#anyway i just found it surprising that it was assumed that i have a preference for women when really i dont

[doggirlbuck]

i as a trans man have somehow managed to be repressed about my attraction to men. gender win?

[obsidianimagines]

Don't Mention It

The Doctor discovers that the two of you have a shared hobby

Twelve x gn!reader

Warnings: None

You realized it probably wasn't the best idea to touch The Doctor's guitar, but when you got ready for the day and entered the empty console room to find it sitting there unattended, you couldn't resist. After all, sometimes it was simply better to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission. Surely he wouldn't be too upset if he found out, and if he was, you could handle him.

After turning the amp down a bit, you sat on the steps, holding the guitar as you settled into place. Without having to think much about it, you began to play Purple Haze. You were a little out of practice, but it felt nice to strum out a tune.

Before you could move onto another song, you jumped at the sound of The Doctor's voice. "What are you doing?"

When you looked up, his piercing blue eyes and very serious brows were focused right on you. You hadn't even heard him get close.

"Playing guitar. Well, your guitar." You slipped the strap off of your body and handed the instrument to him. "Sorry."

"You never told me you could play." He'd actually been quite surprised at the fact that your playing sounded pleasant, as opposed to the nails on a chalkboard he'd heard when Clara once picked up his guitar.

"I'm sure I have. You probably weren't listening."

"I'm always listening," he said, sounding almost offended.

"You're joking, right?" You stood up from the stairs with a sigh. "Anyway...yes, I play. I just haven't had much time between travelling with you and working whenever I'm back at home. When I hear you playing, it really makes me miss it."

How The Doctor hadn't put the pieces together long ago, he didn't know. When you stopped everything and watched him play, he'd always assumed you were just impressed by his great skills. And maybe it was a little bit of that, but it seemed there had been some longing, too. You were enjoying the music and wishing you could be playing yourself.

The Doctor looked down at the guitar he still held in his hands, and you were caught off guard when he offered it back to you. "I'd better not find even a scratch on it. If I do, I'm dropping you off at home."

You knew he wouldn't do such a thing, but you still intended to respect his request, gingerly taking it from him and putting the strap back over your head.

As The Doctor turned to the console, you sat down once again and played the first thing that came to mind.

It had been a few days since your last trip with The Doctor when he finally showed up again. You weren't sure how long it had been for him—you never were—but he didn't seem any different.

He played his guitar as he pondered something you couldn't even begin to guess, filling the TARDIS with what you recognized as I Will Dare by The Replacements. An odd choice, you thought, yet that didn't stop you from listening intently.

The Doctor abruptly stopped the tune to put the instrument down, and he was gone from the console room before you could say anything. You sighed in disappointment. You quite liked that song after all.

You continued where he'd left off, humming and tapping your fingers against your thigh.

Moments later, The Doctor came back, holding a guitar case in his hand. You frowned at the sight, because even though he probably had several scattered around the TARDIS, he seemed to prefer the Yamaha that still sat in the console room.

It was even more puzzling when he gave you the case.

"Did you...buy me a guitar?"

"No, no. I didn't buy it. I don't buy things." The Doctor walked over to the console, pretending to look at something on the screen and at least attempting to be out of hugging distance. "A friend gave it to me in the 1960's, and it's been sitting around here ever since."

"1960's?" Very carefully, you placed the case on the floor, opening it to find a beautiful vintage Stratocaster. One very much like Jimi Hendrix used to play. Knowing the man who had given it to you, it was the genuine article.

Without noticing the way he'd been watching you, you closed the case back up and practically ran to The Doctor, throwing yourself at him in a hug. The impact and the way you pushed him into the console knocked some of the wind out of him. "Why does there always have to be hugging?!" He struggled to exclaim as you squeezed him tightly.

"I really can't help it right now." You kissed his cheek and gave him one more squeeze before mercifully letting him go. "Thank you, Doctor. Seriously."

"Don't mention it. Really. I only wanted to stop you playing mine so much."

"That won't be a problem. Believe me."

Returning to the case like a giddy little kid, you took the guitar out and hooked it up to the amp. You missed the small smile on his face as you began to play a song for him.

The Doctor didn't plan to tell you that he had only acquired the guitar after your previous trip.

[alastor-simp]

Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis Reacting to a reader who sings like Japanese singer “Ado”

Deciding to try doing another fandom, so I’m gonna do black butler. Only doing Sebby and Ciel since I’m more in tune on how to write them compared to the other characters. Gonna continue the Ado series with them too. I know that this was the Victorian Era so they didn't have stuff like Youtube, so I'm gonna try to change it a bit, and not include that. Enjoy everyone :)

Ciel Phantomhive♟️

♟️Ciel had many duties to attend to as he was the head of Phantomhive manor along with being the Queen’s Watchdog. Apart from filling out paperwork for his company, he had many hobbies that Sebastian help teach him like hunting or playing the violin.

♟️He had met you by Lizzy, as she had found you during one of her strolls in London. You were a frail little thing, but you had a certain amount of skills, so Ciel decided to hire you as a maid for the manor. Hopefully your skills you be much better then the other three. You were a fast learner, and quickly adapted to life at the manor. Both him and Sebastian were impressed with how well you handle your tasks.

♟️Ciel was on his way back to his office when he heard the sound of someone singing. Curious, he headed to wear the sound was coming from and made his way over to one of the rooms which had the door slightly open. Ciel peeked in and saw you in the middle of the room, leaning against the window. You had just finished up dusting the area and decided to take a small break, and while in your break, you started singing as it was something you loved to do.

♟️Once you finished, you heard the sound of clapping and turned to see Lord Phantomhive, leaning against the door with a small smile on his face. “Ahh, Young Master, I was just um-”, you were flustered and tried to explain yourself, but Ciel just put his hand up, which made you stop talking

♟️ “I am not upset with you, y/n. I’m very surprised actually. You never told me you could sing.” Ciel said as he walked closer towards you, standing next to the window. You went on to explain to him that you always loved singing, but you had a slight problem with revealing yourself to everyone as you preferred keeping your identity hidden.

♟️Ciel listened to you and he smiled softly, walking closer to you and grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. He said that you were very talented and should pursue what you loved doing instead of working as a maid. You would still live in the manor, but he would do everything he can to support you in anyway. He knew that hiding your identity would be a challenge, but he assume that maybe a mask would be beneficial to hide your identity.

♟️After that, Ciel would host events at the manor where he would have you perform in front of all of the guests. Everyone was blown away by you that all of the nobles were gossiping about who you were. Pretty soon, you were getting requests to perform at theaters and balls. Everyone was referring to you as the mysterious singer since no one could see your face when you performed, but no one really question it.

♟️Ciel was happy for you that you were achieving your dreams and he was glad to assist in any way with events. He also would like to know what was the new song you were working on, as he was feeling giddy, but he tried to tried to hide it to avoid teasing from Sebastian.

♟️His favorite song that you sang was a cover you did called " Crime & Punishment". He wasn't familiar with that genre of music, but he did enjoy it, and loved how high you went with certain notes in the song.

Sebastian Michaelis😈

😈Sebastian had many duties to fulfill for his young master. There was many tasks he had to play, playing his role as a butler for the manor while also serving as the demon contractor/protector for the young masters soul. Tasks like this for a human would be difficult, but for Sebastian it was nothing.

😈Since Sebastian as been around for a long time, he possessed many talents and skills, ranging from speaking Latin, horseback riding, and playing certain instruments. He was tasked with teaching the young master these things as he was the Lord of Phantomhive manor, though his skills for the violin needed a lot of work.

😈Sebastian had met you during one of his strolls in London. He was on his way back from receiving supplies, when he passed an alley and saw you being held against the wall by three men, with knives. Ahh humans, always so greedy that they would resort to stealing from a young maiden. It all happen so quick, one second you were being threatened by these guys for money then all of a sudden, all three of the men ended being knocked out, and a tall handsome man wearing a suit was in front of you. You thanked him for helping you, and went out of your way to say you were looking for a place to work, to which led you to being introduce to Ciel Phantomhive and becoming a maid for the manor.

😈Sebastian noticed that you were nothing like the other three workers, as you didn't possess any secret skills, but he did appreciate how quick you were to learn and perform your tasks at the manor. There was something about you that drew you to him, he wasn't sure what it was, but he figured there was more too you then just being a regular human.

😈Upon leaving the young masters study after serving him his afternoon tea, Sebastian started to make his way back to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal, and to make sure Bard wasn't using the flamethrower again. He stopped once he heard the sounds of someone singing nearby. Curious, he ventured closer to where the singing was coming from, and noticed that one of the doors was opened slightly. Peeking his head through the door, Sebastian saw you in the middle of the room, dusting one of the shelves, while singing a random melody.

😈"Oya, this human is very interesting", Sebastian thought as he entered the room slowly as not to disturb your singing. Upon turning around after you finished dusting, you dropped the feather duster in shock and covered your mouth as you realized Sebastian was in the room and heard you singing: "S-sebastian! U-um I was um-." Stumbling over your words, you were unable to explain anything to him, and quickly ducked your head down in embarrassment. Chuckling, Sebastian walked closer towards you, lifting your head by placing his fingers on your chin: "Your singing is quite beautiful, Y/N. How come you never told me or the young master you could sing?"

😈Looking away from his gorgeous eyes, you explained to him that you always loved singing, but you preferred to sing in private, or sing where no one could tell it was you. You apologized again if you had distracted him from his duties, but Sebastian just shook his head and smiled saying there was no need to apologize for something like this, but he still wondered why you decided to work as a maid and not a singer.

😈After that, Sebastian explained what had happened with the young master about your hidden talents and insisted in a plan that could benefit both his company and your dream. Ciel was surprised that Sebastian had taken an interest in you, but he didn't think to hard on it and listened to what plan Sebastian had in mind.

😈The both of them discussed the plan with you to be a private singer for the Funtom company. Whenever they would travel to an event for one of the other lords, they would have you there to sing and entertain the guests with your beautiful singing, in disguise of course as you were insistent that you wanted your appearance hidden from everyone. Word spread quickly over the streets of London about the mysterious singer of the Funtom company, including reaching the Queen herself as she was amazed by this singer and sent a letter to Lord Phantomhive herself, requesting the mysterious singer to attend the next ball/event she would plan.

😈Sebastian was quite pleased with how well things were going. Not only was the young masters company becoming extremely popular now, but also you were able to do what you loved which was sing. Of course, Sebastian had to make sure your needs were met and made sure you were not overworking yourself too much as what kind of butler would he be if he didn't provide the best care for you.

😈His favorite song of yours is "Domestic De Violence" . He finds the melody to be very beautiful and finds the lyrics to be very manipulating, but in a good way for him.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine's Day, Shana!

Can we get more from F is for Frankenstein? Or more 3 faced Goddess? (More of the Iron Man stuff basically. I don't even really go there anymore, but your writing is so great)

a continuations of 1 2 3 4

The thing is, Rhodey would actually prefer it if Tony didn’t come for them, if he didn’t risk his life by walking into what is so obviously a trap meant to kill him, even if it meant both he and Steve died instead.

Morgan is a child still, far from ready to take the throne, and Pepper would manage but at the end of the day this country needs its king – need Tony, not only doing the work that he is to win this war, but as a son of Stark, as a member of the family that’s ruled for over a millennia. Even to those that believe the worst rumors about Tony, his presence on the throne is still a comfort, still a sign that the Goddess hasn’t forsaken them. Morgan won’t be viewed the same. She’s too young.

At the end of the day, he and Steve are just soldiers. They’re far more replaceable.

Beyond that, these are the people that made Tony swallow a star. They don’t know he’s the Iron Mage, but they probably assume that the Iron Mage is going to be nearby anyway, and are preparing for it. Which means Tony will have the element of surprise going for him

But when he was nineteen, Tony kissed him under a peach tree, tasting of the fruit they’d shared, and neither of them have looked back since.  

When the situations had been reversed, Rhodey hadn’t given up, hadn’t stopped looking, and if they’d offered him an invitation like they’re offering Tony, he would have taken it regardless of the danger. And he’d like to say he did all that for his king, but he wouldn’t have gone to nearly as much effort for Greg, for Howard.

He did it because it was Tony.

And not an ounce of logic or sense is going to keep Tony from doing the same.

Not that there’ll be any. Pepper probably didn’t even hesitate, he thinks fondly. They’ve been friends and partners too long. He’d tell Tony to go after Pepper too, even while wishing he wouldn’t come after him now.

“Why are you smiling?” Steve asks warily.

Rhodey rolls his head to the side. Steve is eight years younger than him, six years younger than Tony, and most of the time Rhodey doesn’t notice the difference. He’s seen more war than Rhodey has, after all, and has some mannerisms that remind him of his grandfather. He ages slowly, thanks to the sorcerer’s enchantment, but enough people have spelled themselves with a false youth that it’s not jarring enough to be noteworthy.

Right now, he looks even younger than he is, tired and wary. Rhodey would have thought his resignation would make him look older, but instead if brings to mind every child that’s found themselves trapped on the battlefield.

“It’s going to be alright,” he says gently. “He’ll come.”

Steve grimaces and looks away. “Even if he does. They might just kill us anyway.”

They might, but their sorcerers are skilled enough to read the enchantments tangled on top of both of them. Tony would know if Rhodey was dead. They performed that spell long before Tony ever sat on the throne. Which means they’ll keep them alive at least long enough for Tony to see them, which is probably all the time he’ll need.

But that’s nothing he can say to Steve, nothing he’ll understand when he doesn’t know the king is Edward and the Iron Mage both, so he tilts to the side until their shoulders are pressed together and hopes Steve finds comfort in that.

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Am Forever Yours (part 1)

Day 1: Gentleman

Summary: Lucien is his gentlemanly self. Of course, not without being a rake.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1111 (lmao)

Warnings: none, just lucy being a delulu girlie 🤭

A/n: lol it wont be like my if i posted stuff that arent series for character weeks loll. happy @lucienweekofficial to all my fellow lucien simps, i love you all hehe.

(also i wouldnt say he is very gentlemanly in his thoughts, but we all know he wouldnt be 😏)

anyways, ENJOY🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Lucien stood by himself against the wall nearest to the refreshment tables, quietly humming along to the rising tunes of the violins from the opposite corner, eyeing the couples twirling around the dance floor. If he cared, he would have opened a dancing class just to teach the men how to dance. If he were the one dancing with them, he would be so embarrassed.

The women though. They were the embodiment of grace, elegance and poise, so beautiful and twirling like they were born to conquer dance floors.

Alas, Lucien could not do anything to bring them justice except for cursing their partners.

With that depressing thought, Lucien moved away to set his empty glass on the table when someone bumped into him, jerking him forward and making the glass shatter as it hit the floor. Lucien looked at the broken glass, then turned away to look at the perpetrator who led to its demise, and did a double take.

Wide, frantic eyes moved to meet his after surveying the crime scene of the murdered glass, and blinked at him when he did nothing, as if she had expected to be yelled at and he had surprised her.

Her cheeks shimmered lightly under the lights emanating from the numerous chandeliers hanging from the carved ceiling, her shoulders pushed back and enhancing the look of her collar bones. Just the sight of those made Lucien swallow hard.

Who is this goddess?

While Lucien had been busy ogling the lady who clearly hailed from a high family clearly given away by her dressing, an older lady sharing the same hair and eyes appeared, glaring. "Y/n Jade, I cannot believe you would be so clumsy. Do you need to go back to school?"

Y/n?

Definitely moanable-

Fuck.

Pretty, Lucein told himself he meant to say pretty. Pretty name for a pretty lady.

The older lady turned to give Lucien an apologetic glance. "Forgive me, sir, for my daughter has begun to lose her mind." With a scathing glance at Y/n, she continued. "How are you enjoying the party? I haven’t seen you around much. Are you from this city?"

Lucien offered her a polite tilt of his lips. "Yes, though I prefer to travel. I work under my father as his emissary."

Lucien figured this lady did not know of his parentage, and he would love for it to remain that way.

"Oh, that’s wonderful."

Lucien could see the gears turning in the woman’s head, and he wished he had a glass of drink in his hands so he could hide his smirk behind the rim. Even not knowing that he was the youngest prince, everyone wanted their daughters to marry this fine specimen of a gentleman.

And why would they not, Lucien wondered. He was everything anyone could wish for, if just slightly cocky.

Not cocky. Just the slightest bit self assured.

"Well, I fear I must go hunt for my husband to make sure he isn’t making a fool out of himself. Y/n, why don’t you give your new friend some company while I search for your father?"

The lady, who by now was clear was Y/n’s mother, turned away and strode off, leaving Lucien to look at Y/n, who rolled her eyes. It amused Lucien to no end.

This was new.

"So… how old are you?" Lucien mumbled, trying to get rid of the stagnant silence between the two when it became clear that Y/n found the numerous chandeliers and the arguably bad dancers more intriguing than Lucien.

She only spared him a glance before turning her gaze towards the orchestra. "Twenty two."

"I’m twenty five."

She hummed in response.

"Your name is Y/n?"

Finally, she heaved an exasperated sigh and shot him an unamused look. "Yes, I would have assumed that was clear by now."

Lucien blinked. No one talked to him like that, even when he acted like he was one of the lowly townsfolk when he travelled to avoid attention.

"I- I’m Lucien."

"Did I ask?"

He stared at her a moment, eyes widening before dipping his head, fumbling for the first time in his life when talking to a lady. "I… I just thought-"

She snorted. "Stop thinking then."

He nodded dumbly, trying to focus on the strings of the instrument that was leading the song currently playing, the shine of his boot, the crunching glass under his toes, anything to stop himself from focusing on this lady who was thoroughly uninterested in him.

It made him want to interest her even more.

"You’re from which family?"

"Oak."

The favoured advisor of the king would be her father then.

"Y/n Jade Oak? That’s a pretty name."

"I know."

Lucien inhaled, deciding that if he wanted to get a reaction out of this ethereal creature who seemed to not know how to give any reaction other than unbothered, he would have to tell her something she wouldn’t expect. "I’m from the Vanserra’s. The king’s youngest son."

And as Lucien watched her, his eyes unwavering in hopes of catching even the tiniest bit of reaction, he almost nearly cried in joy when he spied her lips twitching at the corners.

"Look, I can do nothing about that. I’m not the one you should be complaining to. Maybe try your mother?"

It took Lucien a moment to comprehend those words, for he was too busy staring at her lips that still retained that slight tilt. And when he did, an unexpected laugh burst out of him. Once he finally got himself under control, he met her surprised eyes, and she blinked at him, as if him laughing was something that had not even crossed her mind.

"My, you’re funny." He grinned, shaking his head. "Are you by any chance engaged?"

She still watched him as she shook her head. "No. They usually decide they’re way too good for an uncultured lady like myself."

He raised a brow. "Well, as much as I want to give my condolences, I simply cannot say I’m sad for you, considering they have just made me courting you easier."

For the first time, Y/n’s composure faltered. "What?"

He offered her a lazy grin as he extended his hand to her, and after a moment of consideration, she placed hers in it. "I would like to court you. If that’s okay with you, I will like to talk to your father right away."

She searched his eyes, then dipped her head in the barest of nods. Lucien smiled, brushing his lips against her knuckles before he straightened.

"Then let’s go find your father, my lady."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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Lucien Vanserra Taglist: @mirandasidefics @tele86

[plus-i-miss-you]

I LOVED THE OREKOTO AND MIKOTO HEADCANONS AUUAU!!! If it's not a bother, could you pls write a prisoner gn!reader comforting mahiru, fuuta, mikoto and amane after t2? Sorry if this is too vague !!

Seeing them all tired and beat up made me miserable... they deserve a kiss on the forehead or smth

▷ listening to:

"but i still forgive you" (gn!reader)

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılıㅤ

♪ note: HI HI ELI so sorry this request has been gathering dust in my inbox for more than a month.. i really wanted to write this but life be life-ing.. i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoy reading this too! (also so sorry if i sound weird but i'm assuming you meant comforting them after t1? ^^'')

♪ summary: es may have done some.. pretty strange decisions and now not only the guard and the guilty prisoners, but everyone has to deal with it, including you. you can't help but feel bad for the guilty ones, and hopefully, you can offer them at least some kind of support.

♪ warnings: description of fuuta and mahiru being in pain because of their injuries, the reader character doesn't know about mikoto and john being a system, but still treats them as respectfully as possible, mentions of cults and religious trauma in amane's section. fuuta, mahiru and mikoto parts can be seen as both romantic and platonic, meanwhile amane's part is strictly platonic.

fuuta kajiyama.

♪ fuuta was.. in terrible condition, to say the least. his personality was so different from the fuuta you knew, too. sure, you've met him not so long ago, but seeing him act like this felt.. weird. you actually kinda missed the old fuuta, yes, he was kinda rude, loud and said things without thinking, but you'd prefer that than seeing fuuta in pain and not being able to say a word. you wish you could help him somehow, but.. what could you do? you doubt that convincing es to forgive him is possible..

♪ you tried to support him at least in an emotional way, even though you knew that might not work. it's highly possible he won't be able to see with his right eye ever again, of course, that's extremely traumatizing. he also got beat up by kotoko out of all prisoners, who actually seemed to be similar to him in a way. but you told him that if fuuta wanted to talk to you about anything, like complain about something or vent, he could always do that. fuuta found your kindness weird and even suspicious at first, but.. fine, he could use a friend in a situation like this. or at least a person who could hear him out.

♪ fuuta finds himself coming to you more often than he thought he would. it's not like he has that many people to talk to here anyway. he's grateful to kazui (even though he doesn't want to admit it), but.. he's not sure if there is anything he can talk to him about. haruka and muu are really close now, it honestly feels like haruka has forgotten about everyone else. oh, but surprisingly, fuuta's been getting along with amane lately- what do you mean, you "have a bad feeling about this", y/n?.. 

♪ you will never actually hear this from him, but you can feel that fuuta is glad to have someone like you here. he looks calmer with you around and if he can't open up to anyone else about something, at least he can open up to you. it's easier for him to fall asleep when you're next to him, so you may find him suddenly doing so with his head on your shoulder or your lap. just, uh.. be prepared for him to be really flustered when he wakes up and sees you.

mahiru shiina.

♪ she's honestly surprised that you want to spend time with her and help her feel better despite her being voted guilty. she immediately starts joking (or maybe half-joking?..) about falling in love with you because of your kindness and you just roll your eyes and ask if she's okay and if she's in any pain. you remind her to take her medications, you ask shidou for help if her condition gets worse and you help her move around with her wheelchair, so that she doesn't feel isolated from the rest of the prisoners. being in milgram is already isolating enough.

♪ you try to help her feel better by doing things that are small and simple to you, but very meaningful to her. you brush her hair, you paint her nails (even if you can only do so on one hand for now..), you tell her that she still looks beautiful, and every time you do that, it makes her smile. it's still different from that usual smile of hers, but it's a smile that shows even though she's still suffering, she appreciates you being around. 

♪ mahiru doesn't understand why you're still helping her. is this because you love her?.. ah, please forgive her, that's just her being her usual silly self. but still.. she wasn't forgiven, right? that means she was in the wrong.. but she doesn't understand what made es vote her guilty. all she did was love her boyfriend a lot, right? does that mean that her love itself is a sin?.. is she not allowed to love at all?.. you gently interrupt mahiru and say that you don't know why es refused to forgive her, but you personally don't think mahiru's love is a sin at all. in fact, it's a blessing.

♪ mahiru feels like the sun itself personified to you and you hope that she gets better soon, but you're also grateful for the opportunity to take care of her like this. she always gives so much love to everyone, you wonder how much she gets back. you softly pat her head while making sure it's not painful considering her injury and ask what she wants to do today, but it takes a while for mahiru to answer because of your words still ringing in her head, but in a good way.

amane momose.

♪ .. so why exactly es decided to vote a child guilty? you know you probably shouldn't say anything about the guard's decisions, but.. this just doesn't make any sense to you. just what did es see in amane's video? or maybe something happened during the interrogation? amane's behavior has changed a lot, but you don't blame her for it. of course she would start acting differently. she's a 12 year old who was voted guilty and almost got beaten up by kotoko, kotoko ending up not doing anything to her was honestly a miracle. of course she would be mad. she should be.

♪ you try to talk to her and she kinda ignores you at first. however, you're not as bad as shidou, so.. fine, maybe she can hang out with you a little bit. it's hard not to feel sorry for her though, because of how messy her hair is and how empty her eyes are. you try to cheer her up somehow, like maybe you can do something really cute with her hair or maybe you can cook something for her (while still respecting her dietary restrictions and not forcing her to eat something she's not allowed to).. amane finds your attempts to become closer with her strange, but.. maybe she could use some company.

♪ every time she mentions her "god" around you though, you try to change the topic. you like amane and you genuinely want this kid to get better, but you're not really feeling like becoming a part of a cult.. amane just sighs and says you'll understand it someday. sometimes you catch her mumbling something about being forgiven this time and es needing to make the correct judgement. you can't really help her much when it happens and you can't do anything other than say that es will definitely forgive her, but amane manages to turn even something simple as that into rambles about her god. you can't help but wonder what amane's life used to be like.

♪ you can't convince amane that her family wasn't as kind as she thinks they were. you can't convince her that the way she was raised was too cruel. you know she won't believe you. and you know you're not a therapist. but at least you can be her friend. at least you can gently guide her, while still giving her a choice, so that she feels more free. more free than she possibly ever was in her life. and even though amane never talks about it, she does appreciate it. she feels strangely warm when you're around. she wonders if it's okay to feel this way and if god would ever forgive her for that. 

mikoto kayano.

♪ you didn't know why mikoto suddenly started to act like this. you tried to get at least some information from others, including es, but nobody gave you a proper answer, even though you had a feeling like kotoko and es know what's going on. for some reason, this mikoto just didn't.. feel like mikoto to you. it's like it was.. different mikoto? no, that doesn't sound right. it felt like it was a completely different person. you couldn't prove it and when you tried to say it out loud, it sounded weird, but.. it felt like a correct answer to you. 

♪ when it felt like it was the mikoto you knew, you always made sure to tell him what's going on, what happened, basically all the information he needed. he always looked so lost and confused, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. you assumed that it was probably because of the trauma related to being voted guilty. you actually couldn't understand es's decision at all. just why would they vote someone like mikoto guilty? was his video really that bad? it didn't feel like mikoto was pretending to be less smarter than he is. why would he even have to do that? you all are murderers here, there's no reason for him to try and trick anyone.

♪ when it felt like it was someone else, you still tried to treat him with kindness. you couldn't understand why everyone started to avoid this person so suddenly. yes, this person was.. quite different from mikoto, but.. maybe at least they could try to accept him? you actually found it surprising how quickly he calmed down after you showed him that you don't intend to hurt him or mikoto. maybe this was the only thing he needed: someone telling him that he's safe and that he's not in danger. or maybe it was something they both needed.

♪ both mikoto and this person seem to actually like you a lot.. well, it's not like they have much of a choice here, considering that other prisoners don't really want to spend time with them. but it looks like they don't mind it that much. yes, mikoto is definitely still worried about it and he doesn't seem to remember what happens when the other person is here, but the other guy doesn't really care about the other prisoners and the only thing that bothers him is how possibly dangerous they can be. and even though he still has his suspicions.. you don't seem that dangerous to him.

[tiramissyoucake]

Hidden Bride

Sae itoshi x reader, royalty x commoner marriage au, characters are 18+, Sae is a little ooc, reader is female, Shidou being gross cameo, reader has a considerably younger sibling, approx 2287 words

CW: none, maybe very VERY slightly suggestive towards the end? No proof reading

Note: I’m so sleepy waaa blew off studying to finish this lol sobs, not super proud of this but I was gonna explode if I didn’t write prince Sae related thingy so enjoy !!

news spread like wildfire in the kingdom when the Royal family announced their oldest son was looking for a bride, everyone had assumed that Prince Sae would marry a woman of similar status however he had refused any offers and suggestions of who he should marry and insisted that he would choose the woman who would become his bride. 

His parents tried talking him out of it, they introduced him to a wide selection of women who were of age to marry and yet Sae didn’t spare them a glance, most girls were either after his family’s wealth and status or they had fallen for his mysterious nature without actually knowing a lick of information about him to which he found pathetic. No matter who was presented, he would be filled with irritation and would discard the suggestions with a disgusted frown.

Sae’s denials echoed in the palace hallways to anyone who dared mention the topic to him, insisting that if he’ll marry a woman then he’ll make sure she’s worthy of him and not just because of the coincidental similarity of their blood being royal.

No one knew what method he would go about for choosing a bride, his routine consisted of finishing his daily responsibilities and he would head out with a single guard (a hand-picked guard he decided was fitting to stand with him after monitoring a training session, although he could do without his blabbering and lewd comments), the guard had told him his full name but he’d only caught ‘Shidou’, not caring enough to remember his full name.

For weeks, Sae would follow his usual pattern of searching: walk around the marketplace, study the civilians who would sell, purchase or just peruse and then go home unsatisfied. His search would be unsuccessful every time he went left, no one displayed behavior that promised an obedient queen, all he saw was nonchalant faces or slack-jawed surprised expressions at his presence, as if his people couldn’t believe he’s a real person and not an unreachable deity of some sort.

Every time he returned to the palace, Everyone around him nagged him that he can’t just stare at civilians and hope to magically find a bride, to which he’d always reply: “as if you have the capacity to understand”, these advisors, his parents, no one understood the vitality of the issue. He believed his parents’ marriage was sheer luck, that their marriage and the fact that they loved each other was the outcome of some bored wager made by fate. As for his advisors, what do they know anyway? They were all old men that cupid himself would be repulsed by, either divorced or destined to die alone.

The one time he leaves palace walls to unwind in the fields beyond the town borders he finally saw a chance of ending these foolish theatrics of bride hunting.

Sae walked down the path trying to think of his current options, either continue his needle-in-a-haystack search for a bride or accept some air-headed rich girl. His main goal out of wedlock was to simply produce an heir and mold them to perfection, he figured he should be able to find a tolerable lover to make this burden less bothersome.

before his mind could even reach a conclusion, he felt something hit his back, he froze in confusion and slowly turned to find… a child? with what he assumed was an angry face, the child’s attire seemed to imply it was from one of those families that preferred to stay on the outskirts of the territories for god knows what reason, the fabric and cut looked different than the ones civilians would wear deeper in the town. A wooden carved toy was on the ground near him, so that’s what hit him.

“Go back to your dumb palace, royal scom!”

‘Scom’? …Did it mean to say ‘scum’? Sae’s guard, Shidou who had been quietly following behind him approached the child with an irritated expression telling him to back off, he was almost tempted to stop his guard to see what this child was raving on about.

Sae knew there were people who opposed the ruling family but he hadn’t known that the influence would reach kids like this, how did this child even recognize him? Before anything could escalate, he saw another figure approach

The figure looked to be near Sae’s age, their features and clothes matched the child’s save for the fact that her features were more feminine and her outfit was best described as a common everyday dress, one that a family with decent savings would give their daughter. He watched her hold the child’s hand and reprimand them softly yet sternly, at least that’s what he assumed from her expression and whatever words his ears had caught

“Where did you go?! You know better than to run off!”

“But he was-“

“No buts! You’re in big trouble! Do you know who this is..?!”

Her voice was laced with concern, she didn’t have the cruelty to be angry at a child for their simple curiosity yet she couldn’t let this child frolic away from the situation without proper lecturing. Sae stopped his over-analyzing as his eyes met hers, Shidou moved forward.

“Listen missy, get that kid of yours on a leash! Or else-“

“Shidou, back off.”

The prince stepped forward, he approached the girl and as he did, the child lifted their small fists as if ready to fight, the girl immediately ushered the child behind her legs stuttering excuses.

“Its.. an honor to be in your presence like this, your royal highness! I apologize for my sibling’s behavior- they’re very wary of strangers.“

‘Sibling’? So this isn’t her child, Sae assumed that she was unmarried then as usually commoner families children would not be married off at this age, unlike royal families that rushed to build family trees and secure heirs.

“What is your name, maiden?” He examined her as he spoke, she acted like a cornered wild animal, worried that she and her sibling would receive punishment for the child’s careless words. She responded with her name.

“I see, I’d like to have a word with your parents.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your parents wouldn’t believe you if you told them the prince himself was in the fields outside town, its a good thing he’d insisted.

Your mother pulled you aside to help prepare a meal for the prince even after he assured he wasn’t hungry, you could hear your father try to interrogate him discreetly and Sae replied smoothly to everything he threw at him. You could feel Sae’s calculative stare as you tried keeping busy assisting your mother at preparing the meal.

You were called over by your father, you mentally thanked the gods for their discussion ending, you could not have prepared yourself mentally enough.

“Your daughter possesses the proper attributes to be my wife, I will be marrying her.” the prince’s utterance sounded more like a command rather than a question.

Your heart fell to your stomach, immediately a look of shock was evident on your features, Sae didn’t know whether to laugh or awe at it. Your father had a look that did not hide the murderous intent, he wanted you to hear this directly from the supposed ‘honorable prince’.

After your parents took a moment to discuss this seriously, the prince waited outside your home ignoring his guard’s rambling about you. Your family decided to allow you to choose, they didn’t want to throw you to the prince however they were worried about what would happen if they denied him a bride. 

You thought about how this position as the prince’s bride would help you help your family directly, at least you would be able to live in the town instead of making those exhausting back and forth trips, even if the prince would move the small home you lived into town as it is you would be happy.

Opening the front door after your parents had a tearful last discussion with you, the prince turned away from his guard.

“And I’m telling you- those hips? perfect for-“

“Shut your mouth, horny demon.”

The prince swiftly silenced the guard, you suspected what they were talking about given the smug look on the guard’s face but decided against thinking about it. The prince approached you, waiting for your answer.

“Well, maiden? What is your answer?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You felt out of place, like a doll made of wood among porcelain figures, Sae had hired trainers and tutors for anything and everything he deemed necessary for you to learn as his wife. An etiquette consultant for dinners, dancing instructor for balls, to top your busy days off the tailor regularly visited you in your quarters to drop off dresses and such you were expected to wear around your husband or in the ‘comfort’ of your new home.

The change was exhausting to deal with and even now, a month after the overly extravagant wedding, you found yourself struggling to keep up with Sae’s expectations although he seemed lenient enough towards you.

Speaking of your husband, he rarely showed you any affection at all. he had small ways of showing you he did care but it takes a sharp eye to notice.

on your wedding day Sae kept his hand over your shaking one as a silent way to comfort you, in a moment of privacy during the wedding he had whispered to you lowly and smoothly as if you were an antique fragile doll: “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you”

he would reprimand your instructors if he received word of them being cruel to you, Sae was usually calm and collected but you had wondered what happened for your ballroom instructor to apologize so earnestly to you the next time you had a lesson.

The last thing you can think of that reminded you of Sae’s genuine feelings was his cool gaze, if his eyes were to sweep a room and briefly stop at you- you could feel it. an enveloping feeling overwhelms you whenever he stared at you, even if you were in your deepest sleep you could feel it. You never felt threatened or scared of his observance; it made you feel safe in this foreign setting, as if a constant reminder of your wedding day.

Another day in this royal hell has been completed, you recently bid farewell to your tailor who had dropped off the final batch of clothes for you, the newest garments were nightgowns soft to the touch made of the smoothest silk Sae could find. as you examined one of the many nightgowns you felt flustered at how revealing they are, some were translucent others were a bit short- you had no idea how royals were able to indulge in these.

You heard the room door open and close, turning away from the clothes you saw your husband removing his baroque-patterned vest allowing his white shirt to flow off his chest, you heard him putting away the vest while you were putting away the nightgowns and that familiar feeling would wash over you; he was examining you.

The room was quiet and you could hear him slowly approach, Sae took his sweet time examining the view, you looked adorably clueless trying to act oblivious to his movements until he settled his hands on your shoulders. He had to hold back a smile at the way you squirmed at the feeling of his cold hands contact your skin.

“They look lovely,” he muttered, looming over you to examine the clothes. He leaned down to your ear as if to coax you out of your shyness that you harbored so closely when you were around him “would you like to wear this for the night?”

“.. Are you sure? Is it not too revealing..?”

“Nonsense, you’re my wife and I am your husband, I would love to see you in any and all appearances.”

His suggestion made you more flustered than you already were and yet for some reason you found yourself nodding slowly, he took the liberty to help you out of your dress unable to keep his eyes from wandering across any newly exposed parts of your body. He found you divine, a hidden gem in this cave of boring rocks who weren’t even worth a second glance.

You knew your place, he loved that about you, you kept your head down when you needed but you weren’t completely submissive to the point of being pushed around easily by equals.

Removing the dress fully, he took this chance to glide one hand down from your shoulder to your arm and slipping to your waist, pulling your back to his chest as he let out a sigh that made your heart quicken.

“You’re radiant, whether fully dressed or completely bare.”

The nightgown he chose from the collection showed off your shoulders, he landed a kiss onto your exposed shoulder, his hold on your waist returning after he’d helped you slip on the silk comfortably. This is the first time he’s been this openly affectionate with you, the stress of his search and the relief of finding a bride were the only two things he could think about right now.

He kissed at your neck, featherlight kisses tickling your skin as he resisted the urge to continue, he didn’t want to force you into intimacy so early into your marriage as to not scare you off. he snapped out of his lustful haze when he felt your hands settle over his that were around your waist as if to assure him that you’re here, his bride, his queen.

This night would bestow another sound slumber to the newlyweds.

[bruh-myguy-what]

May I please request [WET] with Rex or Gregor or Howzer or Hunter? 🤣🙈 thank you, you wonderfully talented thing you! 💕

Hello, dear friend 😅

I'd like to formally apologize for disappearing on this ask/request for so long. I feel horrible 😓...BUT, I refused to allow that to prevent me from finishing it! SO! Almost a year later, here if your request!

Honestly, I struggled so much with picking between Howzer and Gregor haha I haven't written for any of your boys you suggested before so I felt the most comfortable with Howzer. Though, if you have any more requests, I'd be more than happy to make those about the other two 😏 Also, I started this far before season 3 came out haha sooooo, I just went with what I had mostly written.

Anyway! Here you are, friend!

The Downpour

Pairing: Captain Howzer x fem!reader

Warnings: none really? A little risqué but nothing NSFW- still not entirely my forte just yet haha, but some good kissing.

Summary: Howzer is hiding himself away, on a planet that should keep him safe until Rex and Gregor can come back for him with a few other Clone Rebels. Until then, he is at the mercy of a woman Rex had contact with to keep the clone Captain fed. But Howzer is struggling with rising feelings he never knew a military man like himself could feel.

Word Count: 3k

Though on a different planet, hiding was still a top priority to Howzer, especially now that he not only had to protect himself but you, as well. It hadn’t been long since Rex and Gregor, along with a few other rebellious clones, found a secluded place for the rogue to settle. Rex had a few connections to people in the neighboring town so Howzer had someone to help supply food or whatever he may need and that was how he stumbled upon you- the one who helped far more than he could’ve ever asked. You not only supplied food but comfort when he would have sudden bouts of panic and flashbacks of seeing his brothers die in battle. Not just comfort, but encouragement, kindness, understanding…compassion. For a clone. For someone expendable. Replaceable. However, you’d told him multiple times he wasn’t, there was no way he could understand how you’d believed that. You were so unique, so breathtakingly exotic to him, and yet…the only thing that made him any different than his brothers was the scars on his face from the battles he’d seen. Nevertheless, no matter how he’d felt about what you may have seen in him, he promised to protect you with every possible effort he could muster. You made the little shack he took shelter in a home and as reckless as the thought was, Howzer fully believed that he would prefer death before he’d let the Empire take that feeling from him. But of course, you were oblivious to all of the overwhelming affection that he scarcely kept from boiling over every time you’d show up at his door with that smile that he spent nights dreaming about.

Today was only a little different…

It was a cloudy, overcast day and Howzer assumed rain would be expected at some point in the day but being new to the region he was still growing accustomed to the exotic weather patterns. So, going about his day as he normally would, while waiting for you, he busied himself with straightening up the small shack for your arrival. There was hardly room to make a mess, though that didn’t stop the clone from feeling as if he needed to make the place as perfect for you as he could, every single time. Howzer could feel his fingers fidgeting nervously, adjusting the vase of native flora in the center of the table back and forth a few times to keep his hands busy. He’d found a bush of wild flowers a day or two ago, during his daily trek of the surrounding woods, and decided that he wanted to surprise you with them during one of your regular stop-ins. The feeling you gave him was an entirely new experience for the clone, he’d only ever known war and militia- cold nights and dangerous encounters. But you gave him gentle touches and warm smiles that brought a whole new perspective to his life- a softer perspective and he craved it.

Blinking, Howzer realized he’d been daydreaming of you once again, brought back to reality by the grounding sound of heavy rain hammering the roof above his head. Glancing out the window to see if the sound matched the actual amount of rain outside, Howzer glimpsed your silhouette amongst the trees. “She’s lost her mind!” He panicked to himself as he grabbed for his raincoat by the door, rushing out into the torrent to meet you halfway. The rogue clone shouted your name over the loud rain, bounding up to you. “Howzer!” You simply greeted him with a grin that nearly toppled him. The hand over your forehead, protecting your face from the rough battering of rain, moved to wave innocently at the man approaching you.

Once in front of one another, Howzer’s breath ragged from his sprint to you, he realized that the coat was useless, noticing how soaked through you’d become despite his efforts. Taking in your drenched figure, heat rose to warm his cheeks from the cold air when he observed how the wet fabric folded over your curves. “Seems a little silly for us both to be soaked, don’t you think, Captain?” You laughed playfully as you wiped at the water in your eyes. “I mean, look at you,” You motioned to his t-shirt that was now clinging to his well-muscled torso, taking a secret moment to admire it for yourself.

“I-uh,” he fought with his thoughts, the sight of your figure distracting him from the words he knew he needed to say to explain why he’d run out to meet you. Squeezing his eyes shut to think, he chuckled out a breath at his internal struggle. “You make me a fool, cyare. That’s my only defense.” He finally muttered against the rain, meeting your eyes with a charming smile.

Perplexed by seeing his lips move but not processing what he was saying because of the loud pattering of the rain, you blinked a few times. “Sorry, Captain” you teased his title again, “I’m afraid the rain is drowning out your voice.” Leaning to look past the larger man, you then glanced up at his face to see he was fixated on your eyes. “Maybe we should head inside, then you can tell me what you wanted to say.”

-

Once inside the humble shack, you shuffled out of the soaked jacket you had tossed on before leaving. Glancing over your shoulder at Howzer, noting that he was placing his usual paranoid locks in place, you queried, “So what was it that you said out there, Howzer?”

“Oh! Uh-“ Howzer stumbled over his words momentarily, remembering exactly what he’d unintentionally let slip, and silently praised the rain for being loud enough to cover his mistaken confession. “I-I was saying that you are incredibly insane for walking all the way here in that mess of rain.” His chuckle warmed your chilled bones as he took a seat on one of the wooden chairs at the small round table you, yourself were standing near. His honey eyes glimmered against his wet hair, which was currently plastered against his forehead, “Though, I’ve come to find that your unpredictable nature is endearing.” and the boyish grin that followed after made you surprisingly bashful.

A light blush touched your cheeks as you swatted him away, “I didn’t choose to walk through the deluge out there haphazardly, ya know! It just started pouring on my way over here”, your laugh trailing off as you pulled out the rations you were supposed to be delivering. “Halfway here I realized the rations were probably ruined as well…Sorry, Howzer.” The drenched packages that slopped onto the counter from your bag gave away the condition of the contents. A pout fell over your face and Howzer could hardly keep his heart steady as he saw the precious upturn of your brows.

The captain could hear the remorse and guilt weaving through your normally bubbly voice, so he waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it, we can figure something else out, mesh’la. Besides, you should know by now, the rations are nice,” he chuckled, “but the company is far more valuable to me.” You had only met a handful of clones throughout your life, many of the Clone Wars had affected the planet around you, but never yours so that left the planet more for the stationing of the clones- but very rarely. The ones you had met had seemed far more rough around the edges, more militant than Howzer was, at least around you. He was always so gentle and notably affectionate. Certainly not that you were complaining, the way he treated you was special enough to swoon you from early on. A handsome military man with a compassionate heart was hardly something anyone could deny for too long.

Especially one with such an adorable smile such as his.

“I uh-” Howzer clearing his throat brought you back as he tapped his fingers against the table, “I saw these while I was on one of my walks the other day.” A subtle gesture toward the mason jar of wildflowers brought your attention to them, “they reminded me of you so I thought I’d bring them back and, uh, see how you liked them.” His eyes flickered between your reaction and the flora between the two of you. It wasn’t the first time the clone captain had been unsure of exactly what to say around you, not by a long shot, but the current situation felt more difficult than others.

“For…me?” The sweet innocence in your voice betrayed the devastatingly sinful way the wet clothes accentuated your figure for his trained eye, so in an attempt to compose himself, Howzer fiddled with pushing his wet hair back and out of his face.

“Yeah, for you, mesh’la” he cleared his throat again to steady his growing anticipation. Watching as your beautiful eyes widened in realization, picking the jar up to inspect it closer, Howzer felt his left leg begin to bounce against the wood floor. The silence felt suffocating as you continued to run your finger delicately through the flowers, not glancing even once over at the anxious captain. It gave enough pause for Howzer to overthink his words, maybe he should’ve explained more the reason why he picked them? Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything? Had he said too much? Or worse…were these flowers that he thought were pretty just seen as weeds on your planet and now you thought he was insulting you?

Oh, stars…what if you thought he was insulting you!

“They’re so beautiful, Howzer,” your voice was soft and wistful enough to halt every worrying thought swirling inside of him. “I can’t believe you gathered them just for me. I really appreciate that.” You held the jar close to your chest and he was met with another one of your devastating smiles that made his heart stop in its thundering rhythm. The sparkle in your eyes hypnotized him, reeling him into what felt like a world where just your smile existed. There was no Republic, no Empire, no war, no Order 66, no hiding for safety…just the dream that was so perfectly…you. In this world, there were no repercussions for how he felt. He could love you freely as his heart desired, finally know the way you’d feel wrapped up in him, he wouldn’t have to worry about you being hurt by anyone because of him.

You could properly be his, the way he wanted to be yours.

“You are breathtaking, mesh’la…”

The words caught you off guard, your eyes having traveled back down at some point to look over the floral arrangement in your hands now snapped back over to see the clone captain gazing at you lovingly, as if he were looking upon a rare star. “H-Howzer…?”

It seemed as if he were enchanted by something as he stood up from his chair, being drawn in by the longing to touch you, “forgive me, I know this is sudden,” Howzer began in a low tone, his fingers caressing your hand as he approached, removing the jar gently and placing it aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” the way he breathed your name elicited goosebumps across your arms, his rough fingertips chasing them up to carefully cup your neck. Brown eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort from his sudden display but he could find nothing of the such, surprise, elation, and confusion perhaps, but not an ounce of displeasure. Your wet cheeks felt warmer and warmer by the second, the restriction of the clothes that clung to your body becoming alarmingly apparent. “I could’ve chosen a better time to do this, I guess.” Chuckling as he wiped away a stray drop of rain that cascaded down your jaw to your neck where his warm hand was still settled.

“No,” your voice startled you, speaking before you even realized, “please…don’t stop. I-I…you’re very warm this close.”

“I could warm you up a little more,” the shift in his eyes was alluring as one of his hands slid back to cradle the back of your head, gently tangling his fingers through your wet hair, tilting your face up a little more to glance between your eyes and lips, “that is, if you’d allowed me, cyra’ika?” His grin melted any resolve you had to deny him for the sake of Rex and any other clones that might need their brother in top shape…not distracted by a romantic entanglement.

Your heart fluttered wildly against your chest, curiosity overwhelming you, “warm me up more?” and at his simple nod, you continued, “h-how?” Your hands finally came up to slide over his wet shirt, settling at his chest as he stepped even further into your space.

“I could tell you,” Howzer began, “or I could show you how beautiful I think you are.” he finished softer, the same fire behind his eyes. Thousands of possibilities ran wild through your mind at the offer, but before you could choose just one, hearing his gruff voice whisper your name to catch your immediate attention. “It would be an honor of mine to kiss you…please.”

Without answering, you surged upward to crash against him in a desperate attempt to quell some of the burning in your chest for the man before you. Howzer grunted at the sensation of feeling you against him finally, tasting your lips for the first time nearly bringing him to his knees. One of his hands stayed firmly at the back of your head, the other sliding down to press your lower back, pushing you further into him- craving the sensation of you everywhere. The way your lips slid against his in a fervent kiss made his head spin and the surprise of this even being reality instead of one of his many dreams caused him to pull away only a fraction to allow a whisper of your name to echo between the two of you. “Yes, Captain?” Your response was just as quiet as his, the title more of a pet name when spoken from your lips, “Don’t tell me you’re going to retreat from me now.” You always had such a sweet, innocent sparkle to your eye, and the way you gazed up at him currently with the same glimmer but this time with a haze of lust and hooded eyes made the clone captain even more resolute in his sudden decision.

“I’d be a kriffing fool, mesh’la,” Howzer pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding dominantly into your mouth, claiming the treasure that was your moan. “A kriffing fool…” he repeated, almost breathlessly before he dove back in to devour you once more. The heated exchange was nearly dizzying, as he kissed you repeatedly, pulling away for only moments long enough to breathe. You’d always experienced his passion when he spoke of his brothers, the Clone Wars, Ryloth, and even Hera- the little Twi’lek girl he watched over often. But experiencing his passion in such an intimate way felt surreal and with his lips now trailing down your jaw to leave warm kisses against your neck you muttered his name through heavy breaths. “Yes, cyar’ika?” The gravel in his voice vibrated through your body.

“Wh-What do those words-” you were interrupted by a sudden gasp as he pulled aside the wet shoulder of your shirt to kiss your wet skin, “those words mean…the names you call me.”

Howzer hummed in pleasure at your question, kissing back along to your collarbone, “my Mando’a pet names for you,” he began, only stopping to speak against your cold skin, “Mesh’la,” he kissed your clavicle, “means beautiful. Which you are, to me.” Lips leaving kisses across to the other shoulder, “Cyar’ika” a warm open-mouthed kiss to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, “means darling, or sweetheart- interchangeably. And you are both of those things, my darling and my sweetheart.” His whispers only heightened the sensation of his kisses against your skin. “Cyare”, this one he paused for a moment, considering if he should give the truth of the definition to you, or what others could use the word to mean. As his lips kissed up the column of your neck, Howzer felt the way your hands gripped at the cloth of his shirt, fortifying his determination. Leaving a kiss just below your ear he whispered, “Mean beloved.” Your shuttering gasp made him smile against your skin, “which you are. You are my beloved.”

It felt like a dream as you felt him encircle you within his arms, head rising to meet your eyes once more, his damp hair, you noticed, having come to fall back onto his forehead. “You are everything I never even considered and if you’ll continue to let me, I would love to show you just how deeply I care about you, mesh’la.” His eyes spoke more than his words, the way they glimmered eagerly to shower you with his affection.

It felt as if your heart were bound to burst upon all of the sudden emotions, but you merely took a deep breath and matched his growing smile, “I would love that, Howzer. Please, show me how much you care about me, so that I may do the same for you.”

Mischief filled his smile as he caressed your cheek adoringly, “Then if you don’t, let’s get you out of these drenched clothes, what do you say?”

[suzukiblu]

Another excerpt from the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one).

Previously-posted excerpts: one | two

Thirteen is in a cell in the basement, to Match's entire lack of surprise–that's standard procedure, with his class of prisoner. There are no guards on the floor, but Thirteen is currently suspended in an anti-grav field in the center of the room.

No way to use his TTK on anything but himself, then.

That's not as secure a containment procedure as the Agenda thinks it is.

Match should inform them of that. And he will inform them of that.

Eventually.

"Superman," Match says as he inspects the room for a power source or some manner of off switch for the field. Thirteen says nothing, because he's unconscious. Sedated, presumably, which is also standard procedure with his class of prisoner.

That would explain the lack of guards despite Thirteen's recorded tendency to escape, Match supposes. Though there'll be someone watching the cameras either way, of course, so they don't have long before someone shows up.

The reinforced door on the other side of the room tears off its hinges and reveals Superman standing behind it. His eyes are blazingly red. There's crumpled metal twisted up in his hands.

"I found the other experiments," he says.

"Were they viable?" Match asks.

"No," Superman says, very darkly. Match wonders if that means Superman killed them, or if that means they were already dead. It's not really something he's going to think too much about either way.

He has a lot of dead brothers, after all. Some of them he killed himself.

Assuming that he uses Thirteen's definition of what a "brother" is, anyway.

They have a lot of dead brothers from Cadmus, too.

Or at least twelve of them, anyway.

Superman strides forward into the room, staring up at Thirteen's suspended form. Match inspects the power source he's found.

"I think I can disable the anti-grav," he says. "I don't see any traps or failsafes, at least."

"Then disable it," Superman says. He's still just looking at Thirteen.

He's only ever looked at Thirteen.

Match wonders what might've happened if he'd just pretended to be Thirteen after all, and never told Superman anything about this lab. It's a stupid thing to wonder, though.

He already knows Superman doesn't even like Thirteen, whether he looks at him or not. There's no reason he'd like Match any better.

Even if he is a better experiment.

Match disassembles the power source with a quick burst of TTK and the field deactivates. Thirteen falls out of the air. Superman catches him in his arms.

Match wonders why he bothered. It's not like the fall would've injured Thirteen. He's not even conscious enough to have noticed the impact.

"Ngh," Thirteen says, his eyelashes fluttering restlessly.

. . . alright, maybe he would've noticed the impact.

Still, though.

"You're safe, Kon," Superman tells Thirteen quietly. "I've got you."

"Ngh," Thirteen repeats, and then just sinks back into unconsciousness and goes completely limp in Superman's arms. There is no trace of wariness or fear or anything but absolute faith in those words in any part of him.

Match cannot even imagine ever having a similar interaction with another sentient being.

He feels . . . odd, he thinks, hearing Superman say "Kon". He knows it's one of Thirteen's preferred aliases, of course–he's heard the various members of Young Justice all use it more than once, usually by unknowingly calling him by it. It's not a secret or anything.

He's never heard Superman use it before, though.

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter four: walking slow (i’m all alone) | read chapter three

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5k

━ warnings: blood, minor injury

━ masterlist

“So, what brings you to Keystone? Internship?”

You watch Flash serve himself a cherry Slurpee. Then after a moment of contemplation, pick up another cup and serve blue raspberry. 

Your eyebrows raise but you still answer. “Yeah. Internship.”

“You go to GU, then? Who are you working for?”

You blink and he’s at the counter, one blue raspberry Slurpee set in front of you, with him already sipping on his as he awaits your answer. 

“I’m here for Quickstart.”

“Quickstart, huh? Workin’ with Jesse Chambers?”

“Hardly. I’m just an underling with the PR department.” 

The company’s main location was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, anyway, so Jesse Chambers, Quickstart Enterprises’ CEO, could be found there. Not to say she didn’t drop into Keystone’s location, though. She did. Quite frequently, according to your supervisor. 

“So you came all the way out here for it. They have a location in Gotham, don’t they?”

“Harder to get into,” you say dryly. “Plus, I couldn’t afford to study abroad, so this is the next best thing.”

He laughs. The sound surprises you, mostly because it sounds genuine. Any attempts to squash down your own pleasure at making him—a world renowned superhero—laugh that way fails tremendously. Oh, well. You’re only human. Anyone would appreciate making one of these guys genuinely laugh. If you made Wonder Woman laugh, you think your life would be complete. You could die there and wouldn’t be upset about it.

(Flash is cool but he’s not that cool, sorry.) 

His laughter tapers off, a smile lingering behind. He gestures to the Slurpee. 

“That’s for you, you know.”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

“Assume.”

Your lips twitch. “Thank you. I’ll pay for it.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? Kid, I wouldn’t get it for you and make you pay for it. That’s messed up. I’m paying for it.”

“You don’t—”

“So!” He belches, then pats his stomach. “‘Scuse me. What’s the dream, then? Y’wanna work at Quickstart after you graduate?”

You sip at the Slurpee. “Not necessarily… but I wouldn’t say no to it.”

“Then?”

You lift a shoulder. “Wayne Enterprises, probably.”

“Ooh. The big one. Not LexCorp? I hear the going rate for a spokesperson there is high…”

“Yeah, because they have to constantly field rumors about illicit R&D projects and illegal Kryptonite shipments.”

He barks a laugh and you shake your head, smiling. 

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass. WE has a better track record and they still pay well.”

“True enough. Probably also less likely to be indicted as an accomplice for something or another.”

“Exactly.”

“Ever thought about the Titans? Or the League?” 

“And be at constant risk of kidnapping or death?”

“To be fair, I think you have that risk when working at Wayne Enterprises, too. And also, we are obligated by contract to rescue any and all employees that get kidnapped.”

“The fact that that is a clause in an employee contract is a bit of a red flag.”

“Or a green flag,” he counters. “Wayne probably doesn’t have that. If you get kidnapped, that’s it. You’re just—gone.”

“That’s… a comforting thought.”

“Just sayin’. Though I guess the average person would be much happier with something ‘normal’ like WE. Family and loved ones, too.”

You nod thoughtlessly. “If my parents were alive, I’m sure they’d prefer that.”

He blinks. You wince. Right…

You take a sometimes flippant approach to the death of your parents; if anyone makes dead parent jokes the most between you and Tim, it is definitely you, though they never cease to amuse him and Steph. 

“It’s nothing,” you say in the next moment, glancing up at him. “Sorry.”

He huffs. “Jeez, what are you apologizing for? If anyone should—”

“It’s fine, Flash. It happened when I was a teenager. I have a bad habit of joking about it just to… not make things too heavy.”

“Sure. Sure. I get it. I’m, like, the leading authority on using comedy as a defense mechanism.”

You laugh. “Very self-aware.”

“I try.” He pauses, head tilting as he looks at you. “I am sorry, though. That they’re gone.”

You smile bracingly and shrug. “Can’t change it. But thanks.”

“And it’s cool what you want to do. Really. Good luck at Quickstart.”

You smile and it feels genuine.  

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

He gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up, then he’s gone, blue lightning zapping in his wake, fine hairs on your arms raising because of it. The accompanying gust of wind knocks some stuff off the shelves but you don’t mind.

Flash isn’t so bad. Not bad at all.

“So… what’s your story?”

“In the present, I am being harassed by a vigilante—”

A soft groan. “Come on. You know what I mean.”

You suppress a smile, fixing the display of Lays chips. Next to you, Red Robin watches you for a moment, then does the same for a display of Takis.

“Don’t you already know?”

“What makes you say that?”

People call Batman the world’s greatest detective. You’re sure the trait has to pass down to his underlings.

You relay that to Red, who huffs.

“We are not his underlings. That’s a little offensive, you know.”

“You know what I mean,” you say, throwing his earlier words back to him, stepping over to the candy section, organizing packs of gummy bears and gummy worms. 

You partially expect him to get annoyed again but he lets out a soft snicker, amused by something. Your gall, maybe.

But after thinking about it for a while, you are the person with the advantage here. After all, Steph and Tim know you are getting vigilantes as visitors. Even if you piss him or any of the others off, if they do something, you very much trust your friends to raise hell about it. 

And, well, there is something deceptively familiar about Red Robin. Enough so to lure you into this weird sense of comfort. Like he’s a friend or something.

(Which is ridiculous. You know that. But you can feel that way as long as you acknowledge it.)

“Pass me some gummy bears? Thanks. Well, it is true that I could get that information—”

“Not have?”

“I like to give people the benefit of doubt.”

“Really?”

“Give me a break,” he complains but you catch the twitch of his lips as he fights a smile. 

“Alright,” you relent. “You were saying?”

He shrugs. “A record is just a record. It’s not the full picture, is it?”

“I guess not.”

“So.” He makes an aimless gesture to you. “Fill in the gaps for me?”

You finally chuckle. “There’s not much to tell, Red. I was born here. Have lived here all my life. Parents are dead. Died in the earthquake. That’s really it.” 

“Sorry about your parents,” he offers.

“It’s fine.”

“But that can’t be it.”

“You seem very certain about that.”

“W-Well,” he stammers, making your eyebrows raise. “Just—call it a hunch.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say doubtfully. “Is there something specific you’re after?”

He relaxes some. “I mean… you’re in school, right?” 

You nod, deciding to pause your work right now to focus on this conversation, a bit curious yourself as to why he even wants to know. 

To better his reputation, perhaps. It is not wrong to say you have your own reservations regarding the city’s vigilantes but again, that’s just a side effect of their effective management of it—ruling by fear. Why change that for you? You’re no one special. 

“So… what do you want to do when you graduate? Any hopes and dreams? Anywhere you want to work?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You sound like my friends,” you say, shaking your head.

Steph knows where you’d like to work. The answer has been the same since you started college and picked your major. The dream is somewhere like Wayne Enterprises. One of the few companies that you actually trust, that you think are doing good work for the world. 

But you obviously can’t say that to Tim, whose adoptive father owns the company. 

Steph says you can. That he’s not going to think you’re telling him that to get a leg-up in the application process. You believe it, too. You’ve known Tim long enough for at least that. But it’s still a little bit embarrassing.

“It can’t be that bad. It’s not, like… LexCorp, right?”

You laugh. “No way. Of course not.”

His lips curve, seemingly pleased by something. “Then?”

You scratch your cheek. “I dunno. Wayne Enterprises, I guess. They’re not… the worst.”

“No LexCorp, that’s for sure.”

“Half of the appeal.”

“What’s so wrong with wanting to work there?” he asks next, head tilting.

“Ah, you know…” you say evasively, turning to resume your work. “Everyone and their dog wants to work there. For a good reason, of course. I dunno. Guess I just feel a little basic for it.”

That’s a lie, of course. You’re embarrassed because of your connection to Tim and his connection to the company. Like out of all the companies that you actually want to work at… it’s the one his adoptive father owns. It’s the one where Tim himself had a brief stint as major shareholder when he was seventeen. Where he worked there for several years and only recently began cutting his work back…

He sits on that for a while, following you around like a persistent puppy as you organize things. 

“I think it’s a cool aspiration,” he eventually says after he helps carry a box of candy and chips to be restocked, kneeling on the shitty tiled floors to help you.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“And I don’t think you should be embarrassed about it… they try to do good at WE. Nothing wrong with wanting to join to help that.”

“Well, it’s not that selfless. I’d really be there to get them publicity and cover up scandals.”

He snickers. “Still. I’m sure your friends would support you, too.”

“They would,” you agree, sighing. 

“Is that bad?”

“It’s complicated,” you say vaguely.

“Un-complicate it.”

“Not a word. Also not that easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

The box with the chips is full of those styrofoam packing peanuts. You grab a bag of chips, then one of the packing peanuts, tossing it at him. He barely reacts as it bounces off the bridge of his nose, looking steadily at you. 

“Why does it matter to you?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“You’re curious? Is that specific to now or in general? Because…” Can’t help but prod just a little at his intentions because it surely has to be something more than trying to prove a point. 

“Is it concerning for you to have my curiosity?” he asks lightly.

“Befuddling is a better word. You still haven’t answered my question, by the way.”

You have entirely abandoned the task at hand. Red is fine to stay crouching, not even once swaying on his feet as he shifts to face you more fully, but you are not him, so you settle on the tile, legs crossed underneath you as you look at him expectantly.

He tilts his head. You can’t help the way your eyes cling to the shift of his dark hair. It feels so familiar to you. Everything about him. Although this moment, the sudden tension, is not so familiar. The worst part is you can’t even decide whether it’s good tension or bad tension. He’s… annoying. 

(Beguiling, really.)

He sighs, the sound amused rather than tired, and your eyes can’t help but catch the lift of his lips. Pink and… very soft-looking. 

“Alright, fine,” he says. “I’m curious in general about you. As for the why… you’re not the worst company I’ve ever kept.”

“And considering—”

“Considering the company I keep are the others, who are fine within their own right, as well as the likes of criminals, you’re a breath of fresh air.”

Your face goes hot. “So, the bar isn’t very high.”

“What, do you care for what I think?” he asks and something about his tone, gently teasing, makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.

“Of course not.”

“Really? Sort of seems like you do.”

Can’t deny that. Not with how flustered you’re growing. So, you deflect.

“And you?”

“I admit to it,” he says easily, shrugging, still smiling. “Like I said, you’re not the worst company I’ve ever kept. I like you. I want to learn more about you. And manage to stay on your good side, too.”

“You aren’t doing a good job.”

He leans forward, curve of his lips settling into something almost like a smirk. “Aren’t I?”

You glower at him. “You suck, you know that?”

He leans back, pleased as the cat that got the canary. “Whatever you say.”

Ugh.

It was a particular kind of pathetic to be treasuring all the things Tim ever gave you since he, you know, doesn’t talk to you much these days.

But you have to get your Tim Drake fill in somehow.

Today’s activity is the few playlists he’s ever shared with you, mostly alternative and indie, playing on the speakers overhead. Though it includes more than a couple Bruce Springsteen songs as well, again, in homage of his father. You and Steph can hardly tease him about it, other than maybe a poke at his affinity for listening to older groups, like Oasis. 

Either way, you aren’t thinking of making fun of him for it.

Mostly, you just miss him. 

Like you always do these days, accompanied with the usual soul-crushing guilt at the fact, at the why behind it. 

In this moment, however, you are not so willing to partake in the usual moral quandary or self-flagellation. 

Like you said, mostly, you’re caught up in missing him. 

“You know, I realized I never got around to asking how you are.”

Red’s voice startles you from serving yourself a cup of blue raspberry Slurpee. You barely heard him come inside…

A frown tugs at your lips. His voice sounds weird. 

Nonetheless, you press a cap to the cup and respond. “How I am in regards to what?”

“Everything that happened that night with Huntress.”

You step around the aisle. “I’m—holy shit, dude!”

Blood flows heavily from his nose. A bruise is already forming on his cheek and he leans against the counter, gloved hand cupped to his bleeding nose. Something about it doesn't sit right with you, stomach rolling at the sight of him injured like this. 

“It—it really looks worse than it looks.”

You turn sharply, not responding to that as you set your cup aside and snatch up several napkins, then stride back over to him. He takes them from you quickly, using them to stem the blood flow, leaning his head forward. As he does so, you spot a cut on his temple, bleeding heavily, too. 

“Jesus, Red, are you okay?”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Shouldn’t I be asking that? You heard me, right?”

“That is so not the point right now. Wait here. We have some first aid stuff…”

“You don’t have to—”

“Save the heroics, Red. I do.” 

He reads the tension in your voice, falling silent. You take it as the sign to do what you need to, turning again to find the aisle with toiletries. You get what you need, then go back to him, finding him sitting on the floor now, napkins still pressed to his nose.

“Broken?”

His head lifts slightly at the sound of your voice. You sit down next to him.

“No, luckily. Just… got hit hard.”

“I can tell,” you say, frowning, eyeing the bruise on his cheek. “How’s the bleeding?”

“Starting to slow. Should be a couple more minutes. I’ll be fine.”

You purse your lips and don’t respond, instead opening up your supplies to take care of the cut on his temple. 

“You really don’t have to, you know.”

“And yet, you get to come in here and check up on me?”

“Kind of my job, isn’t it?”

“Since when has any of this just been about that?”

A brief moment of silence as you rip open an antiseptic pad, wiping your hands, the acrid smell of alcohol burning your nostrils. 

Finally, he lets out a tired chuckle. “You got me there.”

“Unfortunate that you had to stumble in like this to get that,” you murmur, reaching up for him with another antiseptic pad but pausing before you touch him. “Can I?”

“Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”

You carefully push away his hair; it is damp with sweat, as is his hairline. Most likely from the oppressive heat and humidity and from whatever fight he just came from. 

“Gonna sting,” you say in warning, then press the pad to the cut. As it soaks up the blood and cleans the cut, you get a better look at it. Not too big or too deep. Head wounds always bleed excessively.

He says that exact thing in the next second.

For whatever reason, it endears you, your lips twitching, injecting some much-needed levity.

“I know,” you say simply. “Doesn’t look too bad, either. Not like it needs stitches, anyway.”

“Good. My patrol isn’t over yet.”

You sigh, shifting onto your knees next to him as you discard the bloodied pad, reaching for another one to clean the area around it. 

“Can’t tone down the savior complex even a little bit, can you?”

“I appreciate your help,” is all he says.

“It’s nothing. And, anyway, to answer your previous question… I’m fine. I’m used to that kind of stuff.”

“That’s not reassuring, you know that, right?”

You give him a look. “I don’t think you get to say that. But your concern is noted.”

He sighs. “There’s that, I guess. If you need to talk—”

“I know,” you say, cutting him off gently. “I know, Red. Let me finish this up…”

You find a band-aid large enough to cover the cut, carefully pressing it onto his temple.

“Should be more careful. This area is… dangerous,” you murmur, tapping lightly at the band-aid on his temple. You’ve seen and heard enough about people taking hits there and going down permanently. The thought of that happening to Red unsettles you deeply, something cold twisting your insides.

But Red doesn’t appear to be listening to you. Instead, he’s… listening to something else. You think it’s some kind of comms, initially, but then you realize he’s listening to the song currently playing overhead. Which you quickly recognize.  

“I’m On Fire? Really? Didn’t peg you as a Bruce Springsteen fan.”

It’s obviously meant as a tease and you need to put a stop to the growing grin on his lips immediately. The only one allowed to get flustered here is him. Fair’s fair, after all, after last week’s conversation. 

“Not a fan. It’s from a friend’s playlist.”

He blinks, expression rapidly morphing into surprise. “A—friend?”

“Yes, I do have friends. I’ve mentioned this before. It’s not mine, it’s his.”

“I… see.” 

He pulls the wad of napkins away from his nose in that moment, successfully redirecting your attention from his odd reaction. You lean around to get a look. Blood smears over his upper lip, the shadow of a bruise starting to form on his nose, swollen, too.

“Well?”

“Don’t worry,” you drawl. “You’ve still got the pretty boy thing going on.”

“That’s—” he stops and you watch, stunned, as he actually, honest-to-god, blushes.

Holy shit.

“That’s not what I was asking,” he eventually mutters, looking away sharply.

It amuses you, for some reason, and you suppress a smile. “Well, still. Sleep easy tonight knowing your good looks are not tarnished—”

He shakes his head. “You’re… really something, you know that?” 

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “It looks fine, by the way. Like you need to ice it—and your cheek—but fine. Not broken. You were right. Hold on.”

You get up and grab a can of Zesti from the fridges, then go back over to him. He takes it, pressing it over his nose and cheek, and you seat yourself next to him again, shuffling the used pads and supplies into a small pile, frowning a bit to yourself as you realize there are more pads than you recall. 

You don’t ask why or how he got these injuries. Not sure if he’d tell you. Not sure you want to hear about it, anyway. 

A bit of a stark reminder about what he does, isn’t it?

“So…” he starts a second later, pulling you from your increasingly morbid thoughts. 

You narrow your eyes at seeing fresh mischief on his face. This won’t bode well for you.

“Yes?”

“By you saying all that stuff about my ‘good looks’ and ‘pretty boy thing,’ that means you think that, too, right?”

“You aren’t half-bad to look at,” you concede, shoving down your embarrassment at being called out and admitting it, too. But in a roundabout way. Much better than stating quite plainly you do find him a little bit attractive. But that’s all it is. Attraction. Appreciation of a pretty face. 

“Not half-bad?” he asks, laughing. “Because that’s a nice way to put it.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

A smile lingers on his lips as he looks at you and you can’t stop your own from mirroring his.

“Guess it doesn’t matter,” he says, glancing away first, gloved hand—clean from the blood now, which explains the extra antiseptic pads—reaching for his utility belt. “You took on the painstaking job of patching me up.”

“Wasn’t that painstaking, Red. Just cleaned the cut and slapped a band-aid on it. Band-aid is probably doing more work than me.”

“Still. For your efforts…” He produces a lollipop from one of the pouches on his belt with a flourish.

You blink. “You… keep lollipops in that thing?”

“Helps if we’re handling a kid,” he says and oh, okay, yeah, that makes more sense, you think, taking the lollipop and unwrapping it. 

“All of you?”

“Batman started it first.”

The thought of Gotham’s resident caped crusader carrying lollipops in his utility belt is an amusing, if not incredulous, one.

Red sees must see the doubt on your face, snickering. “I’m being totally serious.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just messing with me. This is payback for the half-bad thing, isn’t it?”

He laughs. The sound is achingly familiar as usual but the full picture of why it is familiar escapes you—like it always does.

“It’s not, I swear.”

“Sure,” you say. “Gotta be a hassle to remember exactly where it is, though, right? Since you apparently keep all manners of things in there?”

“Just what we need.”

“So, like, an arsenal of weapons.”

“Tools,” he corrects.

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with another pouch, pulling out something that you immediately recognize as a batarang. 

You've only glimpsed these but you’ve never seen one up close. The metal glints under the light. 

“Can I—?”

“Just be careful. Easy to slice yourself.”

You bet. 

The metal is cold under your fingertips, an unfamiliar weight but not heavy, exactly. 

Some people like to try their luck and keep batarangs they find as mementos, or sell them on the black market but the word on the street is that the Bats have never left one unattended; the people who take them never mention a direct confrontation, just that one day they have it and the next, they can’t find it, which, in your personal opinion, is more unsettling than a direct confrontation. But hey, maybe that’s just you.

“This would be useless without me,” he points out. 

“Right. Your batarang. Weird name, by the way.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You just put bat at the front.”

“It’s a great name. And also I didn’t name it. This was already named by the time I came into the scene.”

He seems a tad determined to make you understand that. 

“I don’t know,” you say, pretending to give it thought. “You do seem the type to give obvious names. Like naming a Dalmatian Spot. Call a batarang a batarang.”

“I didn’t name it,” he repeats again. 

But you just laugh.

You laugh and laugh and laugh, thinking this might be the most honest portrayal of him and the others that you have ever seen. 

And it’s nice.

It’s… it’s nice.

(He isn’t so bad.)

“Wow. This is great. Like wallpaper levels of goodness.”

A snort. “I should hope so. You have no idea how many mosquitos bit me when I was up there taking the pictures.” 

Tim raises his arm and you lift your gaze from the screen of his camera to behold the few red mosquito bite on his forearm. 

“So, you didn’t listen to Alfred, is what you’re saying?”

“It’s April,” he mutters, dropping his arm, head shifting from its place in your lap. “It’s unnatural for mosquitos to be out already. Didn’t think I’d need the spray ‘cause of it.”

You pat his head comfortingly. “Well, your sacrifice wasn’t for nothing. This is really good, Timmy.”

You look back at the camera screen, where a picture of Gotham sits, captured from the top of Spillkin Hill in Bristol, affording a view of the entire city bathed in the golden rays of the sunset. 

“Thanks,” he says, sounding just a little embarrassed. 

When you glance at him over the camera, his head is turned, gazing out at the rest of the mostly empty quad, cheeks suspiciously red. If you pointed it out, he would blame it on the shining sun overhead. Even if you two are thoroughly hidden from the brunt of its rays beneath this large oak tree, only slivers of sunlight slipping through the canopy, casting leaf-shaped patches of light onto you.

The sunglasses on his face prevent you from seeing his gaze but it’s most likely the same—away from you, focused on something else. Tim gives as good as he gets but he’s become easier to fluster these days, after your return from the internship last semester. Especially with you. You aren’t sure why but the reactions are always amusing and stupidly endearing, so you don’t say anything about it. 

You two are waiting for Steph to get out of one of her psych classes, then the three of you are going to hit up Big Belly Burger and do some mini-golf afterward. Tim’s older sister and another one of Steph’s close friends, Cass, is tagging along. You like her. You two work on the same wavelength sometimes. 

Right now, you are just trying to enjoy this much-needed peace and quiet. The approach of finals is stressful as it always is but the good thing about it is that the quad is nearly empty right now; most students tucked away in the library, in class, or holed up in their dorms procrastinating their work. Plus, the thought of the summer off from class after—working still, but no finals or midterms to stress about—is a revitalizing one. 

You pass him back the camera—carefully, since it’s more expensive than a single class here at GU—and lean back on your palms, cool grass tickling your skin. Your allergies are going to have a field day with this but you don’t care too much about it. Not with Tim’s head planted in your lap, a reassuring, comforting, weight on your thighs. 

His attention is fixed on the camera again, flicking through pictures. You keep your gaze elsewhere, to give him his privacy, though you can’t help but tease him a little bit.

“Can you even see those pictures with these?” you ask, looping your index finger around the arm of the sunglasses, lifting them from his face. He scrunches up his nose in response and you laugh, terribly, terribly endeared.

To reacclimatize from the whirlwind of warm feelings inside your chest, you slide them on, smiling down at him when he squints up at you, clearly having to adjust to the sudden brightness.

Another flash of warmth in your chest.

Before you can do anything else, though, your eyes accidentally catch the screen of his camera and promptly widen as you realize what you are looking at.

Or better yet—who.

“Is that me?” you ask dumbly, because obviously it is you. 

It’s you, sitting out in the quad, a textbook in your lap, head tilted as you read its contents; simple and boring, by any means, yet, the focus of the camera and the sunlight falling over you turns it into something else entirely. 

You have absolutely no recollection of him taking this picture. 

His eyes widen—soft blue from the sunlight, pretty as always, you can’t help but notice—and he looks at the screen, too, grimacing. 

“Uh… yeah.”

Suddenly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses as heat settles in your face.

“It’s… it’s nice, Tim.”

“It’s—weird, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” he starts to sit up.

“No, no, no,” you quickly say, hand pressing to his shoulder, keeping him where he is. “It’s not. Really. I don’t… I don’t mind.”

You’re really overheating now but you don’t want him to go into panic mode and close off. Which is what you feel like might happen if you let him continue.

He looks at you carefully, studying you. “Are you sure?”

“It’s just… candid, right? Besides it’s you. And I know you’re not a weirdo stalker—” you poke his cheek teasingly “—so… I don’t mind. It’s nice. Nicer than I actually look, so… y’know. Thanks.”

A frown. “You always look nice.” A wince. “I mean, not nice, w-well, yes nice, just—you know, uh, pretty.”

You smile, once again hopelessly endeared; the feeling helpfully overtakes the sudden shyness at him calling you pretty, which is… something you will set aside for the moment. “Thanks, Timmy.”

He nods, seeming resolute to not look at you as he quickly flicks to the next picture; you make a conscious effort not to look at the screen this time. Your gaze lingers on his face—thank you, sunglasses—where his cheeks are still red and so are the tips of his ears.

You bite down a smile and finally look away. 

reblogs are appreciated!

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[jellyfishandry]

Could I request an Toshinori Yagi one shot where he meets a lady who actually prefers him in his "small might" form, mainly because it's easier to give him head pats and cheek/forehead kisses cuz she can reach when he's in that form compared to his muscle form where he's just way too tall for her to reach🤭 also it'd be cute if she's the teacher's assistant so she usually works alongside each of the classes teacher's and Toshi likes spending time with her cuz she gives him good advice on how to improve his teaching skills, and they often have lunch 2gether and go out on "dates" tho they prolly don't see it that way. Something fluffy and platonic possibly even like a slow burn where it takes them time and forming a true emotional connection b4 either starts to feel any sort of romantic type of love, but in the beginning it's all platonic and friendly like. Hope this makes sense😅

Toshinori one-shot

Content: Mentions of food, platonic or romantic, mentions of trash??, gn!reader,

Word count: 0.5k

A/N: I'm so sorry that this is a month late, but hope the way I wrote this is okay, as I'm not great with slow burn :'D (I'll do part two if you'd like)

“Good morning All Might.” You said, entering the staff room. You placed a pod in the coffee machine, and placed a mug under the spout. “Oh uh, good morning.” He was looking through some papers, and he seemed somewhat in a rush. Your eyes scanned his messy desk before you spoke again. “What’re you looking for?”  “I lost my keys again, I swear I set them on my desk…” He replied, looking behind his monitor.  You nodded and picked up your mug and took a sip of coffee. You motioned to his coat that was hanging off the back of his chair. “Have you checked your pockets?”  He nodded, and sat back down in defeat. He looked under a folder, but to no surprise, his keys were not there. He always had a backup house key in his car, but of course that would require finding his car keys.  Then his phone that was sitting on a pile of papers started to buzz with a reminder.  “Why don’t you get to class, I’ll look for your keys while I have prep.” You suggested.  A small smile appeared on his lips. “Thank you.” He stood up and gathered his things before leaving the staff room.  Your eyes scanned the area around his desk, looking for his keys or the little All Might keychain attached to them. But there was no sign of them.  A sigh escaped your mouth, and you sat down in front of your desk.  You stared at the blank screen of the monitor for a moment, not wanting to start working. But you started anyway, going through the papers that were stacked in a neat pile on your desk.  As you were sorting through them, you found a pencil about the size of your pinky. Assuming no one would want to use it, you dropped it in the trash can next to your desk. But when it made contact with the contents of the trash, there were a few quiet clinking sounds. You looked over at the trashcan, confused. You could see a key poking out from behind some trash. Hesitantly you reached down, reluctantly picking the keys out from the trash.  They were indeed All Might’s keys.  A soft chuckle escaped your mouth. He must’ve accidentally pushed them off his desk without noticing.  You gently placed them on the desk and resumed your work. “Oh, you found them; where were they?” You jumped slightly, unaware that All Might had entered the room. “They were in the trash bin.”  He laughed slightly, and sat down at his desk. “I must’ve knocked them off my desk, thank you for finding them.”  You smiled at him. “It’s no problem.” There was a few minutes of silence where you continued working, and he was trying to do the same, but he seemed distracted. “Do you want to eat lunch with me?” He blurted out. You looked over at him, slightly shocked. But your look of surprise soon melted into a smile. “I’d love to.” 

|| Navigation ||

[ajaxxyy]

♡𝅼 ͡ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ﹙18+﹚ ۟ ָ֢ ֹ

warnings • kissing, fluff, feathered, implied sex, homosexuality, mature (mild) content.

HUSKER • ANGEL DUST • ALASTOR

Hello! I brought a repost of my old post because it caused problems. I warn you that I don't know how to speak English very well, I'm fluent in Spanish and English, but I haven't mastered the second language very well. Hope you like it! Don't forget to follow me for more. Kisses! 💋

　　　　 　𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

He was the one who declared himself to you. You were drinking at the hotel bar and out of nowhere he started declaring himself, saying how much he loved you and that you were his reason for living.

He just didn't admit his feelings because of his pride. XD

When he's sad, he usually lies on your lap like a kitten.

He purrs when you pet him, regardless of the affection. Grrwaaar. woozy_face

He loves petting behind the ears, especially when you catch him by surprise.

You like rubbing against his fur, since he's quite fluffy and fuzzy.

He likes it when you treat him like a stuffed animal or a bed, because he curls you up with his wings.

He takes care of you when you get hurt. This is after cursing you a lot! "You're fucking idiot!!!"

Kisses and hugs good night? He loves.

When he has nightmares, he can't go back to sleep if you're not by his side.

He really likes oral caress... Uhhhh. 🤐

He doesn't say "I love you." He usually demonstrates this through kisses or hugs.

He's jealous of you with every other demon but Alastor.

God (or Satan?) help you when he's jealous.

　　　　 　𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

It was you who confessed your feelings to him. Well, as someone who suffered at the hands of someone else, Angel wasn't so confident and asked for time to think.

You understood and he felt a hint of admiration.

You can't date because of Valentino, but you date in secret with the support of Husk, Cherry and Charlie.

Angel really likes to bury her face in his chest and caress his ears.

He doesn't know how to assume his real personality with you, but he tries.

He likes your kisses, especially when they are long and hot.

He likes it when you hug him or hold him by the waist.

You sleep hugging each other. He wraps you around with four arms and buries your face in his fake breasts.

You and he tend to each other's injuries, since you're always getting into trouble.

You've already fought with Valentino physically, but ended up losing, since he's an overlord. You at least tried for Angel, and Angel felt guilty about it.

"Baby, you didn't have to fuck around for me..."

He cries in your arms after he returns from recording.

He is the pervert in the relationship, but when it comes down to it, he is the submissive one.

He likes cute nicknames, but prefers hot ones.

He's jealous of you, but he doesn't show it. Furthermore, he is full of insecurities because of (motherfucker) Valentino.

I feel sorry for his waistline when he's inspired for the day. 🥲

　　　　 　𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟

Dude, what do you mean you fell in love with him?

Anyway, being aroace, I say that it's kind of difficult to fall in love. Alastor also found it difficult to fall in love with you, but the fact that you were the only one who got a sincere smile from him was undeniable.

It took a while for you to start dating, especially because Rádio Demon was really difficult to win over. It's good that he felt something for you thanks to your personality.

He who asked you to be date him, offering a ring and a deer heart. Romantic? I think so. XD

Bizarre gifts every day when you wake up. He will present you with anything that is pleasant in his eyes, be it dead rats or demon heads. Anyway, don't question it, just accept it, otherwise he'll get a little angry.

He will give you bloody rose bouquets on your dates. Occasionally there will be a heart in the middle, but it will end up eating for you.

He likes to see you smile. He says your smile is the most beautiful of all, except his; for him, his is magnificent.

Cute nicknames involving old music or radio? Perhaps.

When someone hurts you, he goes after the guy and makes his life hell. And when I say hell, it's not what you imagine, but worse. No one can hurt his dew.

He likes to have his ears petted and he likes it when you hold his horns, even though they are sensitive.

He doesn't show much affection in public, but he tries to stay close to you to keep you safe enough.

"Oh, my little deer, could you tell me what makes you so sad? Where is your sparkling smile?"

He sleeps with his eyes open, so you ended up giving him an eye patch so doesn't get scared in the middle of the night.

No sex. Do not even try.

[snackugaki]

more AU visdev shenanigans because I have both a problem and am trying to trick myself into doing visdev for my actual  projects

my tmnt au (where everyone made it past their 20s, splinter’s alive just old, venus is here, and they deserve some goddamn respite and shenanigans)

tmnt au part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

tmnt au omake 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

lny visit 1 | 2

AU musings under the cut cuz truly, i have a goddamn problem and most of it is from my brain always go brr

uhhh... hm... Mirage spoilers pmuch right out the gate... probably IDW, and prrrrobably Next Mutation spoilers for the kids who haven’t started/caught up because surprise that’s where I pull from (aside from the 87 cartoon and 90s movies because who doesn’t pull mainly from their childhood turtles)

April being into punk, goth, alt, what have you just makes sense to me

...because she gravitated to the outsider nature of those subcultures since she, herself, didn’t feel like she quite belonged anywhere

which is natural when you’re a drawing made real

(it’s fine, she’s flesh and blood now)

shout out to poly styrene, april loved her

keeping them short kings just like my childhood turtles

Jennika absolutely comments to Donnie if he’s found any good cheese in any walls lately

god i hate plowing through the first couple of passes of a design

alas, the process

Venus ended up being dressed in hanfu since other clothes didn’t fit her quite right; a specific group of old women were ecstatic at breaking out hanfu patterns to use.

Chung I doted on Venus so much, the only thing that kept her from becoming spoiled was when she started taking up cultivation alongside Chung I and his sect

nothing more humbling that carrying 3 buckets of water up a steep mountain side while your sifu hurls mystic blasts at your feet

Venus progressed pretty quickly though; enough to be trusted with plans to circumvent Vam Mi’s return and reconnoiter with the sect’s allies in NYC

(it didn’t work but it’s okay they defeated Vam Mi anyway)

shit now I have to come up with a name for the sect hhhhh

Chung I’s sect is one of ?? who, like the ninja, have a responsibility (among others) to regulate the mortal plane with the less mundane ones

Venus IS training to serve in his role (give or take one of her brothers or sisters being bestowed the responsibility)

hmm... Venus likes keemun tea best if she has the choice, and for soup... oxtail soup and black sesame soup

and because it was fkkn metal in Next Mutation, Venus is primarily a pugilist who occasionally uses her cultivation techniques ; she trains a little with a fan when she gets to weapons training but she prefers the spear (link has blood and some real violent fighting but fuck Fog Hill is fucking siiiiick)

...a nickname Venus gains is ‘the spear fairy’ ‘cuz i’m indulgent :)

the supernatural side of NY was already getting antsy and unruly when Venus arrived so of course she and the boys ended up fighting upon first encounter

The fight happens after hours at a local walk-around market; Raph barges in and Venus fishes around for something that isn’t the requisite staff she was saddled with before setting out (because she knows how to deal some damage with it and she wasn’t about to do that to complete strangers she didn’t know the alignment of)

she ends up using a mannequin; one arm came off so Venus attacked with that and defended with the upper part of the mannequin; Raph was getting outmatched while Mikey and Donnie were laughing in increasing volume

at a certain point Leo tried to intervene but Venus assumed it was a double team, ripped the other arm off the mannequin and defended with both against Raph and Leo; eventually her hood was flipped and they saw she was a turtle so cue Venus using the opportunity to get them both on the ground and about to smash the now armless mannequin torso onto Leo and Raph before Donnie called for a truce

at which point, as is established, Mikey quipped up at the scene, “I call this... ‘Venus de Milo, triumph over dorkus maximuses’”

Leo DID try to address her by her actual name but his not-quite-right tone made her pity him and insisted he just use Mikey’s new nickname

Venus absolutely asked why the boys were running around half naked when she came across them; they didn’t have an answer they just shrugged and let Mikey change the subject with asking if she’s tried NY pizza yet

Venus is ambivalent in the end, she knew humans wore clothes since their bits are just ...like, out there dangling around; the yaoguai around her also dressed and thought they were just adhering to the custom out of simple consideration

Venus eventually gears up like the boys to help hide her mission from the sect trying to resurrect Vam Mi

Leo gives Venus a spare mask of his; it came from a bin of incorrectly dyed masks when he was attempting shibori dye experiments

Mikey was so enthusiastic about it, having only known April at the time he asked if he could try out braiding her mask tails since Leo didn’t bother tailoring it after he botched the dye job

Splinter helps Venus make contact with her sect’s allies ala Rescuers Down Under

NM!Venus canonically knows how to pick locks why not in this AU too

The boys take Venus to the library one night, Donnie pleads for Venus to break into the reference shelves, stoops to fibbing a little that information she might find handy could be in those shelves (they weren’t)

A hilarious exchange happens between April and Venus when Venus cycles through like 3 dialects and 2 languages before finding out April speaks Canto; Venus starts calling April Ah ze, in kind April calls Venus Ah mui

hmm hmmm... still torn between April meeting the boys once as little kids then running into them again when she’s an adult or having her meet them as little kids but connecting a little earlier, 1-2 years from graduating HS

mostly just cuz I wanna have this AU April taking them to GWAR concerts so they can enjoy being out without getting clocked 

Casey and Raph absolutely dressed as the Bash Brothers for a couple of halloweens

I like the idea of Casey thinking of himself as the fifth turtle brother because it’s sweet, thassit AU canon it is done

I feel like Jennika probably ran into April and Casey at separate music venues; befriended Casey first tho

Jennika spent two years in China with Venus, getting her handle on her new turtle body; when she came back she nearly cleaned out 3 thrift stores and basically commandeered a portion of Donnie’s lab for almost a year to tailor clothes for herself

Donnie basically made himself a mini-clothing manufacturing  factory by salvaging and rebuilding embroidery, pattern cutting, and industrial sewing machines

Jennika and Mondo have jam sessions

The brockhampton parody in this AU is northbrockton, Jennika and Mondo are rotational members

Mondo can speak hawaiian pidgin, he speak liddat when he go an talk story with Mikey ova some grinds, Mikey also starts picking it up

 Mondo sometimes refers to Mikey as Braddah Honu

One of the stolen waste/mutagen barrels from That Night rolled and got shunted conveniently to a desolate lot where it leaked for years

Mondo came across it looking for a place for his band to jam without getting interrupted, pop goes the lizard mutation

tl;dr a video of urban explorers stumbling on it got onto Mona’s feed (and I’m smudging her original start as a physicist to a biophysicist) and since she’s a can do sort of girl she goes to check it out herself before reporting it to the proper organizations-- bam, mutant lizard Mona Lisa rip

that same video came across on one of Donnie’s feeds, Raph’n Mikey go to investigate and come upon a distraught lizard Mona Lisa; Mikey uses her assumption they were also originally human to bring her back to the lair and get her calmed down

god it’s so messy, thankfully Splinter, Leo and April are far better at helping Mona come to grips with her mutation, Donnie helps out in setting her up to survive the first couple months of transitioning between her old human life to navigating her mutant one

For me, she’s now Mona Lisa Saperfeld purely for this exact reference link

Raph and Casey also get the occasional treats from the local bodegas, but for running off extortionists and other assorted dipshits with too much time an not enough supervision

Jennika, Mondo, and Mikey are constantly replacing each others’ high scores in Guitar Hero and DDR in Donnie’s arcade

When Donnie, Casey, and Raph are left in the garage for too long... they end up making the weirdest shit (link to a Handy Geng playlist, a dude who makes funky inventions)

[amarachno]

<this is a part two, part one is linked at the end>

Bruce Wayne was missing something. A major piece of a puzzle, lost, as if it was never there in the first place. it had all started a few weeks ago. He and Robin had a fight that lead to his own son not feeling safe enough to tell him about Sheila Haywood. His son almost flew to Ethiopia. Sheila Haywood was involved with the Joker.

He could have lost his son.

Jason’s flight had been booked for the next day. Almost lost his son, his Robin, his Jason. The beautiful, exuberant, child that he is, almost lost to the Joker. Jason had even told Bruce that he almost hadn’t come to him about this situation at all. He had just said that he had found his birth mother almost went to see her. Jason broke down in his arms and apologized for almost running away.

Bruce was thankful Jason had come forward, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Jason’s history had led him to develop an “I can do it myself” mindset. It was deeply out of character for Jason to come to him about something. Especially during one of their fights.

But he had.

At first, Bruce thought it might’ve been Alfred. Often times to sit in Alfred time in the kitchen, Alfred, baking, and Jason doing his homework. But when he had asked, Alfred denied having a conversation like that. Had denied any knowledge of Jason’s plan. So what happened? Bruce didn’t know, but he would find out..

It’s a shame Bruce hadn’t learned to communicate better. Maybe if he had asked Jason about it, he would have found his answers.

“Say, Master Jason, whatever happened to that nice young man you stopped by with? What was his name, Tim?” Alfred asked, idly drying a plate.

Jason paused, hands frozen where they had been rolling cookie dough into balls. it wasn’t often Jason returned to the manor nowadays, but whenever he did, he always baked with Alfred. “Tim?” Jason repeated.

“He seemed like such a polite young man. What ever did happen to him?” Alfred asked curiously.

Jason furrowed his brows, attempting to remember. “When did you meet him?” Jason resumed rolling dough.

“Hmm. What a shame. You both stopped by before a sleepover at his house. Said you had some research to do?” Alfred replied.

Jason blinked, “Alfred why are you bringing this up? It’s been, like, years.”

“I saw something on the news a while back about the Drake family next door. Something about a plane crash involving the poor lad’s parents. I was wondering where he wound up. There was a ‘for sale’ sign up when I drove into town this morning and it had me thinking.” Alfred explained.

Panic surged through Jason’s chest, most of the time surrounding what had been dubbed ‘The Ethiopia Incident’ had been blocked out of Jason’s mind. He preferred not to think about that emotionally scarring time, sue him! Finding out his mom wasn’t actually his, biologically of course, thinking that he could have a second chance, only to find out that she was working for the Joker? She likely would have turned him over. What would the Joker have done to him? Would Bruce have made it in time to save him? Not exactly a pleasant time to remember.

Like a dam breaking open, memory started trickling through, flashing in front of Jason‘s eyes. A boy somewhere around Jason‘s age, the skate park, the kid’s surprising skill with a computer. The sleepover, where his mother’s work with the joker had been revealed. Going home early to tell Bruce.

“Oh FUCK” Jason gasped out.

“Language, young man!” Alfred admonished, pausing, “I assume you remember now?”

“I should find him Alfred! He lived next door for Fu- Fricks sake! He helped me so shouldn’t I try to help him?”

“Perhaps he would like some cookies, Master Jason. You could stop by after we’ve finished baking them.” Alfred nudged gently.

Jason turned to glance at the cookie dough he had forgotten about, the piece had had been rolling squished into the counter top. He grimaced at the sticky feeling. “You’re right, Alf. I should probably calm down first anyways.”

————————

Part 1⬇️

[parkitaco]

Mike has always been the sort of person who likes lazy birthdays. When he was younger, he rarely got them - his mother always had something planned, some party or event or special breakfast or something. Which- okay, is super nice of her when he thinks about it, and he probably shouldn’t be complaining, but- Mike needs his sleep, okay? It’s stressful enough to deal with becoming one whole year older. Being awoken at seven a.m. by an overly excited and well-meaning parent, plus his sisters if they were in the mood, was never a great way to start off a day like that.

And he’d assumed, now that he’s in college, he’d be mercifully free of the cursory birthday celebrations. Not that he doesn’t like his birthday, or celebrations, or having fun or anything like that, because saying he doesn’t like those things makes him sound like a cartoon villain or something, but- Wheeler birthdays are a lot. He’s never been good at them.

So, on the morning of Mike’s nineteenth birthday, he’s expecting to have a nice, languid morning, sleeping in until at least noon before making himself the only breakfast he knows how to make - slightly charred scrambled eggs and toast - and watching TV, or something. He knows the Party is supposed to come over later, because his roommate and best friend is a terrible secret keeper and Mike had found the plans for his surprise party on his desk weeks ago now (which, okay, he might have been snooping a little, but whatever). But that’s not until seven p.m., so his plans for the day had mainly consisted of television, junk food, and maybe going to go bother Will. If he’s in the mood. 

That is not what happens.

Instead, he’s awakened at approximately nine in the morning by his door flying open so violently that it hits the wall and bounces back. Light pours into the room from the hallway, shining directly into Mike’s eyes, and he stirs with a groan, rubbing his eyes and wincing.

“Happy birthday,” Will says, pleased with himself as he stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips, as though he has not entirely disrupted Mike’s beauty rest - or, rather, that he knows he has, and isn’t at all sorry about it. “Wake up, old man.”

“Go away,” Mike groans, slumping back against his pillows and throwing an arm over his eyes. “I want to sleep.”

Will huffs, unimpressed, and Mike’s vaguely aware of his feet pattering across the floor before the mattress creaks and dips, and suddenly Will is right there, and Mike can feel his presence hovering over him even as he steadfastly refuses to open his eyes. “You’re not going to thank me?” Will questions, warm and teasing and right in Mike’s ear, and Mike dares to peek over the sleeve of his sweatshirt just enough to see Will, who is, sure enough, hovering right in Mike’s face. His hands are planted on either side of Mike’s head, a smirk plastered on his dumb, smug face, and- listen, Mike’s not necessarily pleased about being woken up this way, but if Will stays this close to him, he could probably get on board.

“Why would I thank you,” he grumbles anyway, removing his arm from his face so as to glare at Will properly. “You’re being a nuisance.”

Will rolls his eyes, which is probably fair, because he has never and will never be anything but a glowing, entirely positive presence in Mike’s life and they both know it, but- principles. “I said happy birthday,” he points out, “and you didn’t thank me.”

“Well, you also called me an old man, so I’d say we’re even,” Mike mutters, and evidently Will is satisfied by this response, because he sits back on his heels, grinning like an idiot and patting Mike’s chest gently.

Mike might not be fully awake yet, but he’s pretty sure that Will shouldn’t move so far away, and that preferably he’d come back and get in Mike’s face like that again. He just barely resists the urge to grab Will’s wrist and tug him back in, fingers twitching where they rest over the duvet as he tries not to think about how the only other thing nicer than going back to sleep right now was if Will stayed here and slept beside him.

Okay, so Mike is definitely not fully awake yet.

“You should get up,” Will is saying, and he’s still stupidly far away but he hasn’t moved farther, either, seemingly content to sit halfway on top of Mike like this while Mike curls further under the covers. He’s already dressed, Mike notices, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt for some band Mike’s never heard of, and he has Mike’s sweatshirt thrown over, some blue, oversized thing that he stole from Mike a couple weeks ago and Mike still hasn’t gotten the courage to confront him about. Mostly because he’s afraid Will might stop wearing it, if he asked about it.

“I want to sleep,” Mike reiterates, yanking his blanket over his head so that he’s forced to stop looking at the stupid sweatshirt, and Will immediately yanks the blanket back, peering over the edge and smirking down at him. “Go away. I hate you.”

These entirely false statements only serve to egg Will on, if the delighted look on his face is any indication. “No you don’t,” he says evenly, and he’s a little bit infuriating with it, sometimes, with this weird push-and-pull thing they’ve had going on since sometime around their junior year of high school. It’s one thing when Will is teasing with it, the maybe-flirting, because then Mike can at least pretend it’s a joke, but when he says things like this - no you don’t - so plainly, like it’s a fact, it has a tendency to make Mike feel a little bit too exposed. The closet’s made of glass, or whatever it was Will had said to him when they came out to each other a million years ago. 

Today, Mike opts not to react to it, because it is his birthday, and therefore he deserves a little leniency - though, not from Will, apparently. “Go away,” he says again, and still means the opposite.

Will smiles, tapping a fingertip against his nose and letting it linger there a beat longer than strictly necessary. “Come on,” he says quietly, like he means it this time, “I got you breakfast.”

At this, Mike’s whole train of thought - which had mostly been centered around Will’s finger pressed to his face and what it might feel like to lean into that touch - grinds to a screeching halt. “You- what?” he asks, frowning, and Will’s smile widens.

“Breakfast,” he repeats, and there’s another creaking of springs as he launches himself off the bed and heads for the door, pausing to quirk an eyebrow at Mike as he sits up, still frowning in confusion. “Come on, Mike, God. Have to wait on you for everything.”

Mike scowls, kicking the covers off and padding after Will into the kitchen where, sure enough, there are two plates set out with breakfast burritos from Mike’s favorite café, plus two mugs - coffee for Will, tea for Mike - neatly lined up beside them at the table.

It’s- a lot. Mike’s still not really awake. 

“Will,” he says, still frowning as Will gestures for him to sit down and grabs two paper napkins from the roll on the counter, “What is this?”

Will pauses where he’s placing the napkins in front of them, giving him a mildly incredulous look. “I told you,” he huffs, “Breakfast.”

“I- no, I get that,” Mike says, staring at his burrito like it’s somehow dangerous as he sits down at the table, “But- um. Why?”

“Jesus Christ, Michael,” Will says, no bite to it, as he sits down across from him, “It’s your birthday, remember?”

Mike takes a sip of tea, hoping the caffeine will jump-start his system a little. No dice. He does note, however, that Will’s made the tea exactly how he likes it - English Breakfast, with oat milk and an ungodly amount of honey.

“I remember,” he says slowly, watching Will take a bite of his own burrito, “I just. Sorry, nevermind.”

It’s not like it’s that special, he tells himself, because he and Will have breakfast together all the time, whenever they both have mornings off from classes and work and whatever else. And it’s not like walking the two blocks to the cafe to buy him breakfast is even that much of a feat - a very large part of the reason Mike loves the restaurant so much is because it’s cheap and close to their apartment. And- it’s good. Good food. But still, it’s not like Will has gone that much out of his way or anything, and it’s not like Mike’s never been awoken to a special birthday breakfast before, but it’s- it’s just different, now. He’s an adult, and his birthday breakfasts up until this point had been entirely provided by his mother, which is nice and all, but it had all felt very cursory. He’d kind of expected to fend for himself a little this year, now that he’s independent and adult or whatever, had expected to dictate his day and spend it mostly alone, doing whatever he felt like.

So it’s just nice, he supposes. That someone else notices, besides himself.

Will arches an eyebrow at him, chewing slowly as he watches the gears in Mike’s head turn. “You okay?” he asks around a mouthful of burrito, which should be gross but is more endearing than anything else.

Mike nods, a small smile tugging at his lips as he takes a bite of his food - the food that Will went out and got for him, just because - and kicks his foot gently against Will’s ankle under the table.

Will watches him for another few seconds, bemused and endeared, before humming and returning to his breakfast. They eat in relative silence, Mike still sipping at his tea and trying to cajole his brain into a slightly less mushy, lovesick state. He’s going to embarrass himself very quickly, if he’s not careful, which isn’t to say that he doesn’t constantly embarrass himself in front of Will, but. Principles.

When they’re done eating, Will clears Mike’s plate and mug before Mike can ask him to or make a move to do it himself, dumping them both in the sink and turning to face Mike, a small smile on his face. “What’s on the agenda today, old man?” he asks, and Mike is awake enough now that the old man comment makes him scowl a little. 

“You’re older than me,” he says, just to be petty, and Will lifts a shoulder in a shrug, unperturbed, “And- I mean, I was planning on still being asleep right about now, so you tell me.”

Will fixes him with an unimpressed look, walking back over to the table where he’s sitting and leaning against the edge, and he’s- he’s doing it again, the getting-in-Mike’s-space thing, and it’s scrambling Mike’s brain. “I let you sleep until nine,” he points out calmly, which is true and fair, except that that’s only two hours later than Mike would sleep on a school day, and one of the great benefits to his first birthday as a functioning, real adult is that it happens to fall on a Saturday, and Mike’s made it his personal mission since he was fifteen to never bear witness to anything that happens on a Saturday before noon unless strictly necessary, so. 

It’s kind of ridiculous how many of his principles he’ll compromise for Will, without Will even having to ask. 

“You’re an evil dictator,” he tells Will, whose face splits into a wide smile, which, of course, was exactly what Mike was hoping would happen. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. 

“You love me,” Will says, and brushes past him into the living room, grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table and settling himself onto the couch. Mike watches him a little dazedly, still standing dumbly in the kitchen area and wondering what response could he possibly have to that statement that’s not entirely incriminating. 

When he doesn’t immediately follow him to the couch, Will arches an eyebrow, glancing over at him with the remote lifted halfway into the air. “I assume you wanted to spend all day watching your dumb sitcoms,” he says, and Mike can see that he’s already got an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine pulled up, and half-considers protesting that it’s not dumb, and that it’s not his fault that Will’s taste in media consists entirely of thriller movies, “But we don’t have to.”

We, Mike thinks, a little deliriously, and jerks his head in a maybe-nod that Will smirks at. He takes up the seat beside Will on the couch, feeling a little dizzy and overwhelmed and kind of like his entire body is out of sync. Which is sort of annoying, because he’d thought by now he’d have grown into himself a little, but he’s a year older and he’s still clunky and awkward and stupidly in love with Will Byers, and it doesn’t look like any of those things are going to change anytime soon.

Well. There’s only so much a guy can do.

Will leans into his side, and Mike decides it’s going to be a good birthday after all.

---

“I can’t believe we’re celebrating your dumb birthday twice,” Max informs Mike later that evening, after the obligatory surprise reveal of the party they all knew Mike already knew about, while they all sit on the floor of the living room and pass around a cake box. Will and Mike never really got around to buying enough dishware for more than two people, so they’re passing the box back and forth with a singular fork, which at least one of the Party members would probably be protesting if not for the presence of the (slightly illegal) bottle of wine that Lucas had brought.

“It’s not my fault,” Mike tells Max, snatching the fork out of her hand and stealing a bite of cake - his cake, thank you very much- “I didn’t plan the surprise party.”

Max rolls her eyes. “I know that,” she says, like he’s the one being difficult, “But we celebrated your in-between birthday with Will literally last week, so I kind of figured we were done, but then he called us all and begged us to stay in New York for a few extra days so we could do this too.”

In all his snooping about the surprise party, Mike had failed to discover that detail. He glances at Will, eyes wide, and Will coughs, blushing a little and glancing away. “You were gonna spend your whole birthday sitting at home watching TV by yourself,” he says, which Mike had never strictly told him, but he supposes it makes sense that Will would know anyway, “That’s super depressing. I had to at least make sure you weren’t alone for it.”

You care about me, Mike thinks gleefully but doesn’t say aloud, instead opting for the coward’s way out; “What if I wanted to watch TV by myself all day?”

“You didn’t,” Will says plainly, and Mike falters where he’s halfway toward initiating a fake-argument. “You thought you did, but you didn’t.”

Max’s eyebrows lift halfway toward her hairline, and she lets out a low whistle. “That’s presumptuous,” she mutters, and El whacks her shoulder, reproachful.

“I think it’s sweet, Will,” she says, and Mike’s too dumbfounded, too shaken by Will’s painfully accurate reading of him, to be as delighted as usual by the smattering of pink that appears across the bridge of Will’s nose at the words.

“Yeah, I don’t know why we’re complaining,” Dustin agrees, snatching the cake box right out of Mike’s hands, which is maybe a blessing in disguise because his whole body has kind of gone slack as he stares at Will, and he’d been seconds away from dropping it anyway, “This means we get two cakes. And twice the booze.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” Lucas says, and Dustin rolls his eyes at him.

They launch into an argument, and Will glances up, shyer than usual as he meets Mike’s eyes. You care about me, Mike thinks again, a little more reverently this time, and Will smiles softly at him, and it feels like an of course I do.

But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

Will’s foot nudges Mike’s knee, just firmly enough for Mike to know it’s not an accident, and Mike offers him a smile of his own, fully aware that he’s probably blushing the same shade as Max’s hair. He glances away, clearing his throat and joining whatever conversation the rest of the Party has dissolved into, but he can feel Will’s smile down to his bones for the rest of the night anyway.

---

“You care about me,” Mike says aloud, the second the door closes behind El, after the wine bottle has been entirely decimated and the cake is long gone and he and Will are alone in the apartment again.

Will glances up from where he’s shoving the now-empty cake box into their slightly-overflowing trash can, a small smirk on his face. “Excellent observation skills, Mike,” he says wryly, straightening up and wiping his palms on his jeans. He’s still wearing Mike’s hoodie. Mike, suddenly, wants to confront him about it after all. 

“You really planned all that for me?” he asks, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the counter as he watches Will wipe down the granite surface with a wet rag.

“Did you or did you not go snooping through my room for my notes about it?” Will asks, not looking up from where he’s scrubbing at a sticky spot on the counter, and Mike flushes a little. He’d known Will knew, of course, because Will rarely keeps secrets from him, and they’re rarely of such a trivial variety, but it’s just slightly embarrassing to be called out on it so bluntly.

“Your fault for not using the notes app like a normal person,” Mike replies, and then, before Will can launch into his standard rant about needing to feel the pen in his hand, or whatever, which doesn’t make sense in any way whatsoever, and Mike should know, being the writer-person out of the two of them- “I- thank you.”

At this, Will pauses, the rag falling slack in his hand as he glances up at Mike, faintly surprised. “What, for the party?”

Mike swallows. “Yeah,” he manages, through the fog that tends to cloud his brain when Will looks at him like that - so open and honest and sincere, like Mike matters- “And for the rest of it, too, because I didn’t say it when you woke me up this morning but that was really nice too, and it’s nice when you sit and watch my dumb sitcoms with me and when you drive me to class on mornings when you’re free, and I just- it’s just, like.”

Will lifts an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Maybe Mike’s not a writer-person after all. “I just,” he tries again, mildly frustrated with himself, and a little bit with Will too, because how is he supposed to focus on words when Will’s looking at him like that and moving closer, edging along the counter toward him, “I guess I’m just saying thanks for, uh. Being here. In my life.”

He winces. That’s terribly corny, he’s sure, and also probably very incriminating, and he still doesn’t have the capacity to process it because Will’s still moving closer, coming to stand in front of Mike and smiling expectantly up at him. 

Will opens his mouth to speak, but before he can Mike blurts; “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

Will falters a little, glancing down and nodding when he sees his hands, covered by the too-big fabric of Mike’s hoodie, like he hadn’t noticed. You’re full of shit, Mike thinks, and is more endeared by the feigned innocence than he has any right to be. “So I am,” Will agrees, glancing up and meeting his eyes again. “Is that a problem?”

Mike shakes his head quickly, not wanting Will to be, like, offended or something, and then immediately realizes that Will is still messing with him, a little, and scowls. “No,” he says anyway, just in case, “But- you’re so annoying, did you know that?”

“You love me,” Will says, in that same infuriatingly calm tone, and this time Mike doesn’t want to brush it off.

He meets Will’s eyes directly, swallows, and despite the fact that his heart rate is currently averaging about 150 beats per minute his voice is calm and low and serious when he responds, “Yeah.”

Will blinks. “Oh.”

Mike is the one smirking now, feeling a little giddy and dizzy but put at ease by the slip in Will’s poker face. “You didn’t know that?”

“I don’t,” Will starts, and then seems to lose his nerve, falling silent and shaking his head, and Mike’s not sure if he means that he doesn’t have a response, or that he didn’t know, or something else that Mike’s not yet aware of. 

They’re standing awfully close together. Mike swallows. “How did you know?”

Will frowns. “That you love me?”

“No,” Mike says, though it sends a little bit of a thrill through his stomach, hearing it said aloud like that, “About- that I didn’t want to be alone, today.”

“Oh,” Will says, and his face splits into an easy smile, shoulders relaxing a little. “Oh, I just- that’s just because I know you, dummy. You think you’re this loner type who wants to be left alone and have chill birthdays and be all detached and whatever, but you’re secretly still just the same kid that likes presents and parties and cake and- and being with the people you love, so.”

Mike swallows hard, caught between hysterical laughter and breaking into sobs, and already halfway toward kissing Will in his stupid perfect face. “You know,” he manages, through the lump in his throat, “If I were anyone else you’d sound so condescending right now.”

Will’s expression does not change. “Good thing you’re you, then,” he says quietly, and there’s barely any space between them now. If Mike tilted his face up just a little- 

-their noses would brush, and he would see Will’s eyes flutter shut, maybe, and then-

“Mike,” Will says, sounding mildly embarrassed, and his voice cuts through Mike’s hazy, lovesick thoughts, “If you want to kiss me, can you please just do it already?”

Mike’s eyes fly open - they’d been half-shut, he now realizes - and he releases a garbled sort of sound of confusion. “What-”

“Mike,” Will says again, and there’s an urgency to it that makes something swoop in Mike’s stomach.

And- well, he can’t really argue when Will says his name like that, can he? 

“Okay,” he whispers, and catches Will in a kiss.

Will tastes like frosting and cheap wine, and he’s warm, soft and pliant under Mike’s hands as he reaches up to cup his face in his hands. It feels- cozy, almost, melting into Will, letting him wrap his arms around Mike’s waist and pull him in closer. It feels like sitcom marathons and warm laughter and the gentle weight of Will hovering over him this morning. It feels comfortable, and safe, and like everything Mike never thought he’d be lucky enough to have, so he can’t be blamed for it, really, when he presses in closer, pulling Will against him and tangling a hand in his hair.

“Mike,” Will sighs against his mouth, and it sounds entirely different this time, different from any way he’s ever said his name before. Like it slipped out of his mouth unbidden, a thought voiced into existence entirely by accident. It sends a shiver down Mike’s spine, and he places a hand over Will’s waist, tucked under the fabric of his sweatshirt - Mike’s sweatshirt - and pulls him in, leaning back against the counter and relishing the gentle caress of Will’s hands against his sides, trailing over his ribcage. 

He pulls back, if only to see the pink glow slowly overtaking Will’s face, the flutter of his eyelids as he blinks at Mike, mouth twisting into a pout at being interrupted. It’s a beautiful sight, leaving Will so flustered and sweet under his palms, and Mike drinks it in, a giddy smile stretching across his features.

Will whines faintly, tugging at the collar of his shirt until Mike’s lips meet his own again, a gentle press that still manages to send a shudder through Mike’s body. The counter is digging into his back, and it’s uncomfortable if he really thinks about it, but it’s sort of hard to think about anything but Will as he holds him close, runs his hands over Will’s arms, threads his fingers through his hair, traces his tongue over Will’s lower lip.

When they finally part, it’s only by a few centimeters, Will pressing his forehead gently against Mike’s. 

“Stay?” Mike asks quietly, even though Will’s made no move to go anywhere else, and it’s not like he’d go far anyway, but he doesn’t know how else to communicate the deep-set feeling in his gut telling him to keep Will close. Like if Will moves away, even if it’s just to stumble off to his room to go to sleep, it will be too much distance.

Will’s mouth ticks upward, and he darts forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of Mike’s lips. “‘Course,” he murmurs, like it’s not a totally nonsensical request, and Mike wonders how it is that Will always knows everything there is to know about him. But then he adds, “Idiot,” and Mike remembers that Will is also just super annoying, all the time, so it all evens out in the end.

“You love me,” he murmurs, and it feels like more of a confession than a confirmation. He’s never said it like that before, even though he knows it’s true. He’s never felt confident or brave enough, but he feels like now, in this quiet little world that exists in the space between his and Will’s lips, he doesn’t need confidence or bravery to know things that are true.

Will smiles. “Yeah,” he confirms, and his hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, ‘course I do. Happy birthday, Mike.”

Happy birthday indeed, Mike thinks, and catches Will in another kiss. 

[finderseeker]

Here’s that thing I spontaneously started writing for some reason. I go where my whims and capricious focus take me. I got sick of editing and rereading so I’m just posting it. This is set in the DDAU. It’s not long after things got worked out between the two sets of Dingsasters. Maybe a couple months. Windy is struggling.

Edit: changed it so the signed dialogue is no longer in italics sincee it’s the primary language.

————

“You know, in my world, you are a bartender as well.”

Grillby eyed the human man sitting as his bar. He was flushed, a sure sign that he was officially buzzed. Grillby knew this instantly, despite the man never having drank here before. After all, Gaster— his Gaster— was the same way: his face flushed when he drank. Of course this man was the same; The two were the same person, after all.

That was what Gaster— Wingdings— said, anyway. And, truth be told, Grillby could see it. This human had the same mannerisms, the same gestures, the same posture, the same expressions, the same name signs. If that alone weren’t enough, there was another monster with a human counterpart: Asteri. He hadn’t know the woman well, really, before all this. If he had stopped to think, perhaps he might have recalled seeing her as a little girl with her parents, half a century ago, but the family didn’t visit Snowdin often, and visited his restaurant even less. Besides, shapeshifters were easy to mistake.

The main reason he could use her and her human counterpart as evidence that this whole “alternate universe” business was real was that he had re-met her, now as an adult studying dog language in Snowdin, right around the same time that his best friend of over 400 years nervously introduced him to a human he was sheltering, who had the same name. Not only the same name, but the same voice, the same hair, the same style of dress, the same mannerisms, and the same alcohol preferences. The reasonable conclusion was that it was simply a particularly strange coincidence, but no, things with Gaster were never that simple these days. Of course it was something absurd like an alternate universe. The skeleton had always been a little too trusting— even of humans, even after everything— so Grillby initially took the story with a grain of salt. But as time went on, and Gaster spent more time with her, apparently details that reinforced the factuality of it came to light.

Not that Grillby saw either of them often. That was simply the nature of his friendship with Gaster, after so many years: long stretches of silence, occasional visits that picked up as if no time had passed, and, every once in a while, periods of frequent and excited contact. Those tended to happen during high stress situations, intense lows, or major breakthroughs. He would have assumed that sheltering a human would have been a large enough event to merit frequent contact, but no, nothing much came of it. And he, like always, never pushed. So when the next time the two visited, months later, and they held hands, well… that was Gaster’s business. But he believed his friend’s explanation about different universes, and just like when they asked him the first time, he agreed to keep an eye out for another human.

Except he didn’t see one. Not until nearly a year after his initial introduction to the human Asteri, when Gaster introduced a lanky, disheveled human man. Grillby had heard the announcement, of course, just like everyone else: that there were two humans living in the underground, and they were not to be harmed. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time besides being relieved Gaster would no longer need to hide the woman he obviously had feelings for, that she had apparently found her friend, and that both of them were so peaceful in comparison to the last time a human had fallen, decades ago.

Meeting this second human, all things considered, Grillby should not have been surprised when his oldest friend introduced him as his own alternate self. Despite this, he immediately felt an odd sort of defensiveness well up on Gaster’s behalf. Grillby and the human man had stared at each other for a few moments, both processing this meeting. Then, something had clicked for the human, and the precise way he lit up with that dumb idiot grin was so familiar, so immediately recognizable, Grillby barely needed any more evidence to be convinced.

Oh, sure, he had about a million questions about the whole situation between the four of them— two Asteris, and two Gasters, all of whom had now met each other, apparently— but they would tell him what they needed to, when they felt ready. He didn’t ask questions. This many years of bartending and people-watching had given him both the ability to read people and the patience to mind his own business and wait for an explanation. People loved to talk, and there were far more ways to say something than with words. He was the silent companion, always there to listen but never to pry. A keeper of secrets, and a staunch minder of his own business.

Nothing about today had seemed especially different, except that the human Gaster had wandered in all on his own a while ago, hesitant but trying not to seem uneasy. (Trying to hide it was futile though; Grillby had known his counterpart for centuries and could read his body language like a book.) But he said nothing as was his custom, simply nodded in greeting and acknowledgement, and let the man sit where he liked and order if he wished.

It had been nearly a 40 minutes by now, with naught a word but to order something Grillby wasn’t familiar with, then brandy as a reluctant compromise, and two refills. Only now, nursing that second refill, had the man finally lifted his head and signed anything beyond that.

“You know, in my world, you are a bartender as well.”

Grillby eyed him. That was certainly one way to start a conversation. It was indeed tempting to take the bait and tug the line, but he had many years of patience. He waited silently, as always.

The man sighed inaudibly and studied Grillby with a sort of look he had seen before. Asteri— the human one— always treated him with an odd sort of familiarity when she visited (which was more often than he expected, frankly), as if she already knew him. Sometimes he caught her looking at him with what he had long since learned to recognize in patrons as nostalgia. Bittersweetness. Except hers was a little different in a way he could never put a finger on. She never said anything though, and as a bartender he never asked. Now it made a little more sense: he had a counterpart too, and the two humans knew him.

That look was different on this face, though. Where Asteri looked a little sad, but mostly fond, this human version of Gaster looked far more stricken.

“You are quiet there, too.”

Human Gaster smiled a little, but it slipped almost immediately.

“Not quite this quiet, though.”

He swirled his drink around and stared at it for a moment before taking another sip.

“You used to be quite reactive, when we first met.” He chuckled, just once. “You are still learning to keep your expression neutral when customers say outrageous things. You were getting much better at it.” A bright, genuine smile split the gloom he was projecting, for a moment. “You opened your own restaurant, much like this one! It was just taking off… when Asteri and I fell.”

The smile was gone just as quickly, replaced by an even more despondent expression.

“I was supposed to visit. We moved away, after university. I had to cancel my trip…” He sighed. “No. I did not need to. You were coming to visit us the following month, and so I reasoned…”

The human blinked watery eyes and laid against his arm on the bar, hands falling still.

“I wonder what you thought,” he signed after a few moments, small like a whisper, and a few tears rolled onto his arm. “When we disappeared.” He blinked slowly, looking somewhere that wasn’t here. “I wish I could tell you I am safe. That I am sorry. I wish…” His eyes watered anew and his jaw quivered. “…I could tell you that I miss you.”

He rolled his head so his face was pressed into his sleeve, and sniffled softly.

Grillby stared at him, genuinely surprised for the first time in a while.

Oh.

This man— they called him “Windy” —was undeniably Gaster, but Grillby had only acknowledged that fact on its own. But it didn’t exist in a vacuum. This wasn’t just “now there’s a human Gaster too.” This was also “Gaster thrown into a strange new place,” “Gaster grieving something enormous,” and right now, most of all, “Gaster without his best friend.”

He knew how his Gaster— Wingdings— was. He knew how bad things were when they were young, how much he needed support. After so many years, he knew it wasn’t self-absorbed or presumptuous to say that Wingdings needed him. It was mutual. Of course it was. No longer needing to constantly be around each other didn’t change the fact that once upon a time, they only had each other. It didn’t change how integral they were to each other’s lives, even to each other’s development as people.

So what if Wingdings just disappeared?

What if the last time he visited really was the last time?

What would he do if his best friend and only anchor throughout the centuries were suddenly gone? No explanation, no clues, nothing.

Sparks, he’d be devastated. Heartbroken would be an understatement.

And if it had happened back then, when they were both still settling into who they were? Grillby wouldn’t even be the same person. Wingdings just another monster erased after the war, but the only one he’d been side-by-side with through it all; the reason he hadn’t allowed himself to succumb to the numbness that came with killing; the person who had kept him kind, kept him compassionate. The only friend he’d allowed himself to have in a world where caring had always, inevitably gotten him hurt.

He would have been utterly inconsolable.

But Wingdings, Wingdings was far more tender-hearted. He took every loss so hard, every time, even after more than four centuries. Grillby couldn’t imagine Wingdings would ever be alright if anything happened to him. Not now, not back then. No partner could ever fill the space they took up in each other’s lives. No happiness could replace each other’s friendship. It wasn’t a romantic thing; They had just known each other longer than anyone else.

Grillby blinked, mentally shaking himself out of his thoughts, and glanced around his restaurant. It was sparser than usual, being a weeknight. His attention turned back to the human in front of him. He may not know Windy, but he knew Gaster. He may have a policy of silence, but he always made an exception for his friend.

He scooped a glass of ice and nudged Windy’s arm with it. Windy lifted his head just enough to look up with bleary, red eyes. The ice in the glass was half melted when he reluctantly took it.

“If Gaster disappeared, I’d be pissed," Grillby signed flatly as the glass was taken. Windy wilted again. Grillby's expression didn't change, but a crimson shimmer of worry and guilt flickered through his flames. "Wouldn't think bad of him though."

Windy searched his face, probably struggling to read it, as most people did. Fire elementals didn’t tend to have a lot of facial expressions; it had more to do with brightness, intensity, and color. Most monsters didn’t know that. A human from a world without monsters certainly wouldn’t. Indeed, Windy didn’t seem to find whatever he was searching for, and his eyes fell once more as he sipped his ice water.

“I’m sorry for unloading this on you.”

His signs ran together and stayed close to his body, like he was muttering.

“This must be so uncomfortable for you. I- I apologize for being so selfish. I should not have come and said all this.”

He made to get up, shoving his hand in his pocket to fish for his wallet. Grillby reached out to grasp his shoulder, stopping him. He looked up. Grillby paused, not entirely sure what he had intended by this gesture. Seeing Windy sad like this was like seeing Wingdings from long, long ago. It made his heart ache.

“Not selfish,” he said. Another moment of hesitation, then, “It’s good you came. Stay.”

Windy’s jaw trembled again, and once more Grillby was struck by how uncannily similar his expressions were to Wingdings’, somehow, despite having skin and muscle. Windy hesitated, torn. “I should get home…”

It was a weak protest, and Grillby knew Gaster well enough to know when he needed to be pushed and when he needed to be left to it.

“Sober up first.” A reasonable excuse.

Windy hesitated once again, but then nodded and got back on his barstool.

He took another sip of ice water.

Grillby wiped out a cup.

It must be strange, he thought, to meet someone who you know, but who doesn’t know you. If he were in Windy’s position…

He set the cup aside and eyed the other man once more. “How do I look?”

Windy looked up, confused.

Grillby nodded toward him with his head. “Human.”

“A-Ah! Well…” The other man cracked a smile. Success. “You are shorter, but otherwise have the same build. You have pale skin, and freckles. You keep your hair long, except in summer. It is usually tied in a high ponytail. It is wavy, and—” He chuckled softly— “fiery orange.”

A sliver of violet wove its way up through Grillby’s flames, and he crackled pleasantly. After a moment of consideration, he leaned forward closer and dimmed, just a little, pointing to his face. Windy squinted in the heat, but after a second his eyes widened and he grinned.

“Freckles! I did not realize you could—” He caught himself and waved his hands sheepishly. “Ah! That is to say, I know so little still, I find that my reasoning frequently returns to the principles of my own universe. I was not aware that a being made of fire could… could have freckles.” His smile split his face despite himself.

There was a flicker of violet in Grillby’s flames. “What else?”

Windy lit up even more. “We are the same age, but while I am often mistaken as being older, you have a “baby face.”” He giggled a little. “You cannot grow facial hair save for patches of stubble, either, and we have had more than one silly argument about it. In university, you would come home and complain about how many customers asked if you were old enough to be tending a bar to begin with.”

Grillby raised nonexistent eyebrows. “We lived together?”

“Yes, for a few years. You see, the living arrangements on campus…”

⁂

By the time Windy left, it was late. He was smiling though, and that made Grillby feel better. By then, Grillby had learned many things about his human counterpart and the world this other Gaster had once lived in. He learned that human Grillby liked the cold weather too, preferring snow over sun; that his name there was a nickname (his real name was Gilbert); and that there was no war they’d ever had to fight, only academic and social struggles. It sounded like a much nicer past.

Grillby had told him to come back soon— they needed to settle on a different way to sign his name, after all, so it wasn’t the same as Wingdings’. Windy eagerly agreed; both of them being “Dr. Gaster” to everyone at work was difficult enough.

“You can pick me a new one,” Grillby had offered as well. “If you want.” He shrugged. “Don’t have to.”

It seemed that Windy liked the idea. He had launched into over-explaining himself immediately upon agreeing though, as if Grillby would be offended by it when he was the one who brought it up. He held a hand up to stop him. “I already know.”

He was Grillby, but wasn’t Windy’s Grillby. It was as simple as that. That fact wouldn’t change. They knew different versions of each other who had lived very different lives. At the heart of it all, though, they were the same, and that was what mattered. There was nothing he could do about this other Grillby, no replacing him, just like Windy could never replace Wingdings. They didn’t have the same history. They weren’t each other’s oldest and dearest companions. No. But they could still be friends. It was a start.