#family food fun

[deadsetobsessions]

Writing Prompt… kind of? Definitely write more if you want but this was a cute little “fic starter” that popped into my mind.

——

Danny didn’t know the first thing about art. This is an important fact.

“Sam, why am I even here?”

“Suck it up, Casper.”

“The show or the school?” Danny privately thought Casper the Friendly Ghost was the best thing to have come around. It did wonders for improving relations between Amity and inhabitants of the Zone.

Sam smacked him on the arm. “You know which one. You’re just here to be the normie judge. You don’t need to know anything about art.”

“Everyone here is like an art acolyte or something, Sam! I’m an engineering newb in a room full of people with art PhDs!”

Sam rolled her eyes and checked her manicures. “If you call Fenton Works newb level, then the rest of the world would be Neanderthals. Seriously that’s why you’re here. The art’s gotta appeal to the untrained eyes too. I trust your judgement.”

Danny gave in. “Thanks, Sam. That means a lot.” He followed after Sam but after a moment, he whined, “But couldn’t you have taken Tucker? Dude’s got four untrained eyes!”

“He’s busy with his internship. And you were already in Gotham.”

They reach the exhibition, Sam and Danny being welcomed in. Sam’s parents, while not the richest of the rich, were known art connoisseurs and respected people in the communities that dotted around the world. On top of being the descendants of the man that invented the deli toothpick cellophane twirling device, that is. Sam was standing in their place today- begrudgingly- because they’d promised to pay for an entire month of Gotham architecture tours and a trip to Japan. After all, Sam had much of their knowledge too. If anyone could say anything about the Masons, it was that they were passionate in their chosen field. L

“The contestants are in the room next door. The judge panel is beginning.” The person at the door informed them. He gave them a slip of paper and a pen to mark their choices in each field. Danny breathed a sigh of relief and began wandering around.

After he wandered between the oil paintings- “oo, this one. Reason why… the vibes are nostalgic. I like it.”- and the various depictions of a specific ship, Danny was pulled to a stop by his core reaching out. He looked up and what he saw took his breath away.

It was just a photo.

But it felt like he was there, on that rooftop, crouched among the shadows and watching the early rays of muffled light hit the tops of his city. His core thrummed. It felt like protection. It felt like he was being fulfilled, like Danny was once more becoming Phantom and that he was watching over this city he’s beginning to understand.

Danny, almost fevered, scribbled down the name [A Robin’s Nest- by Tim Drake] as his number one choice to win the contest over all. And, at least, to win the first in the photography division.

——

“Oh, Ancients, are you okay?”

Danny had wandered around in the interim as the votes were tallied. He hadn’t been paying attention when he smacked into a little kid that could have been his little brother.

“Uhm. I’m good.”

Danny helped the kid up. “I’m Danny. I’m sorry I smacked into you. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Yeah. I’m Timothy Drake. I’m good.”

Danny’s smile widened in shock. “Like the photographer? Oh, wow! I really loved that photo! It was amazing! It felt like I was up there with the vigilantes!”

As he spoke, Danny glanced around for the kid’s designated adults. Hm. That’s odd. Everyone and their parental figure was accounted for.

“Oh.” Timothy flushed. “Thanks! I hoped the judges liked it too.”

Danny smiled, a small secretive thing. “Oh, I’m sure they will. Will you tell me more about your photography?”

“Oh, if you want!”

——

[magpiedraws]

Wouldn't lizard fashion be something like spikes and scales and a frilled lizard collar?

Like so?

(Bonus art under the cut)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

💙❤️Happy Holidays!❤️💙

[alliluyevas]

Was engaging in my favorite hobby of Curating Lists (specifically in this case of the states I have visited and the ones I have yet to visit) and was wondering…which state would you all most like to visit that you haven’t been to yet and what city/area/site would you want to go there for?

[antiquepearlss]

I actually really want Eugene to officiate the Varigo wedding because one, it’s not a very official or proper wedding. If anything, it’s something Rapunzel and Varian put together in one week and is essentially just a giant party where they blow stuff up and eat cake. Varian totally asks Eugene thirty minutes beforehand if he will officiate and after five minutes of sobbing, he agrees.

And two, because I want him to say this line-

“It has been a joy to watch your distracting childish rivalry turn into a distracting childish courtship, which will undoubtedly turn into a distracting childish marriage.”

[random-lil-illing]

gone is my dead poets society phase, back is my fnaf phase 😔

i will still interact with my dps mutual(s) and try to add on to their posts, but now when (or, more accurately, if) i post, it will be mainly about fnaf

speedpaint under the cut!!

[jellyjamheadobb]

Not this being me at a local grocery store earlier :D

[ratwithhands]

Since I finished the manga a few days back, I wanted to revisit my two demon slayer OCs I made last year. Here's Yoshi and Syougo ^^

Syougo and Yoshiaki are childhood friends who both ended joining the Demon Slayer corps after being separated earlier in life. Yoshi spent his years training under his retired slayer father before passing the final examination, while Syougo ended up having to figure his own methods out after his first teacher made it so he couldn't use a true breathing technique again.

As an overview of the techniques they use:

Field Breathing is a technique Yoshi's father came up with over his career in the corps. When he retired, he continued to polish the forms and taught them to Yoshi. Both the name and the forms it utilizes are based on the flora around the rice fields he was raised and later retired to. The technique emphasizes speed, flexibility, and applying pressure to the opponent as much as possible. It's fluidity and aggressiveness leads Yoshi to be quick in handling threats since he pushes opponents around

Spirit Breathing (or if you're using archaic kanji, Vengeful Spirit Breathing) is a breathing technique Syougo made as a way to regulate his body and state of mind after losing the lung capacity to use Total Concentration or other methods. It's based around his base breathing rate so he doesn't overexert himself, which means to an extent he is always using it. In combat it's intended to psych out opponents and help highlight their weak points. Since it's mostly a distraction/intimidation technique, Syougo uses a secondary weapon to get the jump on opponents when they're not focused.

For some bonus design notes, here's some details for how they dress:

Yoshiaki's samue is based on what he'd wear when working at the rice fields with his family. The light green colour comes from being dyed with wisteria leaves, a precaution his mother took hoping it would protect him

Having nostalgia from weaving baskets with his mom when he was younger, Yoshi tends to use dry reeds for securing things. He ties his hair with it, decorates his equipment with it, and though his legs aren't visible, he ties reeds in a crossed pattern over his kyahan

The brown cotton sageo and tsuba he uses are handed down from his father. The scar on his cheek is also there for the same reason, his father had one and Yoshi decided to cut his cheek to look cool and match 💀

Syougo's haori has kogin-zashi embroidery across the sleeves and shoulders. He sewed it himself in between his training as a way to decompress and slow down. His kyahan have a matching stripe across the front

Syougo's tsuba was gifted to him by his current mentor who thought he would enjoy the oblique patterning to match his outerwear. His current mentor also requested a nichirin style tanto for him to use for his secondary fighting technique

The ragged look of Syougo's hair comes from him prioritizing training over all else, even appearance. The only instance where he will fully comb and dress his hair is for important meetings and ceremonies. He does maintain the part of his hair though, modelled after his mentor's (much shorter) hair. This is one doodle with clean hair

I'd write more about their character but this is getting long as it is 💀

I have a piece with Syougo that I'm going to put up soon, and at my sister's request I'll try doing a matching one for Yoshi

Hope you guys like these fellas ^^ I'll see you later

[bumblingbabooshka]

Vengv'la is a Vulcan Engineer! [Patreon | Commissions]

[beneathsilverstars]

you could. probably think if some characters are texture eaters and if so which textures they would prefer or what reactions they'd have over disliked textures

@kimdokjafan replied

I would love to hear what you have to say about the party's food preferences! Things like favorite food, things they dislike/won't eat

i started answering this anon and then got this reply, so i'll combine them. got really long lol, food is such a complex topic!

bonnie enjoys the multi-textured fish head, so they're probably big on texture! i think they're starting to have enough cooking experience to get put off when a texture isn't correct. like the problem isn't the texture itself but rather that rice should not be like that, they overcooked it, yuck, ugh! they would probably make a new batch if possible. however, they're also used to eating what you have because it's all you have — sometimes the nice neighbor drops off her shitty mac n cheese and it's better than nothing, or you mix up salt and sugar for today's bread but you're almost out of flour — so they'll try to come up with a new use for the fucked-up batch where the weird texture works better, or just eat it themself. unpleasant, but better than serving it to someone else or wasting it! as for what they enjoy the most: lots of different textures mixed together, like a salad or deluxe burrito. and chewy things!

we know bonnie's favorite foods are pineapple, rice, and samosas. i'd say they love sweet things as most kids do, but they're really starting to prefer a little more complexity to their sweet treats, like the tart acidity of pineapple. rice is a great favorite bc it's a comforting plain staple, but it can also be used in such a variety of dishes, as the entire base or to add texture! bonnie likes spicy, sour, etc... bring on the flavor! honestly i don't think there's many ingredients they don't like, it's more often a case of that flavor doesn't go there, why would you do that??? maybe they haven't grown into bitter vegetables yet.

siffrin also likes the fish head, so they really enjoy a fun texture, and they like trying new foods as they travel — but when they don't like something they hate it. but they also hate to raise a fuss! so if they're eating with other people, they'll try to just eat around the offending element without making it too obvious that's what they're doing, and then claim they're just not that hungry. if they're by themself, they'll spit it out and rinse out their mouth and eat something crunchy. they don't like tomatoes, which is convenient bc they also don't like when sandwich bread gets soggy at all. they don't like mushrooms or caramalized onion. they enjoy super crunchy things and a nice thick soup!

we know malanga fritters are presumably his favorite. i think he likes mashed potatoes too. fish, of course, and hearty stews. he loves clam chowder! he used to be a big sweet pastries fan, but post-canon he pivots to fruity sweetness bc he can't stand caramel-marshmallow-candy sweetness anymore, and even fruit's on thin ice. most of his disliked foods are about the texture, not the taste. but he's also really sensitive to associations - if he coincidentally gets sick after eating something, eats something badly seasoned, etc, it'll put him off of that taste for a while even if he doesn't remember why.

iirc isabeau wasn't into the fish head. he likes simpler and more predictable foods! he gets yucked out by overripe fruits, but luckily it's usually pretty easy to tell if a fruit will be good. if he does accidentally bite into a bad one, he makes a face and swallows it as quickly as possible, and asks if anyone else wants the rest before he donates it to the local wildlife. he likes fluffy breads and nuts! he's the kind of guy to pack a stack of pb&js and an apple for lunch every day, just buying a different flavor of jam each time he runs out. he doesn't like anything too spicy or bitter! probably a cheese fiend too.

mirabelle isn't super particular about textures, but she is pickier about tastes; she doesn't like a couple common vegetables, like green beans and cooked carrots, and a couple common sauces, like mustard and marinara. she doesn't like nuts, but sometimes eats them anyway because they're so popular in dormont's house for some reason and she gets tired of refusing to eat them, and now she sorta hates them even more but also will absentmindedly stand there munching on them? in general if she doesn't like a food she's served she'll still try to eat enough to be polite, but sometimes can't manage it. some foods she loves are honey, olives, and apple pie. she does love plums too, but it's less that they're objectively her favorite taste and more that they're her thing. it's fun having a thing!

odile likes delicate textures like flaky pastries and watermelon, and doesn't like purely glop-based foods like oatmeal, though it's tolerable with a crunchy topping. she really enjoys a good meat, like a nice herby steak or buttery pork belly. she doesn't dislike sweets, but she doesn't indulge in them in often; when she does, she prefers lemony desserts or bitter chocolate. she finds most foods tolerable at least, and especially likes sharp flavors, like vinegar and vodka!

[awetistic-things]

traveling is fun for two days and two days only anything more and i automatically go into burnout

[stuckinapril]

You guys don’t know how much yearning for Baghdad takes up of my mental real estate

[astrobei]

byler 22 for the touch prompts??

22 for touch prompts: falling asleep on the other's shoulder (+ bonus mini soundtrack that i listened to on repeat while writing this)

“Remind me again,” Mike says, as Will climbs into the passenger side of the car, “why we have to go to this thing today?”

Will gives him a look. Or his best attempt at a look anyway. He’s ninety percent sure they fall too flat to ever be effective, or Mike would have stopped saying stupid shit years ago. “This thing?” He struggles with the seatbelt for a moment before it finally clicks into place. “You mean your sister’s wedding? To my brother?”

Mike pulls a face. “If you want to get into the semantics,” he mumbles, adjusting the rearview mirror, and Will laughs.

“You’re ridiculous. It’s their wedding, Mike.”

“Rude to get married on a Saturday night,” Mike says, as if every wedding in the history of the world ever hasn’t taken place on a Saturday night. “Maybe some of us had things to do.”

“Yeah? What did you have going on?” Will asks, smoothing down the lapel of his suit. This jacket is a lint magnet like nothing he’s ever seen before, and he plucks a little piece of it away. “Hot date?”

Mike wiggles his eyebrows, and Will realizes immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. “Yeah,” Mike chirps, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You.”

Despite himself, Will feels his cheeks turn red. It’s stupid, because he quite literally handed Mike the opportunity to say this on a silver platter, and it’s more dumb than any sort of flirtatious, except the unfortunate truth of dating Mike Wheeler is that he doesn’t even have to try and actually flirt to get Will blushing like a teenage girl. “I had that coming,” he admits, and Mike grins even harder than before. “And we didn’t have a date tonight.”

“We did! We were going to–”

“We can order pizza and watch TV when we get back, Mike,” Will chides, and, when Mike’s lower lip turns downward in something reminiscent of a pout, “this is Nancy’s wedding.”

“I was never Nancy’s favorite sibling,” Mike says noncommittally, releasing the parking brake, “she won’t even notice if I’m not there,” which one, is not true because Mike makes up about a third of Nancy’s bridal party so she will most definitely notice if he goes AWOL. And second, this is also not true because Will knows that Holly is currently in the throes of teenage angst, and Mike is still working on the angst but he’s moved on from the teenager part, at least, which is definitely earning him some points in Nancy’s book. So at worst, he’s tied with Holly. At least for the next couple of years.

And Will knows he’s not being serious anyway. For all of the fuss he’s kicking up, he knows Mike is happy for them. Will checks the backseat to make sure he put the presents in the car earlier that afternoon, and says, laughing, “Cold feet? It’s not even your wedding, Mike.”

“I know,” Mike moans, falling forward until his forehead hits the top of the steering wheel. “And it’s exciting! I’m happy for them! And your brother too, and I know your mom and Hop are so pumped, and– it’s just that I’m not so pumped about spending the evening with my family.”

Will suddenly feels very, very stupid. Jesus, he hadn’t even thought about that– about Mike’s parents being there, and his nana, the one that his mom had totally guilted Nancy into inviting because she might not live long enough to see Mike and Holly get married, Nancy, just let her have this. Which was kind of a depressing enough thought on its own, Will thinks, even without the entire conversation that had followed, the one he’d overheard Mike have on the phone in the living room, loud and frustrated before he’d slammed the phone down on the receiver hard enough for Will to hear it from their bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, then rests a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to them, okay, Mike? Just– hang out with us instead. I know Dustin’s been dying to break out his new dance moves.”

Mike cracks a tentative smile, then turns his face slightly so that one side of it is illuminated by the glow of the street lamps outside. “I’m scared he’s going to get driven away in a stretcher,” Mike admits, and Will grins. 

“Yeah, probably. It’ll be a good distraction, at least. I’ll tell him to take one for the team.”

Mike nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Will hesitates, then drops his hand to Mike’s and slots their fingers together. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

Mike looks up the rest of the way. He looks incredible tonight, which is something Will’s been thinking ever since they’d started getting ready an hour ago, and at least half of the reason it took him so long was because he’d been totally distracted the whole time. Maybe Will is just biased, which is a little true, sure, but Mike should definitely wear suits more– and he’s officially taking it upon himself to make sure that Mike wears suits more– because suddenly he’s tempted to take Mike up on his offer of becoming a runaway best man and going back inside and collapsing on the couch and kissing him stupid into the early hours of the morning.

“What?” Mike is saying, eyebrows twisting a little self-consciously. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You just look really nice,” Will says simply, and then, because that comes nowhere close to how good Mike looks in a tie, “no, actually, you look– wow.”

Mike’s lips twitch, but he looks a little pleased. “Wow? Really?”

“You’ve rendered me speechless,” Will nods rapidly, and Mike’s shy smile breaks into something more genuine. “You– look at you, I mean– I can’t even– wow.”

“Will,” Mike says, drawing out the single syllable until it feels big enough to fill up the whole car. “Okay, I look nice! You can stop playing it up now.” 

His cheeks are turning red, slowly, visible even in the dim lighting of the street lamps through the windows, because it’s early fall and it’s started to get dark ridiculously early in the day. It feels like a victory, getting Mike flustered, even after a year of dating. Will smiles to himself. 

“I’m not,” Will says, then leans in across the console. “Come here. I’ll prove it.”

“You’ll–” Mike gets out, eyes going wide in surprise, “–has anyone ever told you that you’re–”

Whatever it was that people may or may not have told Will is apparently a mystery that will die with the universe, because Will never finds out. He kisses Mike with one hand still holding his, threads a hand through his hair and cups his jaw. Soft. Slow. Unhurried, even though they should have left ten minutes ago and they’re going to be cutting it real close– Will can’t be bothered to rush.

Mike hums low in the back of his throat, pleased, and shifts closer. He’s pushing himself up over the console, a hand ghosting the side of Will’s neck, when–

Beeeeep.

“What–” Will jerks backwards, startled, and Mike immediately lets go of his hand. “Did you just–”

Mike rubs his elbow and moves further away from the wheel. “I got a little distracted,” he laughs, but the tension has ebbed from his shoulders a little and his eyes are creasing up at the corners, so Will considers this a mission success, thank you. “We should probably go?”

“Good idea,” Will says, then reaches over to smooth out a stray tuft of Mike’s hair that was– he thinks, a little proud of himself– definitely not out of place before. “And hey,” he adds, before Mike can take the car out of park. “Seriously. Ignore your parents. It’s not their wedding, okay, it’s Nancy’s. And Jonathan’s. And they both want us there. Together.”

Mike’s lips press together into a thin, determined line. “You’re right,” he nods, “I know, it’s just–”

“I know,” Will echoes, and Mike shoots him a grateful smile. “Now let’s go, or we really will miss the ceremony.”

—-

They don’t miss the ceremony, which is good, because having both the best man and the– whatever Mike was– would probably not be a good look for anyone involved.

“I can’t believe you cried,” Dustin says, after the toasts are done and the speeches are given and everyone’s been supplied with enough champagne to go a little loose and maybe a little tear-happy.

Mike scowls across the table at him. “I didn’t cry,” he insists, which is kind of pointless because Will had been watching him the whole time he’d been standing up there, shuffling his feet awkwardly in place at his designated spot in between Holly and Robin Buckley, and he’d definitely cried. Just a little, but he had.

“You did,” El chimes in primly, plucking at her shrimp cocktail. “I saw.”

“Thanks, El,” Mike mutters, sinking back in his chair a little and crossing his arms. “It’s– the vows were very emotional, okay, you’d have to be made of total stone to not tear up!”

“I didn’t cry,” Lucas announces, which is a fucking lie, by the way. Will saw him dabbing at his eyes in the bathroom on the way here.

“I think it’s sweet,” he says, instead of throwing Lucas to the dogs like he maybe should have. He flashes Mike a grin, leans over in his chair to bridge the space between them and squeezes his hand, once. “They were very sappy vows, to be fair.”

Mike blinks up at him from where he’s slumped down to somewhere around shoulder height. “You didn’t cry.”

“Oh, I did,” Will assures him. “I just cried in the back with Jonathan while he was getting ready.”

“Really?” Mike perks right up. “You did?”

“Yes,” Will laughs, “and I can’t believe you’re happy about it,” and then Mike grins so wide that Will can’t help but lean in the rest of the way and press a quick kiss to Mike’s cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Lucas says, and he’s maybe one strike away from Will speaking up about the bathroom incident after all.

“Maybe so,” Mike relents, looking properly cheered up now. “What about it?”

Mike’s grip on Will’s hand never falters. Will feels himself turn warmer with every slow pass of Mike’s thumb over his knuckles, even with their hands tucked under the tablecloth and out of view. And it isn’t from the champagne. He’s had just the one glass with dinner, which is nothing, so it must be something else that’s making him feel like this. Something–

“You okay?” Mike murmurs as his thumb pauses, briefly, on the back of Will’s hand. “You got kind of quiet out of nowhere,” and yeah, there it is.

“I meant it,” Will says, lowering his voice so their friends can’t hear them from across the table. “What I said in the car, I mean. You look beautiful.”

It’s a little amusing just how fast Mike can turn such a violent shade of red. “You can’t just say that,” he splutters. “Give a guy some warning, Jesus, Will–”

“Mm, no,” Will decides smugly, watching the red creep down the collar of Mike’s carefully starched dress shirt. Then, because the soft lighting of the venue and the way Mike’s hair has started to fall free around his face is doing something funny to his chest and stomach, Will nods to the dance floor and says, “You wanna?”

Mike hesitates, looking over his shoulder. “Dance?”

Will shrugs, then looks over to where Jonathan and Nancy are trying– and failing, quite hilariously and miserably– at a dance of their own. “I mean, it’s a wedding, and people dance at weddings. Not that either of us are good at it, but it might be fun to try?”

Mike chews nervously at his lower lip and nudges Will’s foot with his own. “I don’t know,” he admits. “My mom was eyeing me earlier and I was totally avoiding her by hiding out over here but I feel like the dance floor is fair game for a–” he waves his hands around, “pseudo-confrontation. Nancy’s only three years older than you, blah, blah. When are you going to settle down, blah, blah. Even though I’m here with my boyfriend, which apparently doesn’t count for shit, and–” Mike sighs dejectedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down, it’s just– I was having such a good day, too.”

Will squeezes Mike’s leg, just above the knee. “You were having a good day? Really? Even though your hot date got canceled?”

“Well,” Mike rolls his eyes. “My sister got married, and now my hot date is all dressed up and sweet-talking me, so I think this is even better than pizza on the couch.” He pauses, contemplating. “Actually, scratch that. It’s not. But it’s a close second,” Mike adds, then grins and picks Will’s hand up again. “Dance– later, maybe? I’m really enjoying this for right now.”

“Of course. Anything you want,” Will smiles, as the music in the background softens into something more mellow. He pulls his chair up so that it’s flush with Mike’s, their thighs pressed up together in one line, and passes Mike a flute of champagne from the table. “You might want to drink this, though, because your mom looks like she might be heading over here any second.”

“Thanks,” Mike groans, then knocks the whole thing back in one go.

—-

Will knows that a big fancy flashy wedding isn’t really Jonathan’s style, and he didn’t think it was Nancy’s either. Which is why he was surprised to get an invite to an event at all, because he’d honestly sort of thought they’d make a courthouse affair of it and then have everyone over for dinner or something. They’d been engaged for, like, three years, because it was career stuff and then more career stuff and then a couple months of long distance while Jonathan was doing some photojournalism thing in London, and Will had figured at some point that they’d get so tired of being engaged that they’d show up the next day with papers from City Hall and that would be that.

Apparently, though, in a not-so-surprising turn of events, Nancy Wheeler takes to event planning like a moth to flame, and Jonathan was immediately dragged along for the ride. He didn’t seem too upset about it, though, when Will had asked. “It’s Nancy,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. And maybe it did, because not too long after that, Will started dating Mike and everything immediately clicked.

Which is maybe the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. For anyone else, Will would not even entertain the thought of fussing over seating arrangements, and he’s certain he only knows, like, five types of flowers– if pink and red roses count as two different types. It’s Nancy, Jonathan had said, and Will hadn’t gotten it then but he does now.

Mike’s hand twitches on Will’s bicep, fingers clutching once at the fabric of his shirt. Will’s suit jacket lies abandoned on the chair behind them. Mike had leaned over maybe half an hour ago to rest his head on Will’s shoulder, as it got later in the night and guests started slowly trickling out of the room. And then, maybe fifteen or so minutes ago, his breathing had evened out, fingers slackening in their grip against his arm, and Will doesn’t know how the hell Mike can fall asleep in a room that’s filled with so much noise, but he can’t help but find it endearing– wholly, completely, embarrassingly endearing.

And he gets it, he does. It’s Mike, he thinks, chest flooding with warmth in a strange, hollowed-out way, like there’s nothing left inside him except this feeling. It’s Mike. It’s Mike. It’s–

“Hey, hon,” comes a voice behind him, and Will startles, just a little, then immediately relaxes.

“Oh, hey mom,” he whispers, and Mike’s hand twitches lightly against his arm again. Joyce gives him an amused look, glancing down at Mike, then back at Will.

“Did he fall asleep?” she asks, pulling up a chair next to them. “I’ll be quiet, don’t worry.”

Will feels himself smile before he actually realizes he’s doing it. “Yeah,” he snorts softly, “but I have no idea how.”

As if roused by some sixth sense, like he knew they were talking about him, Mike stirs, lifting his head off of Will’s shoulder and blinking blearily. “What–”

“Shh,” Will says, and Joyce bites back a smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mike says, and then yawns loud and conspicuously. “Shit– I’ve just been so tired this week, sorry, Will–”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, even though his shoulder and arm are starting to fall asleep, just a little. Will drops a kiss to the top of Mike’s head, and feels him start to smile into his shoulder before stiffening, a little self-consciously, and glancing up at Joyce.

“Um–”

“Oh,” his mom waves a hand, “don’t mind me. You two are so sweet. You remind me of Nancy and Jonathan after they started dating. Jonathan would turn so red, but maybe not as red as you’re turning right now, Will–”

“Mom!”

“Red?” Mike perks up, and then, “Oh you are turning red!”

“Shut up,” Will mumbles, but he’s sure it’s not convincing in the slightest. “Did you come over here just to embarrass me?”

Joyce puts two hands up in the air like hey, don’t look at me. “I was just going to let you know that Hop and I are taking off,” she says, eyes sparkling. “He has the early shift tomorrow, but Mike, now that I’ve caught you– your speech was wonderful. Really. Jim was tearing up and he told me to never let you find out but I figured you’d want to know.”

Mike blinks. He still looks a little out of it, still a little red from sleep or the champagne from earlier, but he smiles, sudden and pleased. “Really?”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Joyce grins conspiratorially. “But yes. It was very sweet.”

“Thanks Mrs. Byers,” Mike says, the words stretching into another yawn, quieter this time. He groans lightly, then pushes himself off of Will’s shoulder and sits back up.

Will peers over at him. “Are you tired? You want to head back?”

Mike rubs at his eyes with both hands, blinks a few times in rapid succession, then shakes his head like he’s trying to shake the sleep out of his body, like it’s a physical thing. “No,” he smiles, and it’s a little bit tired, but he looks happy. “No, not yet.”

“Okay,” Will whispers, and he’s probably grinning like an idiot, but he can’t help it. That’s the common denominator here, between every interaction he ever has with Mike– that he’s so happy that he just can’t help it. “You still want to get pizza on the way back?”

“God, yes please,” Mike groans in relief. “Um. No offense, but wedding food is just– like what the hell, man, I’m starving. That was nothing.”

“Pizza it is,” Will agreed easily, mentally making a pros and cons list of getting a large and having leftovers or saving money and going for a medium. “Pepperoni?”

“Anything goes,” Mike is saying, and then Joyce clears her throat.

“Well,” she says, snapping her purse shut and smiling. “Hop and I are heading out but– oh, drive safe you two. Eat a slice for me, actually, I’ve been craving pizza all week.”

“Bye, mom,” Will smiles, craning his neck upwards as she plants a kiss on top of his head.

“You too,” she says to Mike, who barely has time to blink in surprise before his mom is dropping a kiss on his forehead. She rests a hand on his shoulder briefly as she smiles and says, “I’d welcome you to the family, Mike, but you’ve been a part of it for years already.”

“I– bye, Mrs. Byers,” Mike says faintly, eyes wide, as Joyce waves goodbye. He turns back to Will. “Part of the family? Really?”

“It’s what you get for dating your best friend,” Will murmurs, glancing out over the rapidly emptying room before tugging on Mike’s arm until he falls into him with a small, startled noise. “You get smothered by my mom.”

“I wouldn’t call it smothering,” Mike laughs, eyes darting down to Will’s mouth. He swallows, and says, softly, “Plus, I like your family. No complaints from me.”

Will hums, soft. “I’m sorry about– you know. How did that go?”

“Nancy said she survived mom and dad with minimal damage,” Mike laughs drily. “And nana too. And I managed to avoid them long enough that they didn’t have a chance to ambush me, so.”

“Good,” Will says, kissing Mike softly on the corner of his mouth, then again, right over the curve of his cupid’s bow. He’s a little warm, a little loose and pliant from sleep, and he moves easily, tucking a finger into the loop of Will’s tie and pulling him in closer. Their knees bump against each other under the tablecloth, chair legs scraping gently across the polished floor as Will leans forward. “I’m glad,” Will says into the kiss, and Mike smiles.

“Me too,” Mike whispers, tucking his hands into Will’s hair and pulling away, just barely. “Because now they’re gone and all of our annoying cursory invite relatives are gone and it’s just you and me– and Nancy, and Jonathan, and El and Lucas and– whatever. I think I owe you a dance.”

There’s something slow and melodic playing as Nancy and Jonathan make the last of their rounds, most of the tables empty and the dance floor cleared out. Will grins, kisses Mike one more time for good measure, then stands up. “Okay,” he agrees, “but I’m leading.”

“I don’t think it makes a difference, because neither of us can–”

“I’m leading,” Will says again, and Mike chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure. Lead the way, Will.”

[skimmeh]

So I was thinking about fun places to place gills on a person

I propose this idea

One weakness: particularly long double handshakes

[firstroseofspring]

memory, death and life as komerex zha, the perpetual game; klingon culture as depicted in the final reflection, by john m. ford