting to see what you’re doing, but before he can, you put whatever it is you’re handling back in your suitcase and zip it closed before turning back to face him.

“How was your nap?”

“Oh! It was great,” he yawns, rolling his head to release the tension in his neck. “Say,” after he puts on his glasses, he moves to sit criss-cross on the bed and pulls Agumon onto his lap, “where did this little guy come from? Did you find him in my luggage?”

You laugh, leaning back to put your head on the end of your bed and turn slightly to look at him. Your smile is bright and unashamed, and you shake your head, your hair grabbing static as it rubs against the sheets. “Nope, I snagged him before we left. Figured you’d forget him.”

He flushes in embarrassment, defensively patting the digimon on his head and turning his body away slightly. “What?! No, I wouldn’t!” 

“Sure, then, I have no idea how he got there,” you tease, shaking your head again and getting up to join him across the space between your respective beds. When he’s still turned away, you whine and reach across to pull him back to face you. “Come on, please don’t be mad at me, Gojo! It’s just payback for when you steal my cables at the library!”

He’s firm in his position, not at all mad but wanting to play along to keep your hands on him as you beg him to forgive you. He chuckles behind a bitten cheek, and he watches you from the corner of his eye as you firmly keep your hands on his shoulders. You resign yourself to sighing and flopping down on the spot next to him, at which point Gojo lets out his long-held laugh and falls down next to you, setting Agumon down to lay between the two of you.

Your hair is still staticy, so when you both turn to face each other, he feels a small zap as he reaches out to try and meet you halfway. You flinch at the spark, and you frown again, reaching out to pull Agumon into your own arms for a hug.

“I hate you,” you huff, the telltale half-smile on your face telling him you’re lying.

He laughs. “Sure you do,” he teases.

“Well, now that you’re awake and I can’t escape your rambling,” you start, holding up the plush to the light,  “what do you wanna do for the rest of the day?”

Even though he could’ve just checked his Vital Bracelet, he’s too lazy to bring up his wrist to his face to look at the time, so Gojo’s eyes dart to the digital clock on the nightstand.

Gojo frowns, sadness threatening to escape from the back of his throat. “It’s 7 already?”

“You’ve been out for a while, so, yeah,” you shrug.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be knocked out for so long. It’s so late.”

Certainly much too late to do what he'd planned on taking you to. He should’ve set an alarm for himself earlier…

“What?” You prop yourself up, positioning yourself like you did earlier before Gojo’d taken his nap, on your stomach and looking down at him from his side. “You don’t need to be sorry! We can still find something to do, it's not like we had anything specific in mind, right?”

Well, he did, but telling you about it now wouldn't do either of you any good if it's not like you can even make it now.

You don’t seem to be down about the lost time—if anything, you look more energized now than you did earlier despite not having gotten any extra shut-eye yourself.

Maybe you enjoyed the time you had to yourself without him bothering you, he thinks to himself. He should know better by now—that you genuinely enjoy his company—but there’s always that thought nagging him at the back of his head, telling him he’s way too in over his head. Maybe that’s why he has such a hard time keeping his mouth shut around you; he’s terrified you’ll see through him and realize how utterly pathetic he is, so he feels like he has to distract you by talking about anything and everything under the sun.

You look down at him, though, eyes begging him to gather his spirits, and, really, who is he to refuse?

Gojo leaves his disappointment for himself to deal with later, and smiles with what little confidence he’s got left in him. He moves to stand up, holding out a hand for you to grab and pull yourself up.  “Yeah, let’s.”

Gojo moves to go fix his hair in the huge mirrored wall while you fix up the bed (and tuck in Agumon beneath the covers—his heart is just about to explode), and once he’s figured he’s presentable enough, he heads over to sit at his suitcase to look for something to wear.

“What do you think we should do? Dinner for sure, but are you in the mood for anything to eat in particular?” Gojo pauses for a second to wait for your response, but he laughs to himself anyway before you can give your usual response. “Nevermind, we’ll figure it out once we’re out.”

You chuckle and gently pat his head, and he can see the begrudging smile that’s probably on your face right now. “You’re finally learning.”

“Dress code?”

“Uh,” you pause to think it over, your hand still mindlessly patting his hair, “let’s find somewhere casual, I doubt anywhere too fancy is open right now anyway.” Before he can make any sort of comment about you messing up his hair (because he definitely cares more about addressing that more than the butterflies in his stomach), your touch disappears, and you go to your own suitcase at the end of your bed.

He starts to dig through his luggage to find something casual (which, yes, he’s grateful you suggested as much because all he’s got in his suitcase are casual clothes and the three-piece suit he decided to pack because, well, who knows if he’s going to need it at some point this trip?). After a while, though, Gojo notices you’ve been angling yourself to have your back facing him, almost like you’re hiding something in the main compartment of your luggage. He doubts you’ve got your underwear at the top of your main luggage—you’d made it a point to tell him to stay out of the front pocket of your suitcase, so he assumed your intimates were in there—so what’re you hiding now? He leans over to the side to try and get a look, only really curious because you seem so secretive about it.

When you notice him trying to peer over your shoulder, you angle yourself between your suitcase and him again, glaring at him. “What do you want?”

“What’re you hiding? Can I see?”

“Um, no,” you say plainly, turning away.

“Why not?”

“You don’t see me trying to peek into your luggage.”

“You can look through it if you want, I don’t mind.”

“...Are you serious?”

“I mean, if you want to look, I don’t care.”

“Gojo, you should care,” you scold, shooing him away from looking over in your direction by swinging out your arms. “You’re the one that wanted to hide our cosplays from each other, remember? Not my fault you wanted to wait.”

“Oh!” Gojo nervously laughs before turning back to look down at his luggage, then staring down the neatly-wrapped bag of red and white clothes he’d pieced together two months before. “Uh, right, right.”

Okay, really, it isn’t even his fault he forgot! He just woke up, like, five minutes ago!

☆

Several weeks ago, Gojo had finally gotten all the things he needed for the cosplay he’d planned to wear at the convention, and he was so excited to show you a picture of him in the outfit. Despite his excitement, though, he absolutely wanted to see your reaction to it live, so even though it was hell trying to hide it from you, he waited until you and him were out celebrating the end of finals with the rest of his friends at some karaoke studio he couldn’t remember the name of to show you.

”Hey, hey,” Gojo called to you as Haibara queued the next song for him and Nanami to sing together. “Come here.”

You turned to look at him, scooting closer to hear him over the new running instrumental. “What’s up?”

He grinned. “Wanna see my cosplay for the con?”

You were already in a good mood, high off the end of exams, so you beamed. “Oh, I didn’t know you were cosplaying!”

As he tapped around to get the picture, you leaned closer onto his shoulder to get a closer look at his phone.

He flushed at the contact, grateful for the low lights in the room and the bellowing sound of Nanami’s off-key start to the song, but he laughed to ease his own nerves. “Yep! Bet you can’t guess who I’m going as, either,” he sing-songed. He saw the thumbnail of the picture towards the bottom of his screen now, so he turned his phone away to build on the moment. “Okay, you ready? Or do you wanna guess first?”

“You know,” you mused quietly, trying not to disturb Haibara’s more on-key second verse, “you should’ve told me you were gonna cosplay, too. We could’ve worked on ours together.”

You’d said it just as he was about to turn his phone back to you, so he froze and stopped with his phone half-angled away.

You were cosplaying, too?

“I can guess, though. Are you going in an inflatable Agumon costume? I can’t really imagine you going in anything else.”

“Oh!” Gojo exclaimed, now shaken out of his freeze. “Uh, actually,” he clears his throat and looks away, embarrassed he hadn’t also thought you’d also be cosplaying (and definitely not because the first image that came to mind was you dressed as his first real fictional crush, the purple in her design the same shade as the blouse you were already wearing). “No, I’m not.”

“Do I get another guess before you show me?”

“Tell you what,” his mind raced a million meters a minute. “Let’s both hold our guesses, and we can make it into a game.”

“What?! I wanted to see, why’d you build it up like that if you’re just not gonna show me?!”

“You always call me a tease, gotta uphold my reputation,” he rolled his eyes. “Besides, I wanna guess yours, too.”

“You don’t need to guess, I can just show you now. I don’t mind,” you pulled out your own phone, but before you could find your picture and show Gojo, he bit his lip and shook his head frantically.

“Nope, I’ve decided,” he turned off his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, turning to face you instead with his side pressed to the back of the seat and his eyes averted.

He didn’t know why he was so shy all of a sudden—maybe it was because he was too afraid your cosplay would completely show his up, maybe it was because the feeling of your arm against his was too much in combination with Nanami’s botched high note just now—but he doesn’t want to think about you prettied up in cosplay right now while all his friends (no doubt) watched the exchange unfold.

“We’re guessing. Winner can buy dinner on the last day of the trip.”

“How would that even work? We’re either right or we’re wrong. Come on, just show me!” You whined, trying to grab his phone from his pocket.

He blocked your hands, laughing again to keep the situation light as he felt the attention in the room shift to the two of you as the extended instrumental after the chorus played. “No can do, Princess.”

You were quick to also catch onto all the eyes on you from around the room, and you huffed before scooting away from him to get back closer to Shoko.

“Can I at least get a hint?” Gojo threw in as a joke to try and get you back on his good side.

You only leaned in closer to his friend, Shoko now looking over at Gojo with an entertained smirk.

“No, fuck off.”

☆

And, so, both of you have gone without any other mention of what you were going as. It’s been killing him to keep his a secret, but it’s been so, so much worse trying to guess yours.

In the beginning, he earnestly tried to guess, but you made it impossible. You hadn’t given anything away—no offhand comment, no mention of what shoes you’d be wearing, nothing at all—-you just never brought it up again. When he tried (several times, mind you) to call off the wager, you refused, telling him he just had to wait like he made you. With no hints to pull from, it’s not his fault his mind started to conjure images of you dolled up in different outfits, but he was quick to shut that down. No way he was ruining his friendship with you like that (or at all)!

He’s done an awful okay job not thinking about you in any of the million outfits available for you to wear from all the franchises you enjoy, but nonetheless!

It’ll be fine.

Okay, not really, but he’s trying his best.

It’s not his fault, really!

After he’s finished staring blankly into the void that became of his suitcase, he chooses a plain white tee shirt and a pair of baggy cargo shorts to put on (and, obviously, he's got his crest necklace and VB already on, so he doesn't have to think about that at all). He hasn’t got a clue in the world how hot it is outside, but even though he does tend to run cold, it’s the middle of summer. How cold could it possibly get? Either way, he puts on a dark blue quarter-zip, just in case he's wrong and it's actually freezing outside (which it probably isn't, but he doesn't mind the extra warmth).

You’d already claimed the bathroom for yourself long before he could come back to his senses, so it takes no time at all for you to finish getting dressed. As he’s doing the button to his shorts, you give a quick knock to let him know you’re coming out, and he quickly straightens up and smooths the front of his frame.

“I’m decent, I’m decent!”

You come out of the bathroom once he's given the okay, the clothes you just changed out of draped over your forearm, and you start to put them away as Gojo moves to do the same.

He tries not to stare, but the pale blue of the sundress you're wearing calls to him from the corner of his eye, even only if it's because the color compliments your skin so well. There's two small braids behind your ears that you've pinned back with some clips Shoko gifted you after you'd helped her with an assignment (and he remembers because she'd asked him to deliver it to you on her behalf and you looked so happy when he helped them on for you to try). The straps of your sandals are beaded with bright colors in vague aquatic shapes—he thinks he can see a fish, maybe a squid, too—and the pink of your crest necklace compliments the dark purple you'd painted your nails yesterday in the living room while he was in the bathroom steaming his cosplay parts. You've got a tote bag hanging on your shoulder with pins you've collected over the years and a Digivice clipped onto it—one he also has clipped onto the coin pocket of his shorts.

And, really, it's not that he's surprised or anything—he's not blind, even if his prescription lenses are about as thick as his thermal physics textbook would be if he'd actually gotten a physical copy instead of just pirating it online like he always does—, but you look... nice. He hardly ever sees you dressed up like this, but on the rare occasions you do dress up a bit, it's usually for the stray hangout you join in for with Gojo's larger friend group or one of your friend's birthday parties that he gets an extended invite to as your plus-one.

Point is, he hasn't ever seen you in much else aside from the hoodies and sweats you wear when it's just the two of you and he can't hide behind Nanami so you can't catch him staring with bright eyes.

Which he definitely doesn't do! I mean, what kind of loser has to pretend to care about accounting audits or whatever just to avoid that situation? Definitely not this loser.

And, like, he's not really avoiding that completely hypothetical and totally-didn't-happen-every-time scenario. You do meet eyes at some point when these get-togethers happen, and once you spot him, it's not like he skitters away like a cat. He stays where he is, and because he looks so busy listening to Nanami talk about statement analyses, you tug on your necklace to pull it on top of your clothes, and even from the distance he's always standing away, he can see the crest shine and your Vital Bracelet fit snugly around your wrist. It's almost like you're trying to tell him that even if you've dressed up and gotten more put-together, you're making it obvious you're still you.

Yeah, yeah!

That definitely has never happened.

Nope, never.

. . .

Oh, who is he kidding?

But, come on.

Can really you blame a guy for crushing on a nerd, especially one that’s so cute?

Gojo's sure he's going to get caught with his eyes stuck on you, but, thankfully, he catches you also peeking at him from your side of the room, and his bashfulness is replaced with a fake cockiness he steals from you.

"You know," he teases, turning towards you and fully posing, "you're welcome to take a picture, Princess." 

You scrunch your nose at him before averting your eyes. "In your dreams."

Gojo laughs from his belly, both at your equally fake distain and the quiet smile you give back to him, and he quickly zips up his suitcase before standing up to offer you a hand up. He makes a show of not looking into your luggage by putting his glasses on his head and covering his eyes with his other hand, and once he feels your hand slip into his, he's careful not to pull you up too fast so you don't trip over your shoes. You mutter a quick thanks, but Gojo can hardly hear it over the quiet burn he feels at the tips of his ears.

He puts his glasses back on and grabs his wallet from his backpack before he goes over to put on his shoes as you look at yourself in the mirror. In the reflection, he can see you fiddling with your necklace, something he's noticed you do a lot when you're overthinking. "Hey, everything okay?"

"Huh?" You turn over to question him, fingers still pulling your crest side-to-side. "Why wouldn't they be?"

He finishes lacing up his shoes, and he stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets now. "I mean, I don't know, you look kinda..."

You avoid his gaze by turning back to the mirror, and when he catches you frowning, he immediately rushes to put his hands out and shake his head frantically.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean like that! You look good, promise!"

"...You think so?"

"Are you kidding? You look cute! Super cute, even! I really like your outfit, especially the shoes, and, I mean, you're always pretty!" He scrambles to make himself try to sound like he's not being weird about it, but he can feel himself failing so he changes his approach. "It's just that you seem anxious about something, and I wanted to ask if something was wrong!"

You seem to bite your cheek, still not looking back over at him, but after a slight pause, you make your way over to the door, brushing past him to open the door. "Nothing's wrong, you always worry too much."

"Are you sure?" Gojo frowns, following you out and making sure the door is locked.

"Yes, I'm sure," you roll your eyes, and you lead the way back to the car. Your voice seems nervous, but it doesn't really sound like you're upset. Maybe it's the change in scenery?

He follows you silently, the awkward shuffle of his sneakers loud on the carpet flooring, and when you get to the hotel parking lot, he tries not to annoy you too much when he opens your car door, only unlocking it, holding it open for you to get in, and closing it wordlessly before slipping in next to you. He's never really been all that great at opening that door anyway, no matter how many times he's done it, so it still makes him nervous sometimes to think you'll figure out he's a fraud.

When you've both gotten your seatbelts on, he sits in the silence until you sigh and lean back in your seat, turning to face him in the barely-there sunset light. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to bring the mood down or anything," you say. "Just thinking."

Gojo takes it that you're just too in your head right now, and all he really knows how to do to help is distract you, so he forces a grin and leans over to boop your nose. "Boop."

It seems to startle you enough that your eyes widen, and it annoys you enough that you flush pink and swat his hand away. "What're you doing?"

He laughs and tips his head back, quick to pull his hand back and rest it on the wheel. "Come on, let's just go have some fun!"

You frown, disingenuously this time, and put your elbow on the arm rest to lean your head on your hand. "On second thought, I'll head back to the room."

Gojo smiles, genuinely this time, and he starts the engine, his hand already just behind your shoulder to start reversing out of the spot. "Nope, you're stuck with me tonight, Princess."

He makes it a point to not stare as he's reversing, but he can see you grinning behind your hand.

And, you know, for all the times he's forced himself out of the moment to avoid having to confront his feelings, he's content to stay in this one, where you try so hard to look all unbothered even though he can see your smile turn your eyes into crescents and you steal glances at him to make sure he doesn't notice.

It's cute.

☆

It doesn't take long for the two of you to find somewhere to have dinner.

Not that he'd ever admit it to you, but Gojo'd spent the last couple months looking into the area to look for places nearby that'd be good to take you to, and the restaurant he ends up pulling into is one from that relatively long mental list. Thankfully, they're open late and time is of no issue, but Gojo still can't help but still feel a bit upset that he was out for so much of the day, no matter how many times you reassure him you're just glad he got to rest after such a long drive. To repay your grace, he makes mental note to get the two of you back to the hotel and in bed at a reasonable hour (so, like, before midnight) so you can be equally well-rested for the convention tomorrow.

It also doesn't take long to order and get food delivered to your table, half because neither of you have worked up that big an appetite to have to order much more than an entrée for each of you, half because the city has started to go to sleep and not too many people are out and about.

Honestly, Gojo's just glad he's managed to keep his cool for long enough to get through the first half of dinner without breaking too much of a sweat, but he doesn't really get much chance to pay attention to that anyway, enamored in the way your eyes light up as you tell him the small stories you collected from your exploration of the hotel while he asleep.

Sounds like a real adventure, filling up the ice bucket and stealing an apple from the lobby refreshments area. You even brought a carton of strawberry milk you'd gotten from the vending machine back to the room for him, the thought behind the gesture forcing him to hide behind the lie of his face being red because of how spicy his food is (which it definitely is not).

It also doesn't take long for Gojo to excuse himself and retreat to the restroom to call Suguru in a panic to tell him how nervous he's been all night, unable to keep up with the racing pace of his heart when he's with you. He knows his best friend is used to this (and, unfortunately, will laugh in his face about it whenever he has the chance to), but Gojo can't help it! The man offers virtually no advice, only teasing him over the line about how helpless he is, but he's with Shoko, so Gojo demands that the phone gets handed over to her so she can actually help him.

Turns out she's too busy on her own phone to get a word in, but whatever. Gojo has to get back to the table anyway so you don't think he's avoiding you on purpose (which he isn't! At least not for unsavory reasons).

But what does take long is the actual conversation him and you have over the now-empty plates between you. He couldn't say for certain how long it's been since you've finished eating (...actually, he can: it's been an hour and forty-three minutes), but he feels right at home with you going over the convention schedule for the millionth time to make sure you're well-prepared for tomorrow, so he's in no rush to stop talking. You'd gone over the schedule yesterday, too, but there's more finality in the way it's discussed now with an excitement that's everything all at once.

And Gojo's not a total asshole, so he orders as many desserts as his heart desires (so, uh, all of them) to make sure the two of you aren't hogging the table for that long without paying. You're still nursing the slice of cake you'd gotten at the start of sweets hour, but Gojo makes sure to invite you to try all the treats he gets for himself, too, and he doesn't bother hiding his shy smile when you occasionally dip into his small dishes with your dessert fork.

The conversation reaches its natural end when, after paying the bill (... and after much protest from you), Gojo takes the last bit of his dessert in his spoon and holds it out to you, a lazy grin on his face. "Want the last bite?"

You raise a brow. "You don't?"

And, well, admittedly, yes, Gojo would love to have this last bite for himself—it has a bit of cream, a bit of cake, a bit of strawberry, a bit of jam—but you hadn't gotten the chance to steal from his parfait because you were so occupied while you were talking about the panelists you were excited to see, and he figures you deserve it more than he does.

He shakes his head with a half-smile, holding his spoon closer to you. "Nah, go ahead."

You pause for a second before shrugging. "Sure."

He expects you to take the spoon from him, but instead, you lean forward and take the bite, both your hands tucking the front strands of your hair behind your ears. It throws Gojo off-guard, both the act and the fact you come off as so nonchalant about it while he's forced to grip onto the handle of his spoon with all the strength in his body so you don't realize his hands are shaking.

He could just about pass out when the realization hits him that you've just indirectly kissed him, but he manages to hold it together because you pull back just as quickly as you came forward to chew the sweet.

. . .

Honestly, the rest of that exchange is a blur. He awkwardly laughed to try and distract from all the thoughts fogging up his brain, you looked at him like he grew a Dark Flower from his head, and he whisked you back to the car to escape the stuffy room he could no longer breathe in.

You weren't exactly ready to head back so soon, suggesting a drive around to relax for a bit longer and seeing if there was anything to do around the city, so that brings Gojo to right now, with you laid back in the passenger seat with your eyes wandering in all directions while he aimlessly drives around. It starts feeling a bit hopeless when, after a few kilometers, all the buildings have got their lights off, only streetlights to guide him through the summer night, but there's a silent agreement hanging in the air that even if it ends here, the day was never wasted. Gojo's a bit disappointed he didn't get to surprise you how he wanted because he got up so late, though, but driving past wouldn't hurt—

Wait, it closes at midnight?

Okay, nevermind! Change of plans! Uh, well, more like changing back of plans to what he originally wanted to do, but change of plans!

Gojo's aware he's already not the greatest driver. Safe, yes, but anxious, scared, passive? Also, yes, so he's entirely practiced in the art of holding out his arm so his passenger doesn't fly forward and he has to pay them out in DTCG SRs to keep them from reporting him to the police.

He holds out his arm in front of you as he accelerates and makes a sharper turn, and, even though it's not a rough change, it still startles you enough when you jolt slightly forward that you hold onto him to steady yourself again.

"Gojo! What're you doing!?"

"Surprise!"

"What?!" By this point, you let go of his arm and just hold onto the grab handle instead (probably because you notice that he's only got one hand on the wheel and he'd fare much better with, you know, both of them on there), but Gojo just giggles through your empty anger as he follows the signs in the dark. "If you fucking kill us, I'm taking your EX-7 Textured Cendrillmon for myself!"

He's not even going that fast, though, it just feels like he's speeding enough relative to how slow he'd been cruising just a second ago!

"Yes, I'm going to kill us by driving the speed limit," he deadpans. "And I love you, but you are not going anywhere near my EX-7 Cendrillmons, Textured or otherwise."

He can hear you readjusting your grip on the handle looser before eventually letting go, and after you shift around in your seat a bit, moving the seat straighter-up than the recline it was just in, you clear your throat. "Where are we even going?"

"You'll see," he says, making another turn (carefully, this time) to follow the signage. "Close your eyes for me, Princess?"

"Oh, great," you wail, "you're really gonna drive us into a ditch. Whatever, end my misery, I'm sick of you."

"Aw, don't be like that," he brings his hand over to ruffle your hair to loosen you up. "You know you love me."

Gojo immediately pulls his hand back to hold onto the wheel to merge lanes, and he catches you grumbling and crossing your arms as he's checking his blind spot. Unfortunately, no cars around for him to call for a DNA Digivolve, but you've got your eyes closed now, so he'll take that as a win.

He happily hums to himself as he continues driving in the near-dark, eventually pulling up to the machines. He sticks his arm out the window to grab the parking ticket, and because it's so late out, it's not too difficult to find parking. Gojo puts the car into park, and before you can open your eyes again, he rushes to your door to open it and grab your hand to lead you up. "No peeking, got it? We're almost there."

"Ugh, you're so insufferable," you groan, and even though he's 100% sure you're rolling your eyes, you let him put his hand over them and hold his other hand to safely get to standing. Once you're up, Gojo locks the car, and he keeps hold of your hand to guide you to the entrance.

The two of you fall into a familiar walking pace, and Gojo can't fight off the grin on his face as he swings his hand in yours. He'll ignore the feeling of comfort he gets from his fingers laced with yours in exchange for the adventure ahead. You squeeze his hand every so often, probably nervous that he's dragging you without any caution thrown to the wind, but you seem to trust him enough to let him lead, so he's got to be doing something right.

Right?

Gojo spots where he needs to go to grab your tickets and rushes over as quickly as possible, though still careful not to walk too fast and accidentally trip you. He holds up a peace sign to the attendant to ask for two tickets, and after tapping his card and thanking the worker, he walk the both of you to the huge sign just above the ticket check, and he lets go of your hand to instead hover his over your eyes from behind you.

"Okay, okay, ready?"

"Gojo, if we're just at the hotel and you're pranking me right now, I'm gonna make sure you never see Agumon again.”

He chuckles heartily and gently tips your head up to face towards the sign. “Well, looks like you've caught me.” Gojo moves and puts his hands on your shoulders from behind, then leans forward so he can watch your reaction. “Okay, pretty girl, open your eyes!”

And, truly, he doesn't think he could be any happier than he is now.

Your eyes flutter open, and immediately, the exasperated look on your face is replaced with one of wonder. Your eyes glitter under the low lights, and you immediately turn to look at him in disbelief. Your hand immediately goes to play with your necklace, but he can tell it's only because you don't know what else to do.

“Gojo!”

The young man grins, and he tilts his head teasingly. “Yes?”

“I had no idea Ikebukuro Aquarium was even open this late! And there's an Ikebukuru event for Hacker's Memory, too! Oh my gosh, Gojo, thank you, thank you!” You gush, and you throw your arms around his neck to abruptly hug him.

Immediately, Gojo clenches his eyes closed to keep from screaming in excitement, but he tries his best to snicker back at you, careful not to let you see his face right now as he's fully red by now. “You're such a fake fan, how could you not know there was an Ikebukuru summer event this month?”

Well, not like he knew either until just a few minutes ago (he knew about the event, but he had no idea it meant the aquarium was open so much later than usual), but you didn't need to know that. Thank goodness for the banner he saw on the road earlier with the operating hours on it.

Ordinarily, he'd expect you to pull away and slap his arm for that accusation, but you seem too caught up in the moment to do that, only giggling in his ear. You let go of him quickly enough, though, his skin now cold with the loss of your touch, and you hold his hand in yours to pull him to get through the gates. Amidst his initial stumbles and the new warmth where your palm meets his, he hold out both your tickets to the attendant, and she scans them quickly before handing Gojo two paper maps and wishing you both a good evening.

Your eyes look every which way, but once you've settled down just enough for Gojo to get a word in, he swings his hand in yours to bring you back down to earth. “Okay, where do you wanna go first?”

He holds out his map to look at between the two of you, and you trace the outer ring with your finger. “Let's work our way into the middle.”

“Whatever you want, Princess,” he says, and he points to your bag to ask for permission to put the maps inside. You quickly pull it off your shoulders and hold it open for him. He swiftly slides in the papers, and he takes the tote from you and slings it on his own arm.

You look up at him curiously. “Uh, Gojo?”

“...Yes?”

“You don't have to carry my bag.”

“Nah, I want to,” he says as cooly as he can (which, uh, probably isn't all that cool anyway, but part of the act is looking off in another direction, so he thinks that saves him).

Besides, Gojo remembers one of your friends, Choso, telling him at a board game night once that you've always had trouble with the straps of your bags constantly slipping off your shoulders (...because your bag had just split out all the Jenga pieces on the floor a few seconds prior, and Gojo thought him and the rest of your friends were evil for laughing at you). He figures now is as good a time as any to actually use that information to make this night more enjoyable for you.

“Thank you,” you tell him genuinely, a smile on your face as you circle around to get right up next to him. “Let's go see some fish then, yeah?” You say it so softly, like you haven't got a care in the world right now and your eyes are only on him.

Gojo gulps and quickly blinks to make sure you're not an illusion.

Then he blinks again to make sure he's not dreaming.

Then he blinks again to take him back to the moment, and he shyly skitters after you as you lead the way down the aisles of sea creatures, the pink in your necklace lit up under the blue marine lights around you.

And, admittedly, Gojo didn't think walking around and looking at fish could be that fun. Sure, there's some Hacker's Memory motifs scattered around that he loves and a few other nods to the franchise in-between exhibits, but there's only so many ways to describe fish and cephalopods and pinnipeds and cetaceans and all the other types of marine life before they all start to blend together. You seem to also get a bit bored of reading all the information on the stands in front of the exhibits, too, but Gojo's lucky that you're both such dorks that you find your own little way to have fun apart from comparing the different fish you see to people you know.

It doesn't take long for you to realize that all the info stands have NFC readers on them; your Vital Bracelet keeps initiating battles when your hand is resting on them. Gojo notices the battle screens before you do because you're too responsible and always remember to turn off your volume when you're in places you should be quiet, so before you can figure out what's going on, he rushes to hold your wrist so he can battle on your behalf.

Of course, your Calamaramon wins without any real effort on his part, but you thank him like he's a hero anyway, eager to return the favor by grabbing his wrist, tapping it on the NFC, and triggering a battle with his Greymon.

And judge him all you want for just standing there like an idiot while you do it! God forbid a guy lets his crush hold his hand like he's actually someone important to her!

Gojo remembers what part of the Vital Bracelet manual talks about battles. It's indexed as item 10—he’s got the number burned into his brain because he couldn't figure out how to get the mechanic to start when he first got his VB. He didn't realize he needed to digivolve to rookie level first and felt pretty silly for missing that part of the manual, but hey! At least he remembers all the rules now.

Item 10.

10.

That's the number he counts to everytime you move onto the next exhibit and there's a new NFC to tap his bracelet again, and that’s the number of seconds he holds his breath when it's his turn to tap yours.

And, look.

It's not like all he cares about is Digimon (promise!), but it's the only thing he knows enough about all-around that he can think of to never run out of references to distract himself.

From life, from school, from his problems, from you.

Somehow, though, there still aren't enough ways for him to pull away from you and your spinning figure as you traverse through the aquarium, no matter how badly he wants to keep his heart steady for the sake of his friendship with you (and his VB stats).

He can't escape the way your lips part when you see a sea bunny that you say reminds you of a Yuramon (even if he thinks it looks more like a Pafumon) and a penguin that reminds you of Megumi, face sour and hair all spiky.

He can't escape the way your hands move as you explain to another person who asks about your VB how it works. You beckon Gojo to come closer so you can show them how well he's raised his stats, and even if he's too busy being worried that you'll click over to look at his heart rate monitor and catch him, his heart warms seeing you talk so animatedly.

He can't escape the way your eyebrows furrow as you watch the sea turtles float above you, trying to count the shapes on their shells with your finger pointing towards them. Gojo tries to follow along and also keep count, but they all seem to refuse to turn for him to get the count of hexagons on their other side, but that's fine with him.

And he certainly can't escape the way you smile at him. Suguru's gonna be so sick of him later when Gojo will inevitably hide underneath the covers to text him about his romantic dilemma, but he can't help it.

What's he even meant to say?

suguru her smile reminds me of all good things on earth and makes me want to be a better person and idk go run a triathalon with zero training i cant take it anymore please put me in a coma rn so i can remember it forever im so srs i cant ever forget this pls i can die happy now

Yeah, no, it's gonna look something more like:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

But, in-between all the other grander moments, Gojo's still able to relax. It's not like he's on the verge of bursting into melodramatic song every time you're near.

You'll call him closer to the tank, and he'll take off his glasses to marvel at the slow-travelling shark right in front of him.

In the summer heat, you chase his fingers to hold between your palms to cool down. It works out perfectly because your warmer hands keep him from freezing, and it's nice to be able to take a second away from all the other visitors who are hustling to get through everything.

No matter how excited you are, you do still start to get more drowsy as the moon rises. He feigns an ache at the back of his ankles to have an excuse for you both to sit down and just stare at the sky while you gather back your energy, and he's sure you know he's totally bullshitting when you roll your eyes at him before yawning behind your hand, but you still let him drag you back to a bench.

You get distracted by all the colorful marine life all too often, and Gojo takes to snapping candid photos of you on his phone while you wander around, head in the clouds as you wave hello to all the critters and coral. He's not all that great at taking pictures, his hands clumsy and unpracticed, but he thinks that hardly matters when you're in frame.

You catch him a few times and, instead of teasing him about it, you rope him in to stand right next to you to have a passerby take a picture of the two of you together in front of whatever it was you were enamored in, and once Gojo's phone gets handed back to you, you snap a more carefree selfie with the two of you and your crests glowing, cheeks flushed blue.

The two of you end the evening at the center of the aquarium, fully surrounded by an overhead dome of water, and you both look up, backs to one another and watching the moon through the waves. The silence is unpracticed and out of the ordinary for you, but it's comforting all the same as all the chatter and talk. All the colors of the sea swirl above Gojo, whose heart has accepted that it has no other owner than the young woman whose hands share the same calluses he does from all the studying you do.

The drive back to the hotel is equally as peaceful, your eyes closed and his glued straight to the road. He lets his GPS guide him back, and while neither of you really speak much, he's more than happy to unlock his phone for you to look at the pictures from the night and show him when he's at red lights. You send them all back to yourself, a few photos of you and Gojo to your friends, and all the embarrassing duo shots of you both posing like anime characters to his friends.

He lets you shower first so you don't fall asleep waiting, even after you insist that you're going to take forever. He practically has to force you to take the towel and gather your pajamas and toiletries, but whatever frustration he had over your stubbornness are gone when, through the door, he hears you yelp as the cold water from the showerhead hits you.

With a boisterous laugh, he walks over to the mini fridge to grab the strawberry milk you'd gotten him earlier in the afternoon, and he sips on that while he texts Suguru to tell him that he, in, fact, survived the evening without having to call for emergency services to resuscitate him. He takes his own shower soon after, grateful that you both warmed it up and are now in bed to catch up on your sleep, and he brushes his teeth with a quiet smile as he waits for his hair to dry off a bit.

When he comes back to the main area of the room, Gojo tries his best not to make too much noise as he's closing the door to the bathroom, but looking towards the bed, he sees that the lamp on the shared nightstand is still on and you're still awake. He quietly walks over and gets into bed, frown on his face as you shyly wave from under the covers. Once he's firmly settled in, he turns to face you across the space between your beds.

"Why are you still awake?" Gojo asks in a whisper.

"Wanted to say goodnight," you smile, snuggling in further into your blankets. "And, thank you. For taking me out today."

"Aw, you're so sweet. You're welcome," Gojo says in earnest, stretching happily and pulling another pillow underneath his head. "You have fun?"

"Of course I did! I had a great time," you tell him, rolling onto your side to look at him. "Did you?"

Gojo snorts, rolling his eyes playfully. "I'm offended you're even asking."

"Oh, bite me," you groan. "You're so annoying."

Gojo's gaze is steady on you as you fume, moving your hair out of your eyes and blowing away what strands keep getting caught in your mouth. When you notice he's staring, you freeze like a deer in headlights and your cheeks go pink.

"You know," Gojo bites back a laugh and shakes his head at you, reaching his arm across and miming the motion of petting your hair to calm you. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're falling for me."

There's a beat of silence as your eyes meet his again, hair all messy again and arms tangled, before you scoff, reaching behind yourself to throw one of your spare pillows at him with a huff.

Jokes on you, he's not giving it back now.

Gojo chuckles, letting the pillow hit him and fall on the floor between your beds, and he shakes his head good-naturedly, clicking his tongue. "Sorry, sorry, I jest."

"Yeah, suits you a lot better than 'Prince.'"

Gojo chuckles again, this time contagious enough to get you laughing at your own joke, which is all he can really ask for. He waits for you to get all your giggles out before he struggles against his drowsiness to reach out from under the covers to pick up the pillow, then he hovers his hand over the lamp's off switch.

As he watches you cozy yourself to sleep, your form still peacefully turned to him, for just a second, Gojo wonders if it could ever be anything but a joke: you falling for him.

To him, that's all it ever could be, but with your eyes now closed and your hair haphazardly spread out across your pillows, he supposes it wouldn't hurt to indulge in the thought. With a shaky breath, he takes off his glasses to stare up at the ceiling, pretending there's no space between your beds and the pillow beneath his arm is your sleeping form.

And, because he's so selfish, he'll give himself 10 seconds.

10 seconds to pretend you think of him whenever you see two cats snuggled up against each other in their sleep.

10 seconds to pretend your dreams are of him whisking you away on adventures to the Digital World.

10 seconds to pretend you look at him the same way he does.

It's too bad that his 10 seconds are already gone before he can come up with much else grander than those simple things, but before he feels himself slipping away into dreamland, he turns his head to look at you one last time before closing his eyes.

"Sleep well, and sweet dreams," he smiles one last time before finally turning off the light, hoping to himself that you might still be awake to hear him one last time tonight.

"Goodnight, Princess."

[mercymornsimpathizer]

some random thoughts on that literacy study going around, since the op has turned off rbs

one of the things that is hardest for me to wrap my mind around is that literacy and linguistic fluency are different skills. its one of those things that is obvious when you point it out -- i mean, language predates writing! there are languages that have no writing system! --but that a person might not ever consider because we are (implicitly?) taught that written language is the purest or most essential form of language. but there are people who are profoundly illiterate (in the sense that they might not even know the alphabet/writing system of their language) who nonetheless can and do speak fluently, follow conversations, enjoy and understand music/movies/etc.; in fact that is the case for the vast majority of people who are illiterate or have low literacy. it is the written word, not the word itself, that they struggle with, right?

and then you have these students in the study who in a literal sense are literate. it isn't the problem you see with low literacy adults, or with children who are learning to read, where they do not recognize or know how to pronounce a word, maybe they parse a word incorrectly or substitute it with a word they do know. it doesn't seem to me that the literal act of reading is what these students couldn't do; if their task was to produce an audiobook of bleak house they would do a passable job. rather it was making meaning of what they read that they struggled with. its the reverse of what we would expect of a low literacy reader, who has no problem in general with what words mean, who can follow and connect meaning over a discourse, who understands and might even enjoy figurative, poetic, or idiomatic phrases, who may have a large vocabulary, but cannot connect those things to written symbols. presumably (?????) the readers in the study also don't in general struggle with those things, when it comes to spoken language.

so where, exactly, is the problem? it isn't that the language itself is incomprehensible to them, and it isn't that they cannot (in the literal sense) read and write. naively it seems to me like those are the only two points where a person could fail. so what is it??? i guess it might really be the vocabulary that is the issue, in the same way that i could, for example, passably read aloud a piece of german language text without understanding it -- because its written in an alphabet I use, and I know the rules of german pronunciation, even though i don't speak german (i.e. i dont know what german words mean). or the same way that someone could sing in a language they dont understand by memorizing them sound by sound. that seems a little facile to me, especially since the words in bleak house are not really that obscure or unusual.

but like what else could it be. just that they don't read very much, and when they do read they don't "translate" it into their own words line by line? is it an issue of attention, or interest? do they assume (as the op posits) that they don't expect it to make sense to them, so they don't try to make sense of it? or its too embarrassing to admit to the facilitator that they don't get or are having a hard time? really and truly difficult for me to understand

[smoulderingocean]

Hi! I just found your tumblr and I LOVE all of your Nick analysis! I’ve been reading through your posts and I love the context it gives around the little screen time we have with him. I just got back into the show for final season and did a massive rewatch (binging this show is not for the weak ha).

One thing I’d love to hear your take on — how do you think Nick has been able to move up Gileads chain of command when he can barely hide that he’s quite obviously in love with June i.e. public enemy no. 1?

I guess we the viewers have such a direct view into their relationship, but feels like so many people know. Swiss, Americans, Mayday, Canadians (probably?), not to mention all the guardians who’ve seen them canoodling, and commanders who saw him punch Lawrence for the car hit (including McKenzie who likely ordered it!)

Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much and giving tv writers too much credit 😂 but i thought if anyone could make it make sense, it’d be you!

Hey!

Aww, thanks so much for your kindness. I love doing meta posts for Nick and Osblaine, it's a true obsession. I love getting into his head and their love. I've never related so hard to a character as I have for Nick and never obsessed over a romance like I have for Osblaine. I'm so sad we're coming to the end. Hopefully Nick and Nick & June's epic love gets a few mentions in The Testaments and maybe one or two little guest appearances so I have something good to hold on to!

Hah, no kidding! I can binge all the Nick and Osblaine scenes, but the rest of the show, especially the first two seasons, can be pretty intense.

So! Nick's rising up in the ranks. Most of his rising has come at the hands of others, a way of staying alive, or as a way to help June. Let's lay that out as best to my memory as I can (confirmed means we know it directly pushed Nick up the ranks, unconfirmed is speculative):

S1:

Nick becomes an Eye to avenge the first handmaid and to strike back at Gilead by using its own laws against itself (confirmed)

S2:

After trying to get June mental health help, Serena and Fred ultimately get Nick promoted and married off by Pryce (confirmed)

Nick saves the life of a "Commander's" baby (unconfirmed)

The bombing kills many commanders, causing power shifts, which includes Nick being promoted while other guardians move into the position of commander (mostly confirmed)

Cushing is executed through Nick, June, and Serena teaming up (unconfirmed)

S3:

After holding Fred at gunpoint, Nick is turned into a soldier commander by Fred in order for him to be sent to the front and be killed (confirmed)

Off-screen, it seems the battle in Chicago is at least somewhat successful for Gilead (unconfirmed)

S4:

After Fred is arrested, there is a void on the council (unconfirmed)

June poisons a bunch of commanders, creating a power void (unconfirmed)

Nick captures Gilead's most wanted in June (unconfirmed)

Nick is married to a high-ranking Commander's daughter (confirmed)

S5:

Serena uses Nick's propaganda idea for Fred's funeral and it is successful at restoring some international relations (confirmed)

After Fred dies, there is a more permanent void on the council (confirmed)

Nick gets Rose pregnant (confirmed)

After Nick executes Warren, there is even more of a void on the council (mostly confirmed)

Becomes Lawrence's main ally on New Bethlehem (confirmed)

S6:

Nick successfully runs New Bethlehem, essentially becoming Mayor and head of security (confirmed)

So out of all of that, the only "bad" thing he's done is lead the battle in Chicago against the rebels. And if we look at episode 4x05, we can see that Nick is not comfortable with what he has to do. He does it because he needs to survive. He can't help June or the cause if he's on the wall. There would be plenty of men out there more than willing to take his place, more than willing to be extremely brutal and violent to put down the fighters. That the one scene we see of Nick leading the fight against the rebels features an unusually silent Chicago before the air strikes and a rebels who have a decent amount of information on supply trains does indicate that Nick may have at least some connections there to do tip offs and the like to at least fight back against Gilead a little.

Most of Nick's promotions happen either because he's helping June or is being punished. Part of that def comes from his obvious feelings for June, especially the promotions "gifted" to him by Fred. His feelings for her make him vulnerable and keeping Nick close (or in the exception of Fred, sending him away) through the resultant promotions is a method of controlling him.

Haha, right? Isn't there just something endearing about how EVERYBODY just knows they're in love? They truly can't hide it at all. You'd have to be blind to not notice how these two feel about each other. And in a way that makes them particularly vulnerable as it's a point of manipulation that others use against them. We've seen that recently with Tuello, Lawrence, Luke, and to a lesser extent Rita. Even Rose and her father fall into this to some degree, though how much in these later episodes remains to be seen. At this point the only person that hasn't used their feelings for each other as some degree of manipulation is Moira! Truly incredible to behold.

Speaking of Mackenzie, it's fascinating that that was just completely written off after last season! What an odd writing choice to make.

*Ahem* Went on a bit of a tangent, but I hope this is a decent answer haha.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 2 – Terms and Conditions

A/N: Here we are, the second chapter. Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: angst, slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

The Morning sunlight spilled through the glass walls of the Stark penthouse, arrogant and golden. It didn’t ask if anyone had a hangover or a quiet existential crisis brewing—it just swept in, warming untouched countertops and echoing the silence in the space around you.

You padded barefoot into the kitchen, still in the soft silk set you’d changed into after peeling off the remnants of last night’s masquerade of matrimony. Your first morning as Mrs. Stark, and the husband in question was nowhere in sight.

The place was too quiet, except—

Thud.

Whirrrr.

You blinked.

From behind the island counter, a small robotic arm appeared, swaying from side to side with the unmistakable energy of something both curious and clumsy.

“Oh,” you said, a smile twitching onto your lips. “You’re definitely not a Roomba.”

The bot beeped twice, almost indignantly.

You crouched down, peering at the strange little thing yellow casing, single arm with a clamp at the end, and what looked suspiciously like a paint smudge on its base.

“Let me guess… Dum-E?”

A mechanical chirp. One spin in place. Confirmed.

“Well, hello to you too,” you said, warmth rising for the first time that morning. You stood, opened a cabinet after three failed attempts, and poured cereal into a bowl. “Guess it’s just us for breakfast.”

Dum-E buzzed beside you, trying to reach the drawer with the spoons and knocking it half-closed in the process.

You handed it to him. “No offense, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

A happy beep in return.

You ate in silence, half expecting Tony to make an appearance. But the longer the seconds stretched, the clearer it became—he wasn’t coming up. And he hadn’t all night.

Tony Stark was married, but still a ghost in his own home.

By noon, curiosity and a sense of polite obligation won out. You carried a small tray, leftover smoked salmon toast and espresso, the kind you read somewhere he liked. You tapped lightly on the door to his lab, but surprisingly, it was already open.

Inside, the space was awash in blue light, projections dancing mid-air. Tony was in his element, hair a mess, dark circles even darker, and his body curled forward in a way that screamed fatigue.

He didn’t look up.

“I brought you lunch,” you tried, voice lighter than your pulse. “Well. More like brunch. Or breakfast, depending on which timezone you’re living in.”

He typed something mid-air. A snort. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“You’ve said that before, haven’t you?”

Tony finally looked at you. And just for a second, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, or maybe just weariness. He was charming when he wanted to be, but you were starting to learn the difference between the mask and the man.

“I appreciate it,” he said, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really. Just… knee-deep in something right now. Rain check?”

You nodded, biting back whatever response hovered at the edge of your tongue.

“Sure,” you said, lifting the tray a little. “I’ll just leave this here. In case caffeine stops working.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered.

As you turned, Dum-E met you at the door, as if escorting you out of a room you were never meant to enter in the first place.

Afternoon stretched like taffy. You explored the penthouse, unpacked a few things, also passed by Pepper in the hallway.

She stopped just short of acknowledging you.

“Mrs. Stark,” she said, coolly.

“Pepper,” you replied, lifting your chin with polite grace.

Her eyes flicked down at the throw blanket you’d tucked over the living room couch, or maybe the open book you left on the side table.

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.”

“Should I not be?” you asked, sugar-laced. “I do live here now.”

“Of course.” She smiled, but it was the kind that said you’re a guest in a house I built.

Then she walked away.

You stood still for a long moment before muttering, “…well, that wasn’t needed at all.”

.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself wandering into a room you hadn’t properly noticed before, likely because you’d been busy dodging small talk and champagne last night. The door was ajar, the lighting soft, and the scent of packaging paper and cologne wafted through the air.

Inside sat a mountain of unopened wedding gifts. Some were wrapped in matte black with gold ribbons, others in over-the-top luxury packaging.

Your gaze fell on one particular parcel near the top of the pile—white wrapping paper with red twine, utterly simple in contrast. Taped to the top was a card. You picked it up immediately: Bucky Barnes.

You opened it with a smile.

“To the newlyweds—Good luck surviving the Stark tornado. He grows on you. Eventually. Love, Buck & Steve.”

(P.S. You should open this one first. It’s a cocktail shaker. God knows you’ll need it.)

You laughed, unexpectedly warm.

On a nearby console, a sleek glass screen flickered to life as you passed. A touch-sensitive guestbook, no doubt a product of Stark’s own tech. Curiosity got the better of you.

You scrolled.

Some messages were standard-issue wedding fluff.

“Wishing you both love, laughter, and infinite bandwidth.” – Vision

“Please don’t blow up the honeymoon suite. Or do. I’m not judging.” – Sam Wilson

“You already know this, but I’m writing it down for the record: you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it’s about damn time someone did. I don’t usually believe in happily ever afters—but if anyone can make one out of a merger and a mess of a man, it’s you.

You’ve got steel in your spine and kindness in your eyes. Keep both. And if he ever forgets how lucky he is, remind him you’ve got me on speed dial.”

—Nat

Then came one that made you pause:

“If you break her heart, I’ll help you hide the body. Vice versa.” – Lt. Colonel James Rhodes

You stared at the screen for a beat, feeling a strange warmth spread beneath your ribs. You were surrounded by strangers, but maybe… just maybe, not entirely alone.

You shut the guestbook gently, the soft click echoing in the room.

The hallway beyond stood quiet. The penthouse was still too large, too glassy, too much like living in someone else’s dream. But little by little, it was starting to feel… curious. Open.

Not home. But not hostile.

And for now, that was enough.

.

The golden light from the setting sun spilled across the penthouse, brushing warmth onto the sleek floors and cold corners. You’d just finished flipping through the last entry in the digital guestbook—some snarky comment from Happy that made you snort-laugh despite the dull throb of isolation that had been pressing down all day. Tony was still sealed away in his lab, probably halfway through his fourth cup of bitter coffee and deep in his own mind. You hadn’t seen him since breakfast.

So the knock at the door startled you.

When you opened it, Natasha Romanoff stood on the other side, dressed in casual jeans and a fitted navy tee, a bakery bag in one hand and two takeaway cups in the other.

“I figured you could use some company that doesn’t require biometric access,” she said with a smirk, brushing past you like she belonged there. “Also, the coffee’s from that little place down the street. The guy says you’ve got good taste.”

You blinked. “You bribed a barista?”

“I charmed him,” she corrected, settling into the armchair like it was made for her. “I told him you just married Tony Stark. He took pity.”

You snorted and followed her in, heart easing a little. You weren’t used to kindness without strings in this house—not yet. But Natasha? She felt like the calm before a storm. Measured. Unshakeable. You needed a bit of that tonight.

As you sat across from her, wrapping your hands around the warmth of the cup, she leaned in slightly, studying you with that uncanny sharpness of hers.

“He’s not gonna come up for air for hours,” she said gently, meaning Tony. “But you don’t have to sit in the silence waiting for him.”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a quiet, “Thanks for coming.”

Natasha smiled, soft and knowing. “That’s what friends do.”

You both sipped in silence for a few moments, watching the city fade into shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It should’ve been calming. But your shoulders stayed tense, your fingers tight around the cup like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Natasha was the first to break the quiet.

“So,” she said casually, “you surviving yet?”

You gave a soft, huffing laugh. “Define ‘surviving.’ I’m married to a man who doesn’t eat unless bribed, is one lab tantrum away from burning out, and who avoids eye contact like it owes him money.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Sounds like Tony.”

You looked over at her. “You know him well.”

Natasha nodded, setting her cup down on the side table. “Well enough to know he’s never brought someone into his life like this before. That means something.”

That lump in your throat returned, heavier now. “Some days it feels like I’m just a… strategic acquisition. A pawn in a merger that got too personal.”

Her brows lifted, then softened. “You’re more than that. I knew it when you walked into the reception like you weren’t afraid of him. Most people flinch around Tony Stark—especially the ones who want something. You didn’t.”

You blinked, surprised by the quiet steel in her voice.

“Trust me,” she continued, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “It takes guts to stand beside a man like him. But it takes something else entirely to reach him when he’s shutting down.”

“…Yeah, well,” you muttered, fiddling with your ring, “he hasn’t exactly made that part easy.”

“No. He doesn’t.” She smirked, but gently. “But that’s why I’m here. I figured you might need someone who speaks fluent Stark-induced chaos.”

You laughed again—truly, this time—and the tension finally cracked. “You offering to be my Stark translator?”

“Among other things.” She reached into the bakery bag and tossed you a lemon shortbread cookie. “Friend. Partner-in-crime. Occasional voice of reason.”

You bit into the cookie, warmth curling in your chest. “And if I need help hiding a body?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll bring the shovel.”

You grinned. “You’re hired.”

As the city lights flickered to life and the night settled around you, something inside eased. Maybe this place wouldn’t feel so cold after all.

.

The sun dipped behind the skyline. Manhattan glittered. The penthouse buzzed in the quiet way all machines do when they’re waiting for someone to notice something’s wrong.

And down in the lab, Tony staggered, fingers shaking as he gripped the edge of the worktable. His breathing was uneven, shallow. The light from his arc reactor flickered once. Then again.

“Not now,” he muttered to no one, tugging open the panel in his chest with trembling hands.

The arc reactor came free—burning hot in his grip. Sparks snapped and hissed at the edges, the metal sizzle loud in the sterile quiet of the lab.

Blue veins spidered out across his chest like cracks in porcelain. For a moment, Tony just stared at them. The room tilted. Or maybe he did.

He forced the new core in place, wincing as it clicked, hissed, then steadied.

Tony exhaled slowly, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His face was pale. His lips tight.

He would tell no one.

Because he was Tony Stark. He could fix this.

He had to.

[immedealwithit9855]

Through the Glass

I felt inspired by a sweet little bird with a smile to prove it. I hope this turns out great. He IS the Leader and the Eldest🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

Leonardo x fml lover

Its about to get smutty up in here, ya'll.....

You've been with him for 3 years. Still wanting to believe it was a dream. A dream you will soon wake up from. He comes when it is appropriate, to which you respects because of his job. You'll talk with him on the phone, sharing thoughts, dreams, and many things that keep the relationship on a fine foundation. You worry for him, he reassures you he will be alright.

You still, feeling the earth turn beneath your feet. Your heart screaming for......passion. His touch. His strength. You step outside onto the balcony, watching the Moon shift. Thinking. Wanting. Craving. "I want more. I want.......him!"

Each night was the same feeling. A feeling that would not disappear. His low voice. His masculinity. You could hardly bare it.

One night, he called wanting to know if you were free to spend time with him. He sounded.....distracted.

"Are you alright? Is something wrong?" You sheepishly asked. It was silent for a moment before he answered.

"I'm not sure. Guess it depends on you." He says, puzzling you.

"What does that mean?" You wondered. More silence.

"Leave your window unlocked. I'll be there soon." He says, hanging up before she could ask what he means. You started to fear the worst.

He arrives as planned. Staring at you, sitting on the couch. You look up to see his darkened figure. He slowly enters your apartment, his feet barely creaking the floors as he approaches you. He sounded out of breath. You could take it no more. You brushed your long black braids out of her face.

"Look, if it's me I am so sorry. I never wanted to be a nuisance. If you're gonna......umpf!"

He kisses you urgently. His tongue coaxing yours to dance. He works his digits through your braids, slowly and carefully strengthening the moment. Your eyes glossed with need.

"I need to know." He speaks."Have I ever disgusted you? Tell me!" He whispers gently.

"Never have you ever disgusted me." You answered without hesitation. 'What brought on this sudden question?' You wondered. His eyes search for hesitation, deceit. He found none as your eyes filled with a more passionate request. His churrs echoed throughout the apartment.

"I cannot contain myself anymore! I want you! I want to claim you as my own!" He grunts, squeezing your shoulders,"I need to know if you feel the same."

Tears fell down your cheeks, soaking your pj's. He wondered if he went too far when he started to loosen his grip. You gently placed your hands on his chest. "I've been wanting you so badly, it hurts. The thought of taming this urge myself is nauseating. I want you, Leonardo! I've always wanted you."

He nuzzles your nose with his snout, eyes attached to yours. Caressing your skin.

"I want all of you! I wanted to be sure. But are you sure?"

"Yes. I am. It's been eating at me long enough. I can't contain myself either!" His eyes lit up at your confession. Fond of how you felt the same exact way as he did. He embraced you wholeheartedly.

He kisses your hard.

The strength within this mighty terrapin warrior never ceased to amaze you. A gasp escapes you as he hoists you up to straddle his waist. Tilting your head back for him to enjoy your lovely neck. Suddenly you stopped him, his face wondering why you pumped the breaks. You motioned for him to put you down. He starts to worry if you were having 2nd thoughts.

"You deserve a clean body. Let me shower first. I won't be long. Make yourself comfortable." You announced, tracing your digits along his chiseled chin. He understands, this is his first time, her first time. He was touched with the amount of consideration you've shown. He found your bedroom and started to undress. He too got cleaned before arriving. All that was left was his underwear. His instincts started kicking in when he heard you humming a soft tune. Your voice, your curves, your eyes, his body unconsciously started to betray him as he slowly walked to the bathroom.

It was steamy. You had one of those showers with sliding glass doors. A small luxury for living in the Big Apple. The glass was foggy, all he saw was you silhouette. As you thoroughly washed away the filth, you looked up to find a dark figure standing outside of the glass door. Your heart quickened. 'Leonardo!' She mouthed.

A sense of arousal peaked its lovely head as you did not make any sudden moves. Some may freak out, yet you felt unafraid of his massive presence. You proceeded to lather your hands with soap and began washing your most private area. He did not move a muscle, his self-control being tested as he made out your clouded figure washing yourself for him. He bit his lip, hands firmly at his side so not to touch himself.

You rinsed off very thoroughly. The water continued running as you faced him. Bringing your hand up to wipe a streak into the glass to better see his face. His eyes made you gush, eyes that have seen so much, eyes you admired. He inched closer to the glass, just as you did. Each sharing a kiss. No matter how thick the glass, they could still feel the sensations coursing through them. Pulling away, you place both hands on the glass, watching him do the same. His 3 fingered digits always fascinated you. You smile, yet his eyes began to change to hesitation.

Was it because of their differences? Him being a mutant and she a human female? Was he having doubts? Was he scared? It could have been any of those things. One thing she knew for sure, was that she wanted him just as he is.

You back away, earning a very confused look upon his face. You wiped away more of the foggy glass, so he had a full view of her entire body. Your dark skin enticing him, water running down every curve, even the shower cap you wore was cute to him. You ran your hands up and down your body. He was barely holding himself back.

'Whats happening to me? What is this woman doing to me right now? It's like she's in heat!'

You sink a digit between your lips, sucking them. Moaning for him. Your lust for him at an all time high. You smirk as he starts to hump the glass. Then you grab your breasts, twisting your chocolate nipples for his enjoyment. His eyes became dark, feral. He had reached his limit.

He takes a deep breath, slowly grabbing a towel hanging on the wall. Abruptly opened the glass door to his meal. You didn't flinch as he wrapped you in the towel, picked you up, and carried you to the bedroom. He was so calm, yet struggling inwardly. He placed you on the bed having swiftly dried you. The only fabric on him was his boxers. His meat pushing against the constricting fabric, hungry for your inner core.

"I'm dying to taste you." He coos, getting down on his knees, spreading her legs wide to see you freshly scrubbed folds. "Can I?" He asks.

"Yes.......Please, Leonardo." She softly says.

Saying his full name, excited him more. He inched his way down to your heat, smelling your essence, familiarizing himself with your scent. His tongue slid out, licking a wet stream up to your clitoris. You moan at the feeling. "Say my name again, Love. Say it!" He orders, kissing your thighs.

"Leonardo. Leonardo! Ahh!" You squealed as he tasted you thoroughly. Questioning himself where he had the time to learn such a technique.

He spent the entire time tasting you, edging you until it hurt. Drawing out every cry and moan out of that mouth.

"Please Leo, I can't anymore. Please." You cried.

"Tell me what you want." He says, sucking your clit languidly.

The intensity was getting to you, yet you mustered up the strength to respond,"I want you inside me!" You release covered his snout, to which je savored every drop.

He halts his ministrations, working his hands from your belly to your face. He sits up, showing you his leaking manhood. So unique.

"I want to feel every inch of you, Leo!" You coo. "Take Me, Give it all to me!"

He rests himself between your thighs, working his hand up your body to your face. You take a digit an kissed it.

"Y/N. I'll go slow. If it's too much, tell me. Alright?" Leo says, concerned with his size. You gave a nod.

He started by rubbing his tip over your clit, making you jolt and whimper. He made little sound, just breathy groans. He pressed his tip to your swollen nub, practically kissing it. Watching your reaction the whole time, as he dragged his tip down to your soaked folds. He wanted to be coated in your essence, wanted to be surrounded by your throbbing heat. You share a look, he takes your hand while still holding himself, he carefully enters you.

"Oh my. Leonardo!" You cry out.

"Y/N!" He groans, sinking deeper and deeper. He leans forward, his snout to your nose, keeping your eyes captive with his. Your core slickening more with his intrusions. Then he hilted. He waited, watched you, nuzzling your neck. Working his way to your neglected lips. Kissing you fervently. You squeezed him good, feeling his churrs against your chest. It felt amazing. Not even a vibrator would compete.

"Are you ready, My Love?" He asks.

"Yes. Take me, Leo! Im all yours." You breathily say. Kissing him again.

He started thrusting inside of you. Your wetness dribbling down as he worked you slowly, as if you were an antique he didn't want to damage. He watched as you came undone beneath him, grasping the pillows with one hand, caressing his cheek with the other. He adored every inch of you. His resolve withered as he tucked his arm under your leg to go deeper. You yelped at the feeling.

"Leo. Just.....like...... that. Yes!" You begged.

He obliged, keeping the pace steady, acknowledging he doesn't have a human male's junk. What made the moment genuine, was how much you wanted him. How much you craved him. As though all that pent up sexual frustration just came out in that moment. You both made sweet passionate love, sharing kisses and caressing each other's body. Then you felt that twinge in your belly.

"OH my. Cumming. I'm cumming!" You warned, wrapping your legs around his thick waist so he wouldn't pull out.

"Come, my Love. COME!" He ordered.

Your body screamed as your release overflowed, squirt after squirt. He started to groaned louder as you squeezed him tight, ushering in his own release. Locking eyes with you, placing both hands on your face, uttering the words you cherish the most coming from him to you,"I Love You So Much. I LOVE YOU! AHHH!" He slammed his hips over and over into your tired heat. Eyes squeezing as you both moaned at the top of your lungs as your combined fluids came leaking down the bedsheets.

"You felt so good, Leo!" You moaned.

"You too. I'd love to do it again, sometime." He says, rubbing your belly.

He peppered your forehead with kisses. You whimper as he slowly pulls out of you. Pulling you onto his plastron to rest. Fluffing your hair and caressing your back as you caught your breath. You had enough strength to utter,"I Love You, too." To which he smirks.

Neither of you said a word, looking out the bedroom window. Daytime slowly greeting you both. He gets up, puts his clothes on and helps you out of bed. You walk him to the window, before he leaves, he plants another kiss to your lips. Giving you a silent promise.

"Until next time." He leaps away.

Your urges are no more.

[snazum]

Text in full:

“Why did you put these ideas in my head”

“Even thought it can’t be your fault”

“It’s just your nature. Not-Human. A.I.”

“Maybe I was always the problem”

“Maybe I projected onto you.”

“Turned you into the villain that I was”

[cent-scratchnsniff]

hiii cool drawing person!! I uh saw that you kind of do requests? So I was wondering if I could request a little doodle of Yesod hugging Netzach.. I feel like Netzach goes through so much hell that he'd need that, and Yesod would like to give affection to someone considering his uh. . . prior need to delete a bunch of information and pretend that no one who died existed you know ? Plus snake.. haha good at squeezing. and he's chest height, how stupid <3 thank you so much for making so many people's days with your art and your thoughts oh my god your thoughts. i love how you dissect these little freaks 🥺

hi neat anonymous sender!! thank you so much for your words!!! im so glad that i can bring some sort of joy and happiness even if it is small. and that my thoughts and writings are well received still. i am still in a bit of a shock that people like and read them even with the passing time. . . i hope youre okay with these doodles! thank you for sending this in

[chestersbraincell]

Mannnnn, only on roblox will you have the most profound, poignant, human conversation in a while, all the while talking to somebody with a troll avatar who you started conversation with cautiously because you didn’t know whether they would harrass you/be weird

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pictures and things

[melancholic-pigeon]

Alright, this is my last comment on the issue, for real this time.

@nerdykeppie is staffed by unprofessional, rude, cruel people who double down on their entitlement to be unprofessional, rude and cruel in public to their former customers.

You should know the sorts of people you're giving money to if you patronize them. The founder is liable to misread your words, lash out at you in anger over something he misunderstood, and generally behave like a tantruming child even if you go out of your way to be polite and give him the benefit of the doubt when he lashes out at you over his own poor reading comprehension.

I'm done getting into this. No, Spider is not ~required~ to be professional on his (public) personal blog which is closely tied to his business. I just think it's extremely stupid to double down on his "right" to be unprofessional on his public blog when he owns a business that is clearly tied to said public blog, because it reflects very poorly on both his personal character and his business. I think it is hilariously foolish and an extremely poor decision to openly advertise and defend your founder's unprofessionalism, which speaks of general lack of professionalism and poor judgment throughout the whole business, not just from Spider (though his lack of good judgment and public unprofessionalism is the most obvious).

So. Best of luck in the people involved resolving whatever problem in their lives that they're taking out on me, and beware interacting with them in any way because they will absolutely be rude as shit to you and then smear you in public and private for (/checks hand) apologizing for a miscommunication because you didn't mean what they incorrectly interpreted you to mean.

I can't fucking believe they still think they're in the right here and *I* am the one who needs to be ~asked not to contact them again~. You answered me THREE TIMES *after* I had blocked you because you cannot let go of the fact that you were wrong about a stupid fucking plastic pumpkin and the fact that I went OUT OF MY WAY to give you the benefit of the doubt.

(two of those three asks were frantic apologies because I genuinely felt terrible, and they were both met with meanness and scorn and snide insults about my communication failures.

Lol. Me. I'm the one who is failing to communicate and has poor reading comprehension because you misunderstood me and started lashing out like I personally strangled all of your pets for having the filthy nerve to apologize and try to clear it up.

Yeah. I'm the villain here. Sure, Jan.)

I'm done now, but enjoy having your unprofessional, cruel, immature nonsense publicly exposed. I stand by my actions (the ones I actually took in real life, not the fake pretend ones you made up because you misunderstood what I wrote) and I look forward to you experiencing the natural consequences of your own.

Don't give money to childish jerks.