#oh! and thank u for the prompt!!

[cubedmango]

cherry magic AU for @alnstgforgaza anon with impeccable taste 🍒✨

(info on how to send in your own prompt is over here! please consider donating 💜)

[spacedace]

Dannys graduation class is especially liminal thanks to the portal and frequent ghost encounters/ Their overshadowing. Which means, that they subconsciously prefer places with high ecto ambience.

Gotham University already had their fair share of students from amity park, one of the only people outside from Gotham who would actually stay for the duration of their studies (thanks to them being used to ghost shenanigans). But this year its more than usual + even for Gothamites these Amity Parkers seem to be rather unhinged.

(I just need more liminal!Amity Parker shenanigans :D and thanks to WE Gotham has great scholarships available)

I had a lot of fun with this one! Thank you for the prompt!

-

Robert’s hands shook as he brought the chalk to the blackboard, letter’s jagged and words illegible as he attempted to write the day’s lesson down.

Behind him was a silence beyond what the human mind was ready to comprehend. A room full of people, the sense of others in the room, and yet utter stillness. No soft scratch of pencils on paper, gentle taps of nails upon keyboards, no shifting of bodies or crinkling of snacks or soft murmur of voices of those at the back of the lecture hall whispering to each other.

It was something Professor Robert Herne hadn’t truly noticed before this semester. How much noise humans made even when they were sitting very quietly. Little things the brain filtered out so terribly noticeable until it was gone. The almost imperceptible hush of breaths. The absent hum of a chorus of heartbeats. Things you didn’t realize you were used to hearing until they were suddenly, horribly gone.

The chalk broke beneath his hand.

The students sat in impossible, unbearable stillness, watching him.

They were always watching him.

Unblinking eyes, fathomless and deep and knowing knowing knowing. They looked at him and saw. Empty voids that threatened to swallow him whole if he made the mistake of meeting their terrible, all consuming gazes.

His hand shook harder, the broken chalk in his hold crumbling to fine dust. His breathing came harder, heart pounding. Behind him figures stretched long, twisting and unnatural, more and more unblinking eyes opening to stare at him, mouths stretching, faces warping, skin mottling to impossible shades, sharp teeth and pointed ears. Still as death, unmoving, he could feel the weight of them pressing down upon him from all sides and, and, and -

He screamed.

-

Miriam Schuster, Dean of Gotham University, sat with her head in her hands at her desk. Outside on the quad yet another of the school’s professors was being carried away on a stretcher, screaming and frantic as his class of students all milled about worried for him at a distance.

Herne was the third one in the past month.

Amity kids, she swore, they got weirder and weirder every year. And unlike some members of the University staff, she was qualified to say that. She was an Amity Park kid once upon a time, she knew her home town was weird. Even before the ghost stuff started happening they had a reputation for being odd. She’d certainly creeped out more than a few of her own professors over the years as a student, and still put some people on edge whenever she forgot to make an active effort to appear more…for lack of a better word, normal.

This year’s batch was weird even by her standards though. Far more ecto-contaminated than the students that had joined the university in previous years and it showed. The entire non-Amity half of several courses had dropped in the first week of the semester. They’d had more dorm-room transfer requests than they’d ever seen before. TAs were refusing to work in classes that had Amity Parkers in them. And the professors…

Herne gave another scream of terror outside, shrieking about silence and eyes and being watched. Miriam sighed again.

The professors were not able to cope with the freshmen class at all.

Scrubbing her face in her hands, Miriam leaned back in her seat and looked down at the papers spread out before her. Transfer paperwork to group all the new batch of Amity kids into the same classes so that they weren’t quite so spread around. Keep them contained, as much as it was possible to do so. The problem with having them all in one place though was that the effect of them being so…well, Amity, was far more intense. Which left her with the question of just who she was going to be able to get to teach these classes.

Gotham was more up to Amity Parker strangeness than just about anywhere else - outside of Amity itself of course - and even the Gothamites where having trouble keeping up. It was going to take a special kind of person to be able to handle them.

Miriam glanced out her window again to where the ambulance was trundling away with Herne aboard to Arkham. The civilian mental facilities hadn’t been up to the kind of psychosis caused by direct contact with this year’s batch of Amity Parkers.

Hmm, she considered. That might be an idea.

She’d have to make some phone calls.

-

“Alright settle down! I know you’re all a rowdy bunch, but I’m gonna need yous to sit pretty for me for the next hour so we can go over the new syllabus.”

To anyone else, there wouldn’t have been any kind of perceptible difference to the utter stillness of the room. The rows of seated students were as still and motionless as they’d ever been, not even their chests seeming to move as they sat and stared, unblinking.

The new professor smiled widely. “Thank you! And hear I heard yous were all a bunch of troublemakers, ha!” A deft hand snatched up a piece of chalk, drawing large looping letters on the board with plenty of flourishes. “Welcome to Psych 101! You can all call me Professor Quinzel!”

Harley spun to face her class, smiling brightly at the eager gleam in the eyes of her new students.

The class, with eyes a little too bright and teeth a little too sharp and shapes a little too wrong when viewed from the corner of the eye all smiled back brightly. It was such a relief to finally have a professor that actually had her shit together.

[grimalkinscribbles]

Hi hope your having a wonderful day! I absolutely love your art

If you have the time I humbly request a Mhin doodle of them eating sweets like a little chipmunk ��.

Thats all, Byeeeeeeeeee

🤲🥧

[hailsatanacab]

I'll ask after that secret number 8!

I only remembered secret number 8 because I saw your wip here! I'd started this one based on the same prompt, then lost said prompt and stopped working on it 😅

Instead of a snippet, I'm just dropping it all here - maybe that way I'll feel inspired to finish it?

———

It’s a full house for dinner tonight and, really, that should have tipped him off.

Bruce sits at the head of the table, smiling softly as he watches over everyone’s antics. Damian is regaling Dick with everything they saw at the zoo that day (Danny had been so happy to see Delilah the purpleback gorilla again, and her new little additions to the troupe, too!) and how well they are implementing the grant the Wayne Foundation had gifted them. Tim, Steph, Cass, and Duke are all engaged in a thumb-war tournament which Danny has no interest in participating in. It just wouldn’t be fair on them.

Danny loves that look. The one where Bruce’s eyes crinkle when he thinks none of the kids can see him. It oozes love and it makes Danny’s heart, his core, ache. 

It’s been a little over a year since Alfred found him on the street and managed to wrangle him back to the manor to stay—even after the whole biting thing when he realised how rich they were. 

A little over a year here and Danny’s starting to feel like family.

Starting to feel like he might, just maybe, like to make it official.

“Danny,” Bruce says, drawing everyone’s attention. Danny starts at his name, but Bruce’s voice is warm and calm, and his shoulders lose their tension almost immediately. “Danny, I have something I would like to tell you.”

“Uhhh…” is all Danny can croak out, eyes flicking back and forth between Bruce and the rest of them. Smooth. Looking good, Danny.

Except… they’re all happy. All smiles, all relaxed body language, all radiating calm and love and acceptance. Well, not Damian—his face is as thunderous as it always is—which at least means it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.

“Danny, first of all, I just want to impress upon you that this is in no way something you have to do. You are under no obligation to join us and, no matter what, you shall always be welcome with us in the manor.”

Wait, what? Danny squints at Bruce, trying to parse exactly what he’s saying… Is he—is this them asking to adopt him? Do they want to make it official, too? 

It’s been a little over a year and of course Danny has imagined calling Bruce ‘Dad’. Of course he’s imagined being part of the family, of course he wants to make it official!

He can’t help the beaming grin or the bright and bubbling “Yes!” already waiting on his lips. All Bruce has to do is ask, all Danny needs to hear is—

“I’m Batman.”

The smile freezes on Danny’s face.

His lungs stop working, his heart stops working, he stops working, he just—

“And I’m Nightwing,” Dick smiles, breaking the awkward silence. 

Danny’s eyes snap to him, and then down to Tim when he admits to being Red Robin. Duke is Signal, Steph is Spoiler. Damian begrudgingly tells him he’s Robin, but Danny can barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

“I’m Black Bat.” Cass cocks her head, almost looking concerned. It always felt like she understood him the most. Whenever he was feeling low, too in his memories, or stewing after a nightmare, she was always there, ready to card her fingers through his hair and never mention his tears. It makes his heart ache to think of it now. “It’s okay, Danny.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but how—how can it be okay? How? 

Danny’s spent a little over a year with them. A little over a year with Batman. 

Batman, who works with the Justice League, who works with…

A little over a year. 

Just under 16 months since he escaped.

“Danny? Are you alright?” Bruce asks

Finally, his lungs kickstart and suck in a shuddering breath, only for everyone to drop their smiles.

Didn’t take them long, did it? Now that their ruse is up, there’s no kindness in their eyes, they’re just… cold, calculating. Evaluating. 

“Why?” Danny gasps, his fingers tingling, his heart in his throat.

Just under 16 months since he—has he escaped? Or was this just another one of their experiments?

"I... I trusted you, why—" Danny chokes back a sob, gritting his teeth as his shoulders shake. Why? Why would they do this? "I was happy here, with you. I thought... Weren't you happy?"

"Danny..." Bruce is looking at him, eyes narrow and eyebrows pinched, in some cruel facsimile of confused concern and all Danny can think is how much of an actor he is. How well he can play the part of a doting father. How much he made him want that.

"I don't understand, why..." 

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, I can imagine that it comes as a shock. We shouldn't have lied to you, Danny, but—"

"Stop it!" Danny slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Even standing, he feels so small. Smaller than Bruce, than all of his adopted siblings. They crowd above him when they all stand, too. "Just stop it! Why are you doing this, why are you still pretending? Stop it!"

It was easier, with Danny's biological parents. The knowledge that they'd do anything to get him on a lab table, to open him up and see what makes him tick, to rip him apart molecule by molecule, had always been there. He knew they hated ghosts. He knew they hated Phantom. He knew they hated him. It was easier because it was something he'd known all his life. When he died, when he became a ghost, he knew what to expect from them. It hurt, of course it did.

But it was easier than this.

"Danny, I'm going to need you to take a deep breath. You're having a panic attack and you need to breathe."

"Breathe?" Danny laughs, the sound harsh and choking, too high pitched in his hysteria. "You're joking, right? Or is this just more of the—the experiment?"

"Danny, please, we don't know what you're talking about, you—"

"You don't know? You're Batman! You work with the Justice League, you work with—" His words choke off as his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat. His whole body itches, screaming at him to leave, he can't go back, he can't, he can't, he can't!

Bruce takes a hesitant step forward and Danny scrambles back, his feet catching on the chair behind him and sending him careening to the floor. Where are the agents? Why aren't they swarming in, ready to apprehend him, strap him back on the table, carve him from the inside out.

"Please, Danny, calm down. We don't—"

Danny stops listening. His back hits the wall and he pulls his knees into his chest, his shoulders dipping down as he begins to sob. His heart throbs inside his throat, too painful to swallow around. Tears fall hot and heavy on his face.

Sure, he could run. He could phase out through the wall and he could be out of Gotham in a couple of hours. He's escaped the GIW once, he can do it again.

But that was before Batman knew who he was. Before he had the World's Greatest Detective on his tail.

Before he... 

He really thought this would be different, you know?

He wanted to make it official.

"Why did... Why were you so nice to me? Why did you make me like you? I really—I really liked you. I-I thought we could be a family."

"Danny, we are a—"

"Don't lie to me!" Danny snaps, but the force of his anger leeches all the fight from him, and suddenly all that's left is a bone-weary tiredness. There’s a lump in his throat that hurts. There’s a line down his chest that burns. "I don't care. I don't care anymore, I don't. Just... don't make me go back there. Please." 

Is it futile? He thought he knew how the GIW operated by now, the depths that they would go to achieve their results, but this... this was a whole new level of pain that Danny thought he had left behind him in Amity.

"We're not going to make you go anywhere, Danny, you're safe here, I promise."

"Safe? Safe? You must have—" he takes a deep breath, tries to stop the quivering of his voice. It’s all starting to make sense, now.  "The reason you're telling me who you are is because you must have told them everything already. I know the Justice League—I know you're working with them, which means the ex-experiment is over now, and they're coming to take me back. And I can't go back."

"Danny—"

"I can’t!” Danny glares at Bruce with all the rage he can, fingernails digging into his skin. “I’m not going back!"

"That's right, you're not going back, Danny. I won't let that happen." Bruce crouches down in front of Danny, his hands open and raised as if he's trying to say he's not a threat. "I don't know who you're talking about, and I'm sorry about that, but I can promise you that you’re not going back there. We will keep you safe."

Danny pulls himself closer, tucks himself further into the wall, eyes flickering all across the room waiting for that tell-tale flash of white as the agents start to swarm.

He should take his chances now and run, he should go, he needs to go!

The rest of them, his brothers and sisters of a little over a year, are spread out, giving him and Bruce some space. The same concern colours all of their faces. Why are they still pretending?

Steph is chewing on her thumb. 

Danny liked Steph and her brash confidence, her jokes. She's been promising to paint his nails for months now, they've just never found the time. He was going to go for green and black, or maybe a galaxy theme, depending on what she felt comfortable doing.

He likes them all.

"You were supposed to be my family." His mouth turns down at the corners and his voice shakes like a child. "You were supposed to—why? Why would you—I don't understand why you would make me like you..."

"This isn't an experiment, Danny," Bruce's voice is steady, soothing. "I promise."

"But you work with them and—"

"Who do I work with?"

"The Justice League."

"Yes, I do, but we—"

"And the Justice League works with them. The GIW." Danny trembles with the name, clutching tightly onto his hoodie. "I'm not going back there, Bruce."

Danny doesn't miss Bruce's look over his shoulder, nor Tim's nod in return. Tim turns slightly to the side to hide his movements, but Danny bets he has his phone in his hand, probably letting them know they can take him now. Guess this is it, then. They'll be here soon, and he'll be gone.

"Kill me."

"Danny? What do—"

"If you ever had any kindness for me, if you ever cared, kill me. Please, Bruce. I can't do it again."

"Danny..."

"End me now. Take my core out and break it, please, before they get here."

[luxaofhesperides]

Please continue ghostlights multiverse constant au with Earth 0 having a happy ending together cuz halfa Danny is impossible to really kill anymore pleaseeeeeee 😭

(part one)

Danny is destined to die once he meets Duke. He knows this; he’s seen how their friendship leads to Danny’s death is so many different lives. There’s no doubt in his mind that the only way to ensure Danny lives a long life is to stay away from him.

Which is why the universe decides to make Danny pop up constantly. It’s clearly trying to get him killed, and Duke refuses to let that happen!

It starts innocently enough. They cross paths briefly at a bus stop, bumping into each other as Duke gets off the bus and Danny moves to go on it. He recognizes Danny immediately, feels a little spark go through him when their shoulders brush against each other. Something in him says I know you. I miss you.

He pulls back a step and offers a quick apology. Danny waves it off and looks at him as through searching for something. He opens his mouth to say something, but Duke can feel the threads of fate tighten around their throats and hurries away. 

He waits until he hears the bus pull away, then glances behind him to watch it go before he slows down to a normal walking pace and heads for the mall where he planned to meet his friends. 

Duke’s heart pounds in his chest. He can’t get Danny’s eyes out of his head; so painfully blue, so nostalgic, so doomed. 

This is for the best, he reminds himself. This is so Danny can live. That’s all that matters.

The moment’s passed, anyways. They’re still strangers, and they’ll stay that way. 

He takes another minute to collect himself, then plasters on a smile and heads into the mall to find his friends.

The next six times, Duke has to save Danny as the Signal, appearing just in time to stop a mugging, an armed store robbery, a car trying to run Danny over, and fighting off Man-Bat who, for some reason, took one look at Danny and went fuck this guy, actually.

Duke is stressed. He’s Stressed™ and if anyone tries to take out Danny again he’s just going to start screaming. 

For whatever reason, the universe is just out to get Danny now that they’ve run into each other once. Duke’s life is a cosmic joke, and he’s stuck in the center of it all waiting for the moment comedy turns into tragedy. 

It’s gotten to the point that Duke expects to find Danny in some sort of dangerous situation as soon as he starts patrol. He’s starting to dread going out, but he needs to; Gotham needs the Signal to keep the streets safe during the day, and Danny needs Duke to save his incredibly unlucky ass nearly every single day.

The first two hours go fine. He stops an armed robbery and a car jacking, chases away some creeps from the working girls, and gets a blueberry muffin from the bakery that’s been around forever, on account of the old woman running it thinking he’s a good lad who needs to eat more.

Duke begins to hope that he’ll have a quiet patrol. He begins to hope that Danny is safe and not in mortal danger for once.

His hopes are immediately dashed when he spots Danny on a rooftop, standing way too close to the edge.

Heart in his throat, Duke crosses the space between them in an instant, slingshotting himself forward through shadows.

He intends to pull Danny back, to say something, to try and shake some common sense into him so he actually has a chance at living a long life. Duke doesn’t get to do any of that; as soon as he steps out of the shadows, Danny turns to face him with a tired smile.

“There you are,” he says. “I knew you’d find me.”

“What? I—listen, can you step back from the ledge for me?”

Danny steps back, keeping his eyes on Duke. He doesn’t seem to mind that the Signal is so hesitant in this moment, keeping his distance. 

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he says, as if he never stopped talking, “But I had a feeling. You’ve probably had it too, right? It’s why we keep being pushed together, and why my luck has been so awful ever since I came to Gotham.”

He knows, is the first thing Duke things. But how can that be? If Danny knows about all those other universes where they had each other, then he knows how it ends. If he knows, then he should be trying to keep his distance from both Duke and the Signal before he gets killed.

“It’s you under that mask, isn’t it? Duke.”

The way Danny says his name brings him back to all those other lives where they had each other from the start. He sounds so sure of himself, as if he’s always known Duke.

It’s only when Duke says, “How?” that Danny falters, fear briefly crossing his expression before it settles into something more neutral. His fingers begin to pull at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, confidence melting away. 

“Do you… not know me?”

The quietness of his voice, the fragility of it, breaks Duke’s heart. He doesn’t stop to think before he answers, “I know you. Of course I know you, Danny.” Then he blinks, shakes his head, and says, “Wait. No. I know of you. We haven’t really met this life.”

“It’s the dreams, right? They make things so confusing.”

“You’ve been getting them too?”

“I may be the cause of them,” Danny says with a wince. “Due to some, uh… ghostly magic shenanigans. It wasn’t on purpose! But it is kinda my fault.”

Ghostly magic? Okay, sure, why not. Who is Duke to judge the bizarre things that exist in their world. He has superpowers and his biological father is an evil immortal. He has absolutely no leg to stand on when it cames to the weird and the unexpected. Might as well roll with it, since this is his life now.

Besides, there’s more important things to focus on, such as: “Okay, so, just to be on the same page, you’ve been getting the same dreams as me, yeah? The ones where you always die? Those dreams?”

And Danny, very casually, answers, “Yeah.”

“Dude,” Duke says, pained, “If you know that meeting me leads to your death, then why are you seeking me out?!”

“What?”

“Have you not seen how you die young in every single universe? Because I have! And it’s messing me up!”

Danny blinks at him, then looks guilty, hunching in on himself. “Oh, yeah. That. Uh, yeah, so…” he trails off and bites his lip, gaze kept downwards so he doesn’t have to meet Duke’s eyes. “I do die young always, yeah, but it’s totally not your fault! I just do that!”

“You just do that,” Duke repeats, pained. 

“Yeah. I just die young.”

“Is this somehow not a problem for you.”

To his immense displeasure, Danny has the nerve to shrug and say, “Eh, not really.”

“Danny.”

“It’s okay! Really!” Danny says, a little frantically, “And also it has nothing to do with you! None of my deaths have been your fault, it’s just a thing that happens to me!” And then, in a quiet, rushed mumble, “Also I already died in this universe so it’s fine.”

A strangled sound bursts out of Duke’s throat as he tries very hard not to start yelling. He puts his head in his hands and holds back a heavy sigh because the boy of his literal dreams is stressing him out so much he’s about to dissolve into ashes and ascend to a higher realm where he has no worries. 

Unfortunately, he’s not quite there yet, so Duke has to deal with living in the reality where Danny admits he already died because that’s just what he does: die young. 

Which is, apparently, not Duke’s fault at all. Cool. 

Cool cool cool. He’s definitely not going to have a breakdown about this.

A hand gently tugs on his wrist, making him lift his head to meet Danny’s worried gaze. “Hey, you alright? Do you wanna sit down for a minute?”

And you know what? Duke does want to sit down for a minute. He’s earned it. 

He nods, and Danny carefully guides him back to where the roof access door is, so they can sit with their backs against something and be away from the edge where curious eyes might spot them. It feels easy, practiced, as if they’ve done this a thousand times before instead of just now having their first conversation. Their lives have been linked and twisted together, though only for a short time before death takes Danny away. 

He knows Danny, despite how illogical it is, and that’s what makes him take off his helmet and exposure his face to the world. 

Danny knows him too, after all. 

There is no hiding from someone who is meant to be in his life.

Danny’s smiling softly when he turns to look at him. “Hey, Duke. It’s good to see you properly. Is it weird to say that I’ve missed you even though we’ve technically never met in this life?”

“Nah,” he replies, “I missed you too. Please stop scaring me like that.”

“I make no promises. Expect for this: dying won’t take me away from you in this life. I’ve got it handled.”

“I don’t… I don’t think that’s someone anyone can have handled.”

“I’ve got it handled,” Danny repeats firmly. 

Duke shakes his head with a small laugh. He got so caught up in the guilt of leading to Danny’s death, of being unable to save him, of losing  him in every universe, that he forgot how stubborn Danny is. 

It is a weight off his chest, though. To know that it wasn’t his fault. To know that the worst has already come to pass long before they met in this universe, so they don’t have to fear the future together. 

“So,�� he says, “Tell me more about these magical ghostly shenanigans?”

“At least wait until the second date for personal questions,” Danny jokes.

“Okay. Wanna grab dinner tonight?”

It’s nice to see that Danny blushes easily in this universe too. “Isn’t that moving a little fast?”

“We’ve been dreaming about a bunch of other universes where we’re together. We know each other even though we don’t know each other. We’re well past moving fast, dude.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Danny nods. “Alright. Dinner tonight, then. Take me to the best place for breakfast foods in Gotham. I’ve been craving pancakes all week.”

“Sure, I can do that. Mind giving me your number so I can figure out where to pick you up from?”

Danny nods and begins patting his pockets in search of… something. Duke means to grab his phone and hand it to Danny to get his number, but he’s quickly distracted as Danny gives up on his pockets and shoves a hand directly into his own chest. 

Ghostly magic shenanigans. This is probably part of it?  Danny doesn’t look alarmed by this at all, so Duke rolls with it and shoves away his shock at the sight. 

“Aha!” Danny holds up a sharpie in triumph. He sure did pull that straight out of his ribcage. Duke is so chill with it. 

He lets Danny take hold of his arm, removing a wrist gauntlet so he can write on the skin. The cool ink of the sharpie makes him shiver, but otherwise, he stays still. Danny writes carefully, in smooth movements. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds, then he pulls the sharpie away and blows a surprisingly cold breath against Duke’s wrist to help the ink dry faster.

“There we go,” he says with a smile. “Let me know when you wanna have our date, okay? I’m free whenever, so don’t worry about accommodating me or anything.

“I’ll text you once I’m ready,” Duke agrees. He stands up, looking over the numbers written on his wrist. He memorizes them, then puts his wrist gauntlet back on. It’s about time for him to get back to being the Signal, as much as he hates to leave Danny here when they’ve finally been able to have a quiet moment to themselves. 

“I’ll see you later, then.” Danny hesitates, then leans forward and presses a quick, chaste kiss against Duke’s cheek. Duke blinks at him, stunned, his heart skipping a beat. 

He doesn’t get the chance to return the gesture; Danny flushes red, backs up a few steps with a shy grin, and says, “Okay, bye Duke! Stay safe out there!” And then he’s gone, blinking out of sight, and it’s only his meta powers that let him see a faint wispy outline where Danny was. 

It moves, floating up in the air, then flies away like smoke in the breeze. 

Ah, Duke thinks, Ghostly. He’s a ghost. I’ll worry about that later.

His fingers brush against the spot where Danny kissed him. Then he puts his helmet back on and focuses on swinging through the streets of Gotham, ready for anything. 

The sooner he gets done with patrol, the better, after all. He needs all his focus to do that so he can start getting ready for his date with Danny, the literal boy of his dreams. 

This time, this life, this universe, they’re gonna do it right. They’ll make up for all the time their other selves lost. They’ll cherish every minute together, one pancake date at a time.

And to think, it only took a couple dozen different lives to get here.

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizontober 2023 | 3: recognize

greetings, dr. sobeck. you are clear to proceed.

[puppetmaster13u]

Thinkin' of WOF Au for DC, but like, it's a Gothamite and Fawcett thing. (And Amity Park if crossover)

Like those are the most magical areas in the world, even if Gotham is cursed as fuck. An unspoken secret of sorts that while they present themselves as human to outsiders, they are all Very Much Not.

Which means hilariously in the league, when everyone expects Batman to be suspicious and short with the new guy- even made bets on it- they are then shooketh when both visibly relax and start talking. And half the shared complaints don't make sense!

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

Now Gotham technically has no Queen, nor does Fawcett, but Batman and Captain Marvel are the closest things. Not in the traditional sense of back when they were in separate tribes (& maybe from a different dimension but shh that was millennia ago) but in the sense of, they're the ones patrolling and protecting the cities along with calling the shots in disasters.

Which does sort of change the dynamic they both have in their city. If one of them calls to arms, the city would follow them. They could declare war, and their cities (begrudgingly in Gotham's underbelly's case of strongest is in charge) would follow. And while Billy is oblivious, both Marvel-the-not-hivemind and Batman are. They know they have to be very careful.

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

I'm sure we all want Nightwing Bruce but no. Bruce, like both his mother and father and father's father and so on before him, is actually an Icewing. The Waynes however, have a case of melanism running in their bloodline. Thomas Wayne? Only his quills and part of his back were darker, but Bruce? Practically pitch black scales that shadow his eyes.

Now Alfred on the other hand, is a Nightwing. No special powers there, though you would hear many a child protest with how he seems to know everything.

Commissioner Gordon is a Mudwing, big stocky and very tired, which translates to his human disguise as a large trenchcoat. He finds this very amusing. Barbara similarly, is half Mudwing. Her mother was a Hivewing, making her a hybrid between both. Which does ironically mean that Batgirl does in fact have insectoid wings. Though that does ponder the question on if they'd all go by their original vigilante names.

Dick is a Silkwing. Wingless as he watches his parents fall and unable to do anything despite this place supposedly being safe for beings like them. He grows into his own, and his wings, when they come in, are dark Gotham colors through and through, with the deep blue of the sky he's come to crave.

Jason is a hybrid between a Mudwing and a Skywing. He's also an animus- not that he knew that. He doesn't find out until he's dying, telling himself to not die, to get back to Gotham, to his dad, his family- And then he wakes up in his Coffin, alive.

Now Cass, raised to be the perfect killer, is also a hybrid, just one between a Nightwing and a Rainwing, egg set out under the moon. Which succeeds, partially. She can't straight up read minds, but combined with her talent in reading body language on both human and inhuman bodies, it's a near thing.

Tim is a Seawing, borderline abandoned by his parents who seek treasures and more wealth as he's trapped back in a city where the water is dark and poisoned. But he's Gothamite, through and through, and he adapts. Scales darker than the original blues he was born with, and glow shifting to that sickly white of the Gotham's Bats.

Now Steph, is a full-blooded Rainwing, and can in fact change her scales, but can mostly be found in purples and golds. Though for a short time she was in another set of colors, thought dead before she slithered out of the shadows older and wiser than before.

Damian is his father's son, but he's also an Al-Ghul. The not-quite dragonet is half Icewing, and half Sandwing. And struggled to adjust at first, to a place so different from his first home where the only other dragons were blood related. But like any Wayne before him, he adjusts, and he adapts.

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

Billy wasn't a Beetlewing originally, and perhaps he would have hesitated if he'd known it would change him, would change his body and the last thing he had of his parents. But his friends, his Team and new family help. And he can pass as a Silkwing like their sort-of foster mother. All six of them can do so now, even if the others look more like hybrids themselves thanks to not being the Champion. They might not be, but they're his family. And that's enough.

[astrobei]

hey :) so i was wondering if you could incorporate 3, 12 and 50 into a single one shot ? bc that would be Amazing but if you don't want you you can just pick whichever haha

challenge accepted !! this was super fun to write thank you !! :^)

3, 12, and 50 for touch prompts: hiding face in neck + pushing a strand of hair behind their ear + putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

If you’d asked Mike, a few years ago, how he thought he’d end up dying, he’d have a few different guesses. Clawed to death by monsters, maybe, was up at the top of his list for a while there. Shot to death by government agents also made the top five more than once, which was kind of worrying. And it was probably very concerning that getting stomped on, impaled, or eaten by an alien supermonster hivemind was on there at all.

Suffice it to say that he didn’t die in any of those ways, since Mike is currently, in the present moment, alive. But probably not for long. He’s seen some shit, and he hasn’t even graduated college, and maybe it’s a little bit pathetic that after all of that– the monsters and the Russians and the end of the world– that this is how he really dies: backed up against the wall at some completely questionable house party, being flirted with by Will Byers.

At least, that’s what Mike thinks is going on here. If he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t have all that much experience in the flirting department, considering that the one person he’d ever dated hadn’t done much flirting and the one person he had maybe wanted to flirt with hadn’t–

Well, it doesn’t matter. Said person is doing it now, and for all of Mike’s past reminiscence and speculation on the topic, he didn’t think it would be happening like this.

“You look nice tonight,” Will is saying, barely audible over the low thrum of music in the background. They’re not even somewhere particularly loud– the hallway is a blessed reprieve from the chaos of whatever is happening in the living room, but Will’s voice has dropped into something low and intentional. He smiles. “You should wear more green.”

Oh, god. Mike is going to die.

“Uh. Really?” he says, in what’s definitely not a squeak. It comes out assured and confident and–

Oh, who is he kidding? Will’s smile grows, surely delighted at the unfortunate crack in Mike’s voice. He leans in a bit closer, and it’s barely a few inches, but he might as well have just pushed Mike up against the wall and–

“Yeah,” Will whispers, so soft that Mike has to lean in another inch to hear him. He reaches a hand out and runs a thumb along the hem of Mike’s sweater, the side of his wrist brushing softly against Mike’s collarbone. Mike’s heart stops dead, still and unmoving and seized up, right there in his chest cavity. “It’s definitely your color.”

“Oh,” Mike breathes, and yeah.

So Will might be flirting with him, is the bottom line here, and the issue isn’t so much that it’s unwelcome– the opposite, in fact. Mike feels a little bit like if he weren’t caged in by Will’s arm on one side of his chest and the adjacent wall on the other, then his soul might be just flying right out of his body altogether. It feels like maybe it’s already halfway there, because Will’s gaze is steady, eyes sparkling with amusement even in the dim light of the hallway, and wow, are his hands shaking?

For his own sake, he hopes not. 

And the issue isn’t that it’s unwelcome, but more so that in all his years of existence and all the crazy shit he’s seen, somehow, being flirted with by Will Byers was lower on the list of things Mike thought might happen to him someday than interdimensional portals or his telekinetically gifted ex-girlfriend.

“You look nice too,” Mike gets out, in a surprisingly even voice. Will does look nice, so this isn’t a difficult sentiment to portray by any means. He’s swapped out one of his usual sweaters, big and worn comfortably around the edges and all down the seams, for something a little more fitted. It’s a soft cream color, and Mike doesn’t know where Will got this, because he’s been shopping at the same stores the entire time since they moved here for school and none of them carry clothes like this. Mature, a little grown up, and really, really attractive.

Will lets out a small, pleased noise. “Yeah?”

“How many drinks have you had?” Mike peers suspiciously down at him, because it’s not like Will is an idiot, per se, or super uptight about these sorts of things, but he’s not usually this– this bold. If Mike is going to be blunt about it, Will has never been this bold before and maybe it’s about time, but that doesn’t mean Mike is any more ready for it.

Not that he’s complaining. Oh, god.

“One,” Will grins. “Why? How many have you had?”

Christ. Mike swallows, and says, “Like, half. It was nasty so I just– um. Left it there. Heads up, by the way, don’t drink the jungle juice.”

“Noted,” Will laughs. It does something to Mike’s stomach, watching the way his shoulders relax, like he’s comfortable and at ease here, standing in front of Mike all up close and personal in a dark corner of a dark hallway with– oh, god– no one around.

“Yeah,” Mike says, kind of lamely, and notices belatedly that his gaze has settled somewhere around the general vicinity of Will’s mouth sometime in the last forty seconds or so. Maybe longer, if he’s being totally honest, but who’s counting, right?

(Mike. Mike is counting.)

“So anyway,” Will continues, without missing a beat. “You look really good in green. I don’t know why you never wear colors.”

“It’s not on purpose,” Mike insists, even though it kind of is, because it’s a lot harder to accidentally look like an idiot if all of your clothes match by default. “I don’t know, I just– I don’t have a reason to?”

“Okay, well,” Will starts, and then he moves forward until their chests are almost flush against each other, and Mike is seriously, seriously backed into a corner, even more than he was before. Both metaphorically and extremely literally. “It looks nice with your hair,” Will murmurs, and reaches a hand up to tug lightly at a strand falling loose around Mike’s face.

Will smells really nice, actually, like the good cologne he wears on special occasions, and Mike doesn’t know why he dressed up so nice to go to a party where you have to scoop your drinks out of a bowl with a red plastic cup, but hey. Again, he’s not complaining.

“My– my hair?” Mike asks faintly, because it’s just his hair, and he hasn’t ever given it much thought before now, because it’s only hair. Black and just long enough to land on this side of inconvenient, but suddenly Will has one hand in it and it’s not just hair anymore, but maybe the best thing to ever happen to him.

Will nods. He looks a little pink, which is quite possibly the most endearing thing Mike has ever seen, and it’s also more of a confidence booster than it probably should be, that Will hasn’t turned into a total smooth-talking Casanova out of literally nowhere. That maybe he’s losing his shit just as much as Mike is right now.

“Yeah,” Will says, and yeah, his voice catches just a little bit on the single syllable, and Mike bites back a pleased smile. “It looks really good with your hair,” he says again, then tucks the loose strand carefully behind Mike’s ear. “So that’s one reason.”

“I hardly think that’s good enough reason to redo my entire wardrobe,” Mike says, egged on just a little bit by the way Will is definitely turning more pink by the second.

“It brings out your eyes too,” Will murmurs, looking steadily up at him. It’s hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking– half his face is drowned out in shadow and the proximity is rendering Mike kind of useless altogether– but Mike thinks maybe he has a guess.

He blinks. “My eyes?”

“Mhm.” Will strokes the pad of one thumb over the skin there, just over his cheekbone. Mike instantly forgets how to breathe. Christ. “They’re pretty.”

“I– are you sure you’re not drunk?”

“Stone-cold sober,” Will assures him. “Why? Who’s asking?”

Me, Mike thinks, me, me, me. What he says is, “Um. Someone.”

Will raises an eyebrow, but he keeps his hand right where it is– resting on Mike’s cheek, thumb under his eye, and oh, god. Mike is going to die. 

“Someone?”

“You don’t know him?” Mike tries.

“Shame,” Will says noncommittally, and it sounds like he might be on the verge of laughing again. He steps back, the vacuum-seal proximity between their bodies vanishing in an instant as the air of the room rushes in all at once– stifling, stuffy, a little warm and sweaty and immediately, it’s like the noise in the place has been cranked up to ten.

Was it this loud in here all along?

Mike is going to scream. He’s going to die, right here in the hallway, and then he’s going to scream some more. “Where are you going?” he asks, and it comes out a bit petulant and a bit needy and way, way too thrown off-guard for his liking, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The lingering warmth of Will’s palm against his cheek is something he’s already missing like it’s a physical thing.

“Who’s asking?” Will says again, and dear god, if Mike had known before what it would have been like to be flirted with Will Byers, he would have, like, grabbed a couple witnesses and signed off an early copy of his last will and testament, bequeathed his meager belongings to whomever they may concern, then laid himself down to die in peace.

“Me,” Mike blurts out this time, taking a step forward from the wall and grabbing Will’s wrist. “I’m asking because I think you shouldn’t go and you should just stay here with me and– and flirt with me some more, because, um. That was nice, and I liked that, even if I thought I was going to die for a minute there, and if you go then– um. You can’t flirt with me anymore?”

Will smiles for real this time, wide and shocked and pleased. “Yeah?” And it’s a little shy when he says it, like maybe he didn’t actually expect this to go anywhere, like he didn’t expect Mike to grow a fucking pair and stop melting into the floor long enough to reciprocate.

“Yeah,” Mike whispers, and he’s just started to pull Will back towards him, Will already stumbling a little with the motion, when he hears a voice from around the doorframe they’re currently maybe ten feet away from.

“Mike? Will?”

“Shit,” Will mutters, eyes wide. “What the hell is Max doing here? I thought she was upstairs.”

Mike opens his mouth to answer when a second voice responds, “I swear I saw them go through here,” and it might be Dustin and it might be Lucas but all that’s really important is that whoever it is is close, and Mike doesn’t know if he has the cardiac strength in him to go through all of this again later, and all of his brainpower is currently being used to not pass out on the spot, and–

Lucky for him, Will has his shit marginally more together. “Here,” he’s saying, then there are fingers wrapping around Mike’s forearm and before he can fully process what’s happening, he’s being dragged in the opposite direction. Will throws open a door, then shoves Mike inside.

Mike wrinkles his nose. “It smells like feet in here,” he says, and he can’t see Will’s face because it’s pitch black in– wherever they are– but he’s willing to bet real money that he’s rolling his eyes.

“Coat closet,” Will says simply, “now shut up.”

Okay, yeah, makes sense. There’s something heavy and soft brushing up against Mike’s side, and he takes a couple steps backwards until he can feel the wall behind him. God, okay. This is fine. This is fine. This is–

“You know,” Mike says, as if this will distract him from his unnecessarily sweaty palms, “you didn’t have to ambush–”

Quick as lightning, Will claps a hand over Mike’s mouth. “If you want to kiss me,” Will hisses, and, okay, he’s pressed up against Mike again, which is fine, it’s great, actually– “I’m going to need you to shut up.”

The footsteps come closer. Mike holds his breath. He thinks maybe Will is too because he can’t hear him breathe, and he’s gone tense and still where he’s pressed up against Mike. A voice that’s definitely Dustin’s is grumbling, “Man, if I find them and the taco place down the street is already closed, I’m going to kill him.”

Mike bites back a laugh. The taco place closed twenty minutes ago, which he knows, because he’d been on his way to find Dustin when he’d– when he’d run into Will in the hallway.

Oh, god.

“Are they gone?” Will whispers, as if his hand is not currently over Mike’s mouth. He clears his throat like hello, and Will drops his hand. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you,” Mike says hoarsely, and Will’s hand pauses somewhere between his collarbone and sternum.

“Well,” he hears Will say, still entirely invisible in the dark save for a few dots of faint light coming in through the slats in the door. “You don’t have to kiss me. If you don’t want to.”

For the first time all evening, Will sounds a little hesitant. No, Mike thinks. He can’t have that. He shakes his head, even though Will can’t see him. “Let’s not be too hasty here, okay, I didn’t say that.”

A pause. “Yeah?” Will says, a little shy, almost. “You want to kiss me?”

Screw it. 

“I do,” Mike says, as earnestly as he can find in himself to muster up, and he hears Will breathe in sharply somewhere in front of him. “I really, really want to–”

To Will’s credit, kissing in the dark probably wouldn’t work out for anybody. Mike is a few inches taller and the angle is a bit off, and it’s pretty impressive, if he’s being honest, that Will’s mouth lands mostly on his. Which should also not be rendering Mike as totally speechless as it is– being kissed on the corner of his lips in an awkward, clumsily endearing sort of way– but Will has always surprised him. “Shit,” Will says, pulling back slightly, “sorry, I was trying to guess where you were, and I–”

“It’s cool,” Mike hears himself say, and he didn’t mean to say it, but it seems that his brain has sort of kicked itself into autopilot mode, because he’s reaching out before he can really think about what he’s doing. His hand brushes Will’s shoulder, and he moves it up against the side of his neck, and says, hesitating, “Here– let’s try this.”

“Okay,” Will says softly, not even a whisper with how quiet it comes out. Mike drags a hand into Will’s hair, brings the other one to cup his cheek, and slowly, slowly moves forward.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Mike murmurs, tracing a thumb over the curve of Will’s lower lip, grounding himself. “Um. Just so you know that I’m, like, coming in.”

“Okay,” Will says again, and then Mike kisses him.

It’s instantly better this time– so much better, Mike thinks, immediately going lightheaded with the sensation of it. It’s like every other sense is dialed up to eleven in the dark– Will’s hair soft against his hand, the scent of his cologne, the faint taste of orange soda on his lips. The soft, startled noise Will makes in the back of his throat, cut off like it escaped him before he could stop himself, and that thought is enough to make Mike’s stomach swoop in a dizzying sort of way, that Will really wanted to kiss him so badly that he just couldn’t help himself, that maybe he thought about it in all the same ways Mike had. That maybe he came up with a hundred and one ways it might happen and maybe this was a possibility, in Will’s mind– a coat closet in the dark, barely one drink in.

“I can’t see you,” Will says, pulling back so that their lips are just barely brushing against each other. He’s got his hands on either side of Mike’s neck, like he’s anchoring himself lest he drift away entirely in the dark.

Mike lowers his hands, pulls Will in by the waist– the solid planes of his back, the soft fabric of this sweater, this goddamn sweater– and says, “You’re the one that kissed me in the dark, you idiot.”

Will makes a small noise of affront. “You’re the one that asked me to,” he says, a little smugly, which technically isn’t the most true statement, but Mike supposes that he had kind of set himself up to be kissed, so maybe he should let this one slide. And then Will runs a thumb along to his chin, tilts his face down, slowly, slowly, and kisses him again– and Mike can’t remember what exactly it was he was protesting.

Maybe Will had been onto something, because Mike is pretty chuffed about not being able to actually see the person he’s kissing, especially when that person is Will, who Mike spent a disproportionate amount of time wanting to look at even before this whole thing went down, but this is pretty nice for now, he thinks, as Will presses him a little more firmly into the wall. And that’s also nice, because Mike thinks he might be dying, and the solid parallel weights of the wall behind him and Will in front of him might be the only thing keeping him from keeling over entirely.

“Okay,” Mike says, pulling back, which is nowhere close to his top ten most intelligent moments of all time. Or even twenty, maybe. “You–”

The rest of the sentence gets lost to the sands of time, because the door is flying open so fast that Will flinches, and Mike tightens his grip around his waist on instinct. “What–”

“Oh,” Max Mayfield is saying, arms crossed. “This is where you two disappeared to.”

Mike closes his eyes, and prays to whichever higher power might be listening for a rapid, painless death.

Nothing happens. Figures.

“Come on, man,” he hears Dustin say, “we were looking for you guys!”

“We know,” Mike says, and then immediately wants to sink through the floor and disappear at the way his voice cracks, just a little. It’s barely noticeable, really, but his friends are like sharks in blood-infested waters. Lucas’ smug grin grows so wide that Mike considers just leaning over and smacking it off his face.

“Oh,” he says, far too gleefully for Mike’s liking, “so is this what you meant by I’m going to go look for Dustin, Mike?”

“Didn’t realize I took up residence near Will’s tonsils,” Dustin grumbles.

Will groans, dropping his head to Mike’s shoulder. “Never talk about my tonsils again,” he mumbles against Mike’s collarbone, but he’s smiling. Mike can tell, even if he can’t see him.

“Not even if they’re inflamed?”

Will doesn’t pull away, just shakes his head and tightens his arms where they’re wrapped around Mike’s neck. Despite himself, despite the way his face feels about a million degrees warm right now, Mike smiles. “No,” Will says simply. “All of you go away.”

“Yeah, I bet you want us to,” Max says, “but I’m serious. We gotta go. Someone just threw up on the couch and it’s nasty in there.”

Mike wrinkles his nose. “Way to kill the mood.”

“Mission accomplished,” Max says, and wiggles her car keys in the air. “I’m leaving in five, with or without you.”

“I don’t want to stay here with the puke sofa,” Mike admits, pulling away with no small amount of reluctance. “So we should probably–”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, pressing a kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Now come on. I want to be able to see you when I kiss you this time.”

It’s a good thing the hallway is still dark, because Mike goes very, very red.

[sheikahwarriork]

Got a prompt for you

Dimileth Post-Timeskip pre-Gronder unplanned pregnancy

(thank you so much anon, i had so much fun writing this!! hope you enjoy it too :3 <3)

wordcount: 1.2k

“Fuck!”

“… Fuck indeed”.

Byleth looked up at Mercedes, biting her lips. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

Mercedes sighed, visibly worried for her professor. “I think… you should at least tell him, professor. The final choice is entirely yours, of course, but he has to know”. She hesitated. “He needs to know”.

Byleth lowered her gaze. “Sadly, I think you’re right”.

The former mercenary was standing in front of the Cathedral, unable to step inside. She caressed her belly almost unconsciously. ‘You’re not a mistake. I just… I'd rather prefer you not to meet your father when he’s… like that’.

The belly didn’t respond.

Byleth was angry. Furious. She had never felt such rage, not even to Kronya the day Jeralt died. And the worst part? She didn’t even know who exactly this rage was for. Herself? Maybe. Destiny? Not exactly; destiny was Sothis, and Sothis was long gone. Him? Well, yes, of course; but not only. Biology? That one, too. Maybe especially it.

Byleth’s gaze wandered inside the Cathedral, immediately recognizing his figure, standing in front of the old Goddess statue, as he did every single fucking day since they reunited.

Okay, maybe that anger was totally for Dimitri. What did he do, since she woke up, since she found him? Kill, talk to the dead; kill, argue with Byleth; kill; and kiss her. He kissed her. He fucking kissed her. That damn bastard, who once was so afraid of his feelings he even took back his love confession, had the gall to grab her and kiss her like she was water and he was lost in a desert. He kissed her at the worst time possible because she had waited for it for so long, and that wasn’t the right time. She had kissed him back. Byleth missed her Dimitri; missed the sweet prince, missed the caring student, missed her kind friend. She shouldn’t have kissed him back. She should have scolded him, have stepped back. That… that wasn’t her Dimitri. Her lips weren’t for that… not-Dimitri. She should have gone away. She hadn’t, of course, because when Dimitri’s hungry lips captured hers, she felt… desire. Longing. Fire; a burning sensation she thought would kill her instantly. It hadn’t. She indulged in the fire, she lost herself in that fire. She was fire; she had been since the beginning.

Byleth shook her head; it was pointless to think about… that. What is done is done.

She stepped inside the Cathedral; he didn’t turn to her, his shoulders startled slightly, the only sign he noticed her presence.

Oh, the anger was back. Like a tsunami. “Oi, asshole!” Byleth shouted, unable to stop herself. “I have something important to tell you, so at least, look at me”.

Dimitri hesitated for a moment, but apparently something in Byleth’s tone caught his curiosity, since he did turn to her. He just shot her a vague questioning glare.

Byleth sighed. She thought about the advice Mercedes gave her, about what to tell him, how to tell him—

“I’m pregnant”.

It didn’t go exactly as planned.

Dimitri’s eyes widened, the hand holding Areadbhar twitched. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her for forty seconds straight.

“… Who”, he eventually said.

Byleth furrowed. “What?!”

“Who dared touch you”, Dimitri growled, his voice raising in tone.

Byleth blinked a few times. “What the hell do you mean”.

Dimitri was getting closer; he stopped a few inches from Byleth’s face.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill whoever dared to touch you, no, whoever dares to even look at you—”

‘Oh… oh heavens, no. He can’t be that dumb, can he?’

“What are you talking about?”

“… The baby’s father, of course”, he hissed, visibly annoyed. “Who is he”. Dimitri looked away, almost as if he was unable to hold her gaze. Almost as if he feared the answer.

‘Oh. He is that dumb’.

“Who do you think he is?” Byleth asked, almost casually. He was going to pay for his dumbness, and she deserved some fun.

Dimitri turned to her, anger in his eyes. “Don’t tease me, you! Tell me who dared touch my—”

“‘Your’ what? Am I yours now?” Byleth interrupted him, folding her arms, holding his gaze.

Dimitri gasped and fell silent. Byleth, still looking him in the eye, grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly.

“This is yours. This— is ours”. ‘You dumbass’, she also thought, but decided to keep it to herself.

Dimitri’s eyes went from their joined hands to her face, looking at her in disbelief.

“Keep in mind—I’m not asking you for help or… or opinions. I don’t need them and don’t care about them. I’m just telling you because you have the right to know—”

Byleth stopped talking when Dimitri suddenly dropped to his knees, their joined hands still placed on Byleth’s belly. It took her a few seconds to notice he was sobbing. Desperately sobbing.

“I’m sorry”, Dimitri was mumbling. “I’m so sorry”.

Yes, Byleth was generally angry with him, but she didn’t hate him. Quite the opposite, in fact. That’s why she yielded and took his face in her hands, looking at him. “Why are you apologizing, Dimitri?” she asked softly.

Dimitri startled, as he did every time Byleth called him by his name. He tried to turn away, but Byleth kept holding him, looking him in the eye. “Answer me”, she demanded.

“I…” Dimitri gasped, searching for words. “Your… child… deserves a better father. A better person. All I know how to do is kill… I have to… They… are telling me this is wrong; I do not have the right—”

“Dimitri”, Byleth interrupted firmly. “A soon-to-be-human is growing inside me. A child will be born. I will be their mother, you will be their father. Now, tell me. Who is more important? The long-gone ones, or the coming ones? Who do you want to dedicate your life to? What, who does your life belong to?”

Dimitri’s eyes were shut, tears along his cheeks. “I… want… it to be yours. Both of you”. His eyes opened. “But, tell me, professor... Please, Byleth, tell me... How do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I... How do I save them? Ever since that day nine years ago... I have lived only to avenge the fallen… How could I be a fitting father for a small creature if I can’t even please those that are already here…”

“Those are not here, Dimitri”, Byleth whispered, her forehead touching his. “But I’m here, and they… they will be soon”, she added, bringing his hand back to her belly. “You just need to choose. Not necessarily now. I’ll… wait for you; I’ll always wait for you.” Her vision was blurred. Was she crying too? ‘I miss you, Dimitri. I miss you so much. Please, don’t leave me alone anymore…’

She would wait until the end of time, if needed, to have a glimpse of her Dimitri back. She knew it, and it hurt. Because she was aware she’d never stop loving him. And, sometimes, to love means to wait. And, often, waiting is painful.

Lost in her tears, she didn’t immediately notice Dimitri’s hands softly caressing her cheeks. When she did, she opened her eyes to meet Dimitri’s resolute gaze. “And I’ll always choose you, my beloved.”

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss her…

[alienaiver]

Hihihihhihi can I please join with Deku and prompt 56? Have fun!!

lunaaa!!! <3333 of course you can!

with number 56 you got: “You owe me a kiss.” which just gives infinite scenarios, doesn't it? very fluffy for my very own fluff-specialist <!!!33333 it's 818 words and no real warnings!

send me an ask with a random number between 1-210 and a character and i’ll write you a little story!

When you get home from work, you’re exhausted to the bones. It’s been some rough weeks, the office demanding more and more menial tasks that doesn’t require much effort per say, but when they pile up, they drain the will out of you.

You don’t expect Midoriya to be home when you toe off your shoes by the entrance, so when you hear something being dropped on the floor from the kitchen, your breath instantly hitches and you freeze for a few seconds, straining your ears to hear if there really is someone there or not. You hear steps and something being placed back on the kitchen counter. You mentally go through the exercises that Midoriya has taught you. Dating the number one hero comes with dangerous side-effects and while your address is hidden, you’d never underestimate the cunning of villains. You silently reach for your purse you placed by the dresser, reaching for the pepper spray lodged in there somewhere before you toe your way through the hallway and into the kitchen, more tense than you’ve been in a while.

So when you turn the corner and see none other than your boyfriend whipping something in a bowl, you groan out loud to release the tension. He whips around with one of his bright smiles plastered to his face – together with flour and something sticky. You bend down with your arms resting on your legs, trying to laugh out the fear.

He worries instantly, “what’s wrong?” he asks as he hurries to put the bowl on the counter and come to you. You shake your head and lift your right arm to show him the spray, “I thought we had an intruder. I thought you’d be at work until midnight.”

He coos at you as he runs a hand through your hair, massaging your scalp, “I’m sorry for startling you. I must’ve forgotten to send you a text.”

He goes back to the batter on the counter and you follow, “what are you doing?”

“I’m making some chocolate-chip cookies. Kacchan showed me this really easy recipe!” he’s beaming proudly but the kitchen is a big mess and the batter in his arms doesn’t seem to entirely cooperate with him. You laugh, “did you pre-heat the oven?”

It’s something he always forgets. A mumbled “shit” lets you know he did it again and you laugh as you reach over to turn it on, taking out the tray so he can prepare the cookies on that. Silently, you start helping him, tidying up as you go around, handing him the ingredients he asks for and preparing a big pot of coffee.

“So,” you begin and out of your peripheral vision you see him freeze by the tray, a glop of batter dripping haphazardly between his hands and the baking paper. “What made you come home early to make cookies?”

He winces, “is it really that out of character for me?” he counters you and you laugh at him, resting your hip against the counter, crossing your arms, “Izuku, you didn’t become the number one hero because of your interest in baking, so… out with it.”

He leans back up, his full height and bulk seeming so big in the tiny kitchen of yours. He scratches the back of his neck but you see the regret in his eyes the instant he feels the dough catch in his nape hairs. You snort at him but await his explanation.

“I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Your expression softens at his confession but you can’t help but raise your eyebrow with a teasing glint, “making me help you clean up here is nice?”

He knows you’re making a lighthearted joke and that you technically don’t mind organizing after his tornado of a mess (he also argues in his mind that he’d happily have done it himself before you got home, but this is actually the third batch he’s been trying to make so time ran from him) but it still sits badly with him that he wants to help you feel better and unload some stress but instead makes you work. You near him and let your hands travel over his arms up to his shoulders, “I like seeing my strong hero in the kitchen though. My apron suits you, Handsome.”

He blushes at your flirting banter. It’s amazing, how you’ve been together for almost seven years but he still can’t look you in the eye when you compliment him.

“But this help doesn’t come free, you know.” You argue and he looks at you with confusion written all over him. You smile triumphantly, “you owe me a kiss.”

He chuckles at your request before he wraps his arms around you, careful not to let his hands touch and ruin your clothes with batter, “how about two?”

You smile and lean up closer, squeezing his shoulders, “we can do that.”

[mushiewrites]

Breaking a Bad Habit

Oh my gosh jaw anon, this took forever but it’s finally here (not sure if you still are oop)! I have expanded on sapnap and his sensitive jaw. I love him and he is so giggly and small and cuddly and tklish and I want to squish him! Anyway, enjoy! (from this ask)

Sapnap has a bad habit of clenching his jaw. Dream finds a fun way to condition him to stop

(lee!Sapnap / ler!Dream : 1.5K words)

“You’re doing it again.” Dream sighed as he watched the brunette begin to move his jaw back and forth to loosen it up, producing a groan and an overexaggerated eye roll in response. It had been the fourth time tonight that he was reprimanded for his terrible habit. Sapnap tilted his head back slightly as he let his mouth fall open, bringing a hand up to massage either side of his jaw to try and soothe the dull ache that was beginning to form beneath his skin there. A second later he set his controller down on the table in front of him and brought his other hand up to his face, now rubbing circles on either side of his jaw with each hand.

“Okay, fuck off, I don’t care,” he spat out in annoyance. Dream scoffed at the response to his warning, almost offended for being sassed for caring. Sapnap turned his head in the direction of the disapproving sound, rolling his eyes once more as Dream just looked at him with his puppy dog eyes. “Shut up Dream, it’s fine.”

The blonde followed his movements as Sapnap gave one last rub to his jaw before leaning his elbows back against his knees, picking up the remote and unpausing his game to continue playing. Dream continued to watch him from the corner of his eye, not paying attention to the game anymore and instead focusing on the other boy's jaw.

Not even a minute later Sapnap was already back to clenching his jaw, completely unaware that he was doing it. Dream opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, knowing that Sapnap wouldn’t listen to a word he said anyway. He sat back and let his mind wander, thinking about how he could really get this to sink into Sapnap’s mind. After a minute or so Dream had come up with the idea to poke at his jaw every time it clenched; it would be annoying enough to condition Sapnap to not clench his jaw anymore. And so he set his plan into motion.

Reaching forward slowly, Dream held out his pointer finger and got ready to poke Sapnap’s jaw. He was so focused on the game that he didn’t notice Dream’s hand inching closer and closer to him until it was too late. The finger touched down on his jaw, right on the top left side by his ear and poked twice.

The reaction was not anything Dream had expected it to be.

When he went over the possible outcomes of the poke, he thought of the different ways Sapnap could react to it. Dream could see a scenario where Sapnap slapped his hand away and cursed him off - he could definitely paint a vivid picture of that. He could see Sapnap completely ignore him but also fix his clenching, which he thought would probably be the best outcome.

What he didn’t expect was for Sapnap to squeal.

“N-noho!” the younger boy let out a tiny protest combined with a tiny giggle, immediately turning red at his own reaction. He turned back towards Dream with wide eyes, rubbing at the spot that the offending finger had poked. The way the blonde was smirking sent a chill down Sapnap’s spine, causing him to squirm slightly and drop eye contact out of embarrassment. He could feel the elder's burning stare, whose finger was still hovering in the air mere inches from his jaw.

“Sapnap,” he winced when he heard his name, hearing Dream inhale before he continued. “What was that? Do you have something to tell me?”

The smaller boy paused his game again, quickly putting the controller down and turning his whole body slightly in Dream’s direction. He had a hand out in front of him, the other still pressed against his jaw in an attempt to make the tingling go away. Dream noticed that his ears were slowly starting to match the color of his cheeks and couldn’t help the smirk that began to spread across his face. When Sapnap’s ears blushed, the blonde knew that he was flustered.

“N-No! What are you even talking about, shut up!” The defensive tone in his voice only further proved Dream’s theory that Sapnap was definitely flustered right now. He looked around the room, eyes darting from Dream’s hands to something else, and back to his hands - he didn’t want to be ambushed or taken by surprise if Dream attempted to wreck him.

The elder let out a giggle, light and squeaky as he rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of Sapnap’s denial. Dream knew that reaction well. He could make the younger boy cackle in seconds, sometimes even beg in that amount of time, too. The familiarity of it all was making Dream giddy, his fingers already flinching against the thighs of his pants.

This movement caught Sapnap’s attention, causing him to let out a dramatic gasp as he jumped back on the couch, scooting back as far as he could. But all things come to an end, and unfortunately that included the length of their couch. His back hit the arm of the couch, stopping his escape temporarily and making him break into nervous chirps of laughter. Sapnap looked up briefly and squealed as he watched Dream slowly crawl towards him, a menacing grin stretching from ear to ear. He felt his stomach flip at the expression on the other man’s face, wasting precious seconds he could’ve used to plan a new escape route. Sapnap let out a shriek as Dream grabbed his ankle and pulled, causing him to slip down into his back against the cushions. He turned to try and crawl away but was stuck in place due to Dream holding him. Sapnap swallowed thickly, the realization setting in that it was indeed too late to try and get away.

“Nohoho Dream, fuhuck OFF!” A squawk of a laugh erupted as he ended his sentence, yanking his leg at the feeling of Dream quickly wiggling a finger over his socked foot. “NOHOHO d-dohon’t!”

Sapnap heard a quiet chuckle behind him before he felt Dream release his hold on his ankle, suddenly feeling his hands grabbing at his sides and lifting him up. He yelped at this, feeling flustered at how easy it was for Dream to move him around like that. But that thought quickly passed as a new fear unlocked itself - he was now trapped against Dream’s chest, his arms at his sides with no way to escape. Of course, this didn’t stop him from trying to struggle and squirm his way out of Dream’s firm grasp.

“I’m not even doing anything, you baby,” Sapnap wasn’t expecting Dream’s voice to be so close to his ear, shivering and bringing his shoulder up to try and block the tickly vibrations as he continued to speak. “But don’t worry! I’m about to.”

Another shriek tore from Sapnap’s throat, this time followed by raspy giggles. Dream had slotted his chin on Sapnap’s shoulder to keep him from bringing his shoulder up before rubbing his stubble under Sapnap’s ear. The younger’s laughter was slowly rising in pitch, reaching its peak at a shrill squeak that closely resembled a baby bird. But when Dream brought a hand up to trace along Sapnap’s jaw line, the small giggles now turned into boisterous laughter.

“God, Sapnap, how have I never found this before? This is like a gold mine! Look at you!” Dream was smiling through his words as he felt Sapnap start to squirm in his lap, his laughter rising and his ears turning bright red as the blonde teased him.

“Nahaha D-Dream! Plehehease it’s too muhuHUHCH! NOHOHO!” Sapnap cried out through his giggles as Dream pressed his lips below his ear and blew a huge raspberry while fluttered two fingers along his jawline. Dream made sure to shake his head as the raspberry was coming to an end to tickle Sapnap more, producing squeals through his laughter.

The elder smiled as he pulled his lips from Sapnap’s neck and sat back more, allowing the smaller boy’s shoulder to finally be released. Sapnap rubbed his shoulder against his ear, trying to calm the ticklish electricity that was still bursting under his skin. Dream removed his grip from around Sapnap, instead gently leaning him back and cuddling him with both arms lightly. He could feel the younger boy practically melt into him, watching as his eyelids closed almost immediately. Sap could feel the vibration from Dream’s giggle along his back before he began to speak.

“Remember this next time you’re about to clench your jaw, you little idiot.”

Sapnap felt a hand run through his hair, a tiny giggle passing through his lips as he drifted off to sleep in the warmth of Dream’s arms. He would certainly remember this next time.

And if he starts to clench his jaw on purpose to get tickles? Well, no one needs to know.

[wexhappyxfew]

I know I said I would give you all of my $3 for Annie and Brady to kiss but if I steal a quarter and up it to $3.25 can Judy and Rosie kiss too?

IN CONCLUSION. YES.

[sentientpinkfrosting]

ACHE

-but make it a yaoi romance novel cover

(っ˘ω˘ς )♡

[ourpretender]

— ❛ watch. ❜ for sender's muse to just silently watch the receiver's muse as they sleep. / @felixferitas

he'd been reluctant initially, to fall asleep. present as he was, focused and energized and awake as he'd been -- clamouring for more skin, for more affection, for more pleasure -- oliver ached by the end of it. they'd gone at it until past midnight, until his arms were sore and his feet were cramping. so it took just a few sweeping gazes, a warm washcloth wiping them clean, and felix, flushed at his side, to drag oliver into deep, unshakable slumber.

he's only somewhat disappointed that he'd dreamt of nothing at all -- his mind emptied, milked dry by the surreal vision of their previous night. and when he stirs, it is slow and languid, peeled forward by distant footsteps and a mower, presumably trimming the hedges damaged from a two-day old party. oliver sucks in a breath, going then to stretch away the soreness rippling through his body, until his elbow brushes against skin, and he turns, reflexively to meet brown, focused eyes. felix. mouth slightly ajar, oliver's lungs squeeze with each flooding memory. sleep continues to massage the corners of his vision, but he's properly staring now, blushing now when he thinks, belated and overjoyed and nervous -- that felix had awoken before him. "hi," he whispers, voice raspy with intimate work. oliver clears his throat, a shyness cradling the thin pinch of his smile. "you're awake."

[shevaults]

me tucked up in bed because im either getting a cold or covid and i wanted to write my answers to those relationship prompts so toni has a nice surprise when they get out of the cinema but my brain is so foggy i cant even think....... toni im sorry you'll just have to deal with my love alone