#alternate title: he finally got the attention he wanted and now wants more

[wolfjackle-creates]

Ghost!Robin Part 8

Look at you lucky ducks! Two WIP Wednesday excerpts today! I'm afraid you won't be able to get used to it. Going forward I may update each fic on alternating weeks. I have a busy few months coming up if everything goes to plan and could use the buffer in case I can't get much writing done. We'll see, though.

I'm going to start leaving a fic summary at the beginning of every excerpt in case people find this in the wild and want to know what they're getting into.

Summary: Danny is finally going to meet Jazz's boyfriend Jason. At Jason's family's mansion. He spent weeks making sure he could have an evening off of any Ghost King business. But when he meets Jason on the steps of the mansion, he can barely pay attention to the guy because his focus is on the ghost of the dead Robin hanging off his shoulders. Who is very happy to find someone who can actually see him.

Word Count: 1.4k

First, Previous

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“Right. Um… Well, I do just kinda do whatever is necessary or find someone who can. Because, um, well, I’m… kinda the High King of the Infinite Realms? There’s a bunch more titles after that but I refuse to memorize them because ugh.”

Danny looked down at his plate, not wanting to see everyone’s reactions. Jazz must’ve made sure he got a piece of pie because it sat in front of him. It looked so good. Did they even know about the Infinite Realms? Justice League Dark members did, but did Batman? Jazz reached over and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Tim and Barbara’s typing seemed to get faster. And then a pair of pixie boots and legs settled on the table next to his plate. He looked up and met Robin’s eyes.

Robin reached out an poked Danny on the nose. He gave a little trill of safe, friends drawing a smile out of Danny.

At the same time, Duke exclaimed, “That’s why you have a crown!”

And Steph said, “Okay, I may be out of the loop, but what the hell are the Infinite Realms?”

Damian snorted. “Aren’t you too young to be a king of anything?”

Danny half stood. “Look, do you want to go spar or something? Is that why you keep picking fights? Because we can do that. Fighting is good for young liminals. But I really don’t think this is the time or place.”

Jazz groaned and dragged him back into his seat. “Stop it, Danny. You’re on Earth right now.” Speaking over Danny’s protests, she explained to Damian, “We wish. Managed to get them to delay until he turned eighteen at least, but his grandfather wouldn’t let us wait any longer than that.”

Danny let the fight drop, but he did notice how Damian’s grip on his spoon tightened. Looked like they would be having that spar tonight if Damian had anything to say about it. Still, Jazz was right and he had to follow human customs on Earth so he bumped his sister’s shoulder and spoke to her instead. “You know as well as I do that he would’ve if it was possible. But thanks to Pariah, there are things that haven’t been done in a thousand years and it’s been causing so many problems.”

“Steph,” said Barbara. “The Infinite Realms are the spaces between universes according to Constantine. His documentation states that the Realm’s inhabitants are all incredibly overpowered and should not be approached under any circumstances. Just one being can evade all methods of capture with standard supplies.”

Jazz nodded. “And our parents dedicated their lives to building a portal to the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as they call it, and destroying all ghosts.”

“By ‘ghosts,’” asked Bruce, “Do you mean beings from these Infinite Realms?”

Jazz nodded. “Yes. Most beings from the Infinite Realms come into being when a living creature dies in a traumatic way, with a lot of emotion, or near a large source of ectoplasm. Usually some combination of all three.”

Both Tim and Bruce tried to ask further questions, but Jason’s voice cut in over theirs. “Jazz, when you say your parents wanted to ‘destroy all ghosts,’ did they stop after Danny’s accident?” Jason’s question did, at least, cause silence to fall as everyone stared at the two siblings.

Jazz looked down and gripped the tablecloth tightly, jaw clenched. Now it was Danny’s turn to lay a comforting hand over hers.

“No,” Danny said. “They didn’t. They didn’t know what happened for several years and when they found out… Well, there’s a reason I can’t use their last name and Jazz won’t call them ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ anymore. But”—Danny clapped his hands—“this is a great segway into what is actually important. Does the Justice League know about the Guys in White? More formally known as the Ghost Investigation Ward? Or even just GIW?”

“That name is unfamiliar to me,” said Bruce.

Tim agreed. “Babs and I aren’t seeing anything in the JL databases.”

Even Robin just shrugged.

Danny didn’t expect the jolt of pain that sent through his chest and Jazz turned their hands around until they were gripping each other’s hands with more force than any baseline human would’ve been able to.

“I told you, Danny. They didn’t know. They didn’t know.” Her eyes were wet, but she forced a shaky smile. “You could’ve had help.”

Danny just shook his head. “Even if I had believed they didn’t know… Without meeting them, without knowing how many of their own were in danger, I would’ve never trusted them. Too many people rely on me for me to risk it.”

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?” asked Dick. His posture was relaxed, but his voice had an edge that hadn’t been there earlier.

Robin nodded from where he sat staring at Danny. He sent out a questioning Danger? pulse at Danny.

“Yeah, danger,” agreed Danny. “Barbara, Tim, if I give you a law code number, can you pull up the law I’m referring to?”

“Of course,” agreed Barbara. “Just a moment… And shoot.”

Danny gave them the code for the Anti-Ecto Acts. “The Guys in White are the government agency responsible for enforcing the Anti-Ecto Acts which classify all ‘ectoplasmic entities’”—he made the air quotes—“as non-sentient and non-sapient and excludes us from the metahuman protection acts.”

“What the fuck!” shouted Duke.

Next to Danny, Dick suddenly was sitting up tense. “That’s impossible.”

“The league would’ve noticed such an act being passed,” said Damian, though he didn’t look as sure as his words would seem.

Cass merely tilted her head and looked at him while Steph choked on her drink.

Bruce looked to Tim and Barbara. “Is this true?” he asked them.

Robin pointed to himself and mouthed the word ‘Me?’ at Danny.

“I’m afraid so. And Bruce, Cass, Steph, and Damian as well.”

Dick’s spluttering got louder. “How are they all in danger?” he demanded to know.

Before Danny could reply, Tim was speaking. “It’s all true. And far worse than Danny implied. Not only are ecto-entities not protected by the metahuman protection laws, but they are to be actively hunted and turned over to the GIW for experimentation and extermination and anyone who assists them is declared guilty of treason.”

“When did they pass?” asked Bruce.

“Four years ago,” said Barbara. “While Luthor was president. They were hidden in some laws about green energy.”

“Ghost are made of ectoplasm,” explained Jazz. “Ectoplasm is a fantastic energy source.”

“It happened a few months after I defeated the previous king but before my coronation,” added Danny.

“Why do you think myself, Damian, Cass, Stephanie, and Jason will be targeted by this Ghost Investigation Ward?”

“It’ll be easier to show you.” Danny reached down and pulled up his bag. The thing was made in Pandora’s realm and was bigger on the inside. Once open, it took him a moment to find what he was looking for. He could see Robin signing to the group next to him. “Here we are,” Danny said as he pulled out three devices. “These are all different ectoplasm detection devices. One is my own design, one is the Guys in White’s design, and one is my parent’s design. I’ll show you mine first because it’s the best.”

“Might be a dumb question,” started Dick, “but what the hell is ectoplasm?”

“So you know how all the elements in this universe came about from nuclear fusion of hydrogen in the cores of stars?” asked Danny. When most everyone nodded, he continued, “In the Infinite Realms, that base element is ectoplasm. But there’s no need for a star to transform it into anything else. It will mold to the shape any consciousness that interacts with it wants. When sentient creatures slip through, either by a portal or through death or any other means, they shape the part of the Realm they’re in to their will. The stronger the ghost, the larger the area they control.” Holding out his hands, Danny called forth a ball of ectoplasm, shaping it into a glowing-green ice duck. “Something like this,” he commented grinning around the table.

Only to be met with horrified looks as most of the table were staring at his hands with distrust. Damian had his knife out again. Jason, his gun with the other arm held protectively in front of Jazz. Bruce was standing and Cass tense.

“What’s wrong?” asked Danny. “It’s just an ice duck sculpture. Completely harmless.”

Jason’s voice was low and threatening. “It’s an ice duck made of Lazarus water.”

More alarming than his voice was the way his eyes glowed ecto-green and the fear-anger that filled the room.

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Next

Challenge: Stay on one topic for more than two sentences.

Outcome: Failed.

They keep getting side tracked with more questions. And Danny still hasn't had a bite of his pie. This evening will never be over.

Tag List Part 1

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew, @rowanaway-fromthisbs, @vythika96, @tired-yet-awaken, @themirrorghost, @emeraldcorpral, @all-mights-asscheeks, @darkhinauniverse, @blep-23, @phandomhyperfixationblog, @larkcoe1, @thegatorsgoose, @job-ross-the-second, @britcision, @lenacraft, @bubblemixer, @androgynouslordofescapism, @purefrickingspite, @leftmiraclechaos, @lizisipancardo, @starlight-sparks, @miraculousandmore, @gildedphoenix, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @letmesayfuxk, @phoenixcatch7, @skulld3mort-1fan, @abaowo, @dhampir-princess, @idkmrpianoman, @sarina-elais, @ballzfrog-blog, @undead-essence, @spookytragedyshark, @flyingpansaurus, @akintoabitch, @marivictal, @8-29pm, @justreadingthefanfics, @happybear135, @kisatamao, @spoopyspoony, @adorablechaos, @sara0055, @screamingtofillthevoid

Looks like 50 is the limit for active user tags in a post. Good to know

#dpxdc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #Ghost!Robin #anger management #my writing #every sentence out of danny's or jazz's mouths leads to more questions #they will never be able to get through them all #but more importantly! #will danny ever get to eat his pie? #even he's forgotten about it #and its sitting right in front of him #but so is a ghost so...

[bibeebuneee]

☆》 strawberries and cigarettes (always tastes like you) 《☆

fluff (?) ☆ kissing ☆ smoker kei ☆ 3rd year/graduated kei

inspo : strawberries and cigarettes <> troye sivan (my king), but it's not a songfic or word for word related, it's just mostly the title

part ii , alternate ending coming soon

ㅤThe first time your lips met was the night after graduation. You knew you didn’t have much time, you had already packed your stuff, all your clothes neatly tucked away in a box, ready to be loaded to a moving truck. You would be gone the next day, you gathered up the courage to finally kiss him, the boy you had loved since the day you met. You were too afraid to even get close to him, let alone confess your feelings.

ㅤHe was also always surrounded by girls. You could never win, competing against prettier, smarter, more popular, and more interesting girls. He never looked at you, never paid attention to you, despite you being in his ‘friend group’ and being one of the managers of the volleyball club he was in. He would never love you back. You were too scared, but so was he. He was too scared that you would find out how much of a terrible person he is, too much guilt about being so rude to you. You were a little too close to Yamaguchi for his own liking. He thought you and Yamaguchi had something special, he didn’t want to ruin it for you, and for his own best friend, so he stayed quiet, ignoring his own feelings, but he failed to notice he’s ignoring you too.

ㅤThat night was cold. It was just you, him, Yamaguchi and those two other idiots, Hinata and Kageyama, who were fighting, ruining his last night with you, in Tsukishima’s eyes. Yamaguchi was busy consoling the tangerine haired boy who was almost lunging at the Kageyama. Your eyes were nailed to his lips, you watch as he blew another smoke ring. And he knew all this, he knew where your eyes were at. He knew what you’re thinking in this moment. If only he wasn’t doubting his own thoughts right now

ㅤ“Kei..” you called. Your heart bouncing around the cage of your ribs. Your mind going rampant, thoughts about his sweet lips on yours, but your eyes seemed to be moving in slow motion. “W- what?” he hoped you didn’t catch that little stutter, his head hesitated to turn towards you, his eyes focused on how yours glimmered at his pink lips. Although those three other dumbasses were there, they were too occupied with whatever the hell they were arguing about, really felt like you two were the only people on earth. The moon shining a blue-ish spotlight from above, you two were the main focus in this play called life.

ㅤYour head slowly moved up to his face, but eyes still on his lips. Thankfully, you didn’t realize how nervous he is. Your eyes caught up to where his were. You let out a small nervous chuckle, your hands shaky and sweaty. “Can I say something? If you want to listen.. that is… if you don’t, that’s fine, I can keep it to myself, y’know it’s not important or anything so-“ your rambling was quickly cut off by Tsukishima’s response. “What do you need to say?” his words was surprisingly gentle. He just couldn’t give put the usual crude and cold respond he always has. He moved his head down so he could hear better, the three boys behind them annoying him, but he was weirdly glad, glad that they were too into whatever shit they were, so they can’t hear your little secret that you’re about to tell him. Him and only him.

ㅤ“Oh.. I uhm..” your mind went blank, all you could think of was how close your face was with his. His eyes new stared at your quivering lips, honestly you were about to tear up. God knows what came over him, but the sensual tension was all too much. He had to kiss you. he just had to.

ㅤHis instinct got the best of him. The hissing of his cigarette being put out on the grass brought you back to your senses. But before you could react, he closed the small distance between the two of you. His eyes shut in victory. He did it! He finally did the thing that’s been haunting him for the past 2 years of his life! But you? You jolted in shock. You were about to confess your feelings towards him, but he beat you to it. You had no choice other than to kiss him back. You pushed out your face towards him, and closed your eyes from delight. You could smell the sharp smoke of his cigarette he was smoking, and the lingering taste of a strawberry bubble gum he was chewing to calm down his nerves sitting next to you, clearly, it didn’t work, so he chose to smoke instead. His hand travelled up across your back to the back of your head. Your heart was beating even faster. You didn’t want this to end so soon. Neither did he. So he pushed even further, pushing you down to the grass. His hand serving as a pillow to protect your head.

ㅤThe two of you were too deep in the moment to realize that none of the other boys were still arguing. All three of them had their eyes on you two. Yamaguchi snickered and giggled. His hand tight on Hinata to keep his mouth shut, while Kageyama had such an unnatural shocked face.

ㅤYou opened your mouth, inviting Tsukishima to let his tongue explore your mouth, counting your teeth and feeling your warm wet muscle. But before he could do so, you were interrupted by the loud ringing of your phone. Tsukishima pulled away from you, getting up from on top of you. Pulling out another loosie out of his pocket and lighting it up, smoking it to hide the embarrassment and the prominent flush on his face.

ㅤPicking up your device you answered the call. “Uh.. hello? Mom? ‘Sup? Heh..” awkwardly, you started the conversation, your adrenaline still high. “Sup?.. What’s up!? Is that a way you talk to your mother!?” your face contorted in horror as you realized what was about to happen. “Listen, the only thing that’s ‘up’ is your time! This is 2 hours past your curfew! We are moving tomorrow, you need sleep! I will not wake you up if you oversleep, I swear to God [Y/N], I will leave you if you don’t wake up early in the morning!..” the loud yelling from the phone could be heard by all 4 boys.

ㅤ“You should probably go home…” Yamaguchi whispered. “3 steps ahead of you, Dashi. Thank you guys, for all the memories. We should meet up again once in a while, just like this” you smiled sweetly at the boys, your hands scramble around, gathering your stuff. “I can get you home” Tsukishima opened. He stood up, his knees still weak from that kiss earlier. Walking up to his bike in front of you. “Yes, mom. Yea I’ll- Yes, I’m going home right now, I am on my way. Yes mom, I get it, my-“ you looked at Tsukishima. He smiled at you, for the first time ever. Not smiling while laughing at you, or smiling while taunting you, but smiling at you. For you, maybe. “Friend.” His smile wore off a bit. Why was he offended? The first ever romantic thing that happened between you was 3 minutes ago. He’s not you boyfriend. And he’s sure you’ll find someone else in your new home, someone who would actually be an at least half better of a boyfriend for you than him. His mouth closed around the orange bud once more, blowing smoke into the stars. “Yea okay, mom. Okay, sorry. Love you.” you crawled up to the back seat of his bicycle. Waving goodbye to your other friends, your right hand grabbed Tsukishima by the shirt around his waist, as a support while he cycles away to your home.

ㅤ“Thank you, Kei. I think you know how I feel about you now. I was about to admit it to you, but I was scared as fuck” you giggled. Taking the cigarette between his middle and ring finger, he looked down at his bike. And there it was again. His smile. His row of teeth that are still perfect despite him being a rare smoker. “I should’ve told you sooner.. You were always so mean to me I was scared that you hate me. Never do that to another person ever again” you half joked. You feel like he’d forget about you. You’ll be away from him for so long he probably won’t even remember your face, let alone the kiss you shared. But instead, he.. laughed? He’s laughing? And it wasn’t one you’ve heard before. Again, just like the smile from before, it wasn’t condescending or mean or taunting, it was genuine. “Why would I talk to another person, when I have you?” he choked out, still laughing. Scared your family could hear him, you covered his mouth with the palm of your hand. Although today you wished you kissed him quiet instead.

ㅤ“Shut up!” you whined, stomping your feet like a child. Uncovering his mouth, you discover a pretty smile he gave. Why did he always hide that such perfect smile behind scowls? “I think I might miss you the most” you really can’t help but give him a smile the widest you could stretch. His hand got a hold of your wrist. You never realize how huge he is compared to you. Tsukishima’s smile got even wider, even prettier, but a tint of sadness dusted his eyes, you can see how soft he felt about you through them. “I think miss you already”.

a/n : this is so HORRIBLE i apologize hekp also i have a tsukki playlist that doesnt make sense at all but ill drop it if ud like

#haikyuu #haikyuu drabbles #hq imagines #hq x you #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #hq fluff #Spotify

[nobody-is-evil]

Hob Gadling and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

but cheer up, Hob. You get a Dream out of it!

Alternative Title: In Which Destiny Gets Tired Of Two Idiots Dancing Around Each Other And Does Something

This is for the Jan prompt Fake Dating for @yearoftheotpevent. Also fulfills another prompt, but I’ll leave that a mystery :D.

Thanks to @wolfe-marvin (hope I got the right person) for being my beta!

I’ll crosspost this on Ao3…soon. Before the end of January. Would love it if I got constructive criticism in the meantime!

Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

Mary’s party was okay.

Hob probably should’ve had nicer things to say about his friend’s party, especially a friend he’d known for years now, but the truth was that he wasn’t feeling it. He wasn’t feeling the board game room, or the table tennis tournament, or even the room where everyone was watching the news, waiting for the countdown to start. He wasn’t really feeling...

People. Hob laughed at himself as he headed for an unoccupied balcony. He was socially exhausted. Probably should’ve realized earlier, what with over six hundred years of experience. What he wanted was to be alone.

Well. Not alone, per se. He’d be fine with the company of one other, as long as that one other was his oldest Friend. They’d increased the frequency of their meetings, but even so, Hob hadn’t been able to get a meeting to land on New Year’s Eve. Instead, they were meeting tomorrow, so it was all he could think about (not that he wouldn’t be paying full attention to his Friend if he was here).

The new year likely didn’t have any significance to his Friend. Hob had been around for many, many years, his Friend likely even longer, and today’s party was just minuscule compared to the gigantic parties he’d been to for each turn of the century, especially 2000.

That didn’t mean this year couldn’t be significant. He’d seen his Friend several times in the past year, and they planned to meet many more times this year—that was pretty significant already to Hob. He should make a New Year’s resolution about his Friend.

I will confess to my Friend.

But was that too fast? It took him centuries to get his Friend to admit they were friends, and Hob still didn’t know his name.

At the same time, with only one day of meeting over the centuries, it technically only took him seven days to achieve it.

The fact that Hob was in love with his Friend was kind of pathetic either way, but he could probably pretend it only happened after their more frequent meetings started, and then, once he knew his Friend wasn’t going to run away, he could tell him.

Besides, it was a resolution for the whole year. He didn’t have to do it the next time he saw his Friend. He could wait a month. Or two. Or several. It wasn’t like he didn’t have time.

“Robby! What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” Mary sounded genuinely confused, and Hob didn’t blame her. Without any context, he’d think his behavior was strange, too. “It’s almost time!”

“Oh, is it? Can’t miss that!” With a bright grin, Hob slung an arm around her shoulder and led her inside as if he’d been the one retrieving her.

As she said, the countdown was in the final stretch. Everyone had packed into the biggest room, leaving barely enough room to breathe, let alone add two more people, but Hob powered through to reunite Mary with her best girl friend. Once he’d done that, he backed out to the nearest wall, taking whatever bit of space he could.

The countdown hit zero. While everyone was cheering and kissing their partners, Hob imagined kissing his Friend.

———

Hob woke to the disorientating feeling of split-second freefall before landing heavily on a hard surface with a thump. He groaned. Where did the meadow go—oh, wait.

Now, he was awake and remembered what happened. Parts of it, at least. He distinctly remembered the feeling of annoyance that came with having to flee from a woman (a friend of a friend of a friend?) who wouldn’t leave him alone. That had been at a party, Mary’s party for the new year. Everything else was just flashes.

He was hungover, he knew that much, though he didn’t feel as bad as he would expect after blacking out for most of the night, falling asleep on the couch, and then falling off the couch.

Hob narrowed his eyes at a familiar presence. “Friend?” he asked as he pushed himself up off the ground.

Those gorgeous eyes—

His Friend was, indeed, there, looking down at him. At his silence, Hob got the impression that his Friend had said something that Hob somehow missed. When asked to repeat himself, his Friend said, “I have a request.”

“And I’d love to hear it, if you give me some time to freshen up.” He started to head to his bedroom before pausing. “How long have you been here?”

His Friend replied in monotone, “I was here when you arrived.”

“Since I came home?” Hob repeated with no small amount of surprise. At his Friend’s nod, he asked, “Why?”

“It is...an important request. Important enough to wait for you to be sober.”

“Okay...” His Friend had never asked anything of him beyond their deal for him to tell his experiences. Hob was unsure as to what else he could do. “I’ll be quick, then.”

True to his word, Hob showered, changed, and did everything else to freshen up within the next fifteen minutes. “Okay!” he called as he went in search of his Friend, “What did you need?”

He found his Friend sitting on the couch Hob had been sleeping on, inspecting the tv remote. His Friend quickly set it down and stared at Hob as he sat down in a chair across from him.

I’ve been the subject of my Friend’s gaze before, but that wasn’t after he showed up unexpectedly, after he apparently took care of me while I was blackout drunk, after he watched over me in my sleep for I don’t even know how long, or after he was in my home while I was naked—

“...’re supposed to have...guests...and Destiny has told me that I shall bring one...”

Having spaced back in, somehow, Hob got the feeling that that wasn’t just a name like it was for most people, but that wasn’t as important as the fact that his Friend needed him. “So you want me to come to a party with you?”

His Friend narrowed his eyes at Hob, and, as if repeating himself, said, “A family dinner, yes.”

Hob didn’t say anything for a moment. He got the feeling...but no, surely his Friend wouldn’t hide something from him if he truly needed to know it. “Of course. So, who should I expect to see?”

“Five of my siblings shall be present. Destiny is the oldest...I believe he is bringing a man named Tobias Indiana. Death is als—”

“Death?” Hob interrupted with no small amount of disbelief. “I thought, well, I thought you’d have some sort of power over death. Given,” he gestured to his Friend’s entire vibe. Not that he isn’t attractive—

“...my older sister is...much better with humans than I. She is also bringing a human. Jonathan Geiger impressed her when...he won a contest against Lucifer.”

Was that a joke? Was his Friend taking the piss? Either he was (unbelievable) or Lucifer was real (equally unbelievable).

“Of my younger siblings...Desire is bringing a deity named Ekeko. Their twin sister...Despair...is bringing...I think it was...a ghost.”

A ghost? As in, an intangible dead person who could make things float and possess people? They were real?

As though he could read Hob’s mind, his Friend continued, “Perhaps...they shall not be as you expect. Ghost is simply...the closest term for them...in English.” His Friend didn’t elaborate beyond that.

“My youngest sibling...Delirium is bringing...” His Friend let out a sigh, suddenly looking much older as he stared at the floor. “A Knocker.”

If there was one thing that could be counted on, it was good big brothers being protective over their younger sisters. “You don’t approve?”

“Delirium has one requirement for her guests...that they amuse her. Death informed me that she attended the last family dinner with a demon whose goal was to take vengeance against us Endless.”

That sounded like Hob had stumbled upon another can of worms they did not need to open at the moment. He quickly redirected onto the most harmless-sounding and most curious part of that, the last word, endless. “Is that another word for immortal?”

“That is the word for my siblings and I.”

This was probably the best opportunity he was gonna get. His Friend couldn’t misunderstand this. “So it is some sort of requirement that your name start with De-?”

His Friend took a deep breath.

Hob leaned in. What was it? Delicious? Deception? No. Destraction? Uh, Deal? No. Dear? Hmm. Deer? Definitely not. None of them fit his Friend.

“My name is Dream.”

Nothing could have fit his Friend, Dream, better. It’s perfect. Dream’s perfect. I wanna just say his name over and over— “So you know things about people because you know their dreams?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, but is it like asleep dreams, or aspiration dreams?

“Yes.”

Okay, so this was just one of those things Hob was going to give up on and stay confused about.

Like how throughout this conversation he seemed to be missing snatches of time here and there, as if he was a computer with files getting corrupted.

Hob cracked another joke to get his mind off of that, “I don’t have to worry about Death being mad at us for helping me avoid her, right?”

Dream (!) gave him an incredulous look. “Of course not. You would not be able to escape Death if she did not allow you to live. No...you should be more concerned about the rest...of my siblings.”

His Friend suddenly turned the full force of his stare on Hob. It’s still overwhelming, even more so because Dream’s so fucking concerned for Hob—

“...able?” Dream was saying, his gaze now expectant.

Hob blinked at him. “What?”

“I merely asked that you inform me if any of my siblings...threaten you. Is that agreeable?”

“Well, you’d know your siblings better than I would,” Hob decided, then teased, “You’re the reason I’m coming, so naturally it falls to you to protect me, my lord.”

Dream’s eyes widened, and he raised his voice, “You must not call me that—my siblings expect us to be close!”

Hob had jerked away from him, staring frozen with shock. I’ve never seen Dream like that before—

When he had zoned back in, his Friend had averted his eyes. There was a pause, and then, “Perhaps...I should be...truthful.”

“During my meeting with Destiny yesterday, he told me that I would visit you. I would...begin a romance with you...that was why I would bring you to our dinner.”

That was a possibility? That could’ve happened?? Or maybe that can still happen??? What do I have to do to make that happen?!?!? Even just one kiss—

Dream had moved closer, expression and tone full of concern. “Hob?”

When he’d recovered, hesitant and more than a bit bewildered, Hob tried, “I’m sorry, mate, but I don’t—”

“I did not expect you to.” Dream sighed. “His methods are incomprehensible to all but himself. You are under no obligation to be...romantically involved...with me.”

“Nevertheless, I ask that you appear to be. That is the nature of your status as my plus one...that is what my siblings shall expect.”

Okay, so his Friend would hide something that he truly needed to know from him.

Well, at least Dream told him. Hob wasn’t exactly volunteering the fact that he kept missing bits here and there. Beyond that, he also got the feeling he himself was hiding something else, and had been for a while, that he was forgetting about...but that had to be the guilt.

“That’s fine with me.”

(This was still, after all, the first thing Dream had asked of him. Hob really, really, really didn’t want to lose this friendship. And hey, it wasn’t like this was a fanfiction—there was no way Hob would fall in love with his Friend.)

———

They hashed out the details. He found out when (at night in a few days) and where (Destiny’s castle), how he would get there (when he went to sleep, Dream would find him and bring him out of his dream into the Collective Unconscious). He learned exactly how wary he should be of each person and why.

Hob went about his days as normal between then and the dinner. He had the rest of the day and the next off, but on the 3rd of January, it was back to business as usual for his job. Good thing this was dinner, and not breakfast or luncheon.

There was also the New Inn to consider—though he’d hired someone else to run it and never, ever ask who he was or let anyone know they weren’t actually the owner, there were still decisions for Hob to make. Decisions that, as someone living above the New Inn, he had a stake in.

Then, the day of the dinner was upon them.

Dream’s realm, the Dreaming, was amazing. He’d had to go to sleep shortly before 6 pm, not a challenge after living for so long and being in so many wars. The problem with using his techniques for falling asleep quickly was that usually, it gave him bad dreams.

“Where are they?” Hob was naked, opening every drawer in his apartment, but he’d forgotten where he put his shirts. Not a single drawer had shirts or anything to wear on his upper half. “Come on, come on, they’ve gotta be around here somewhere!”

Then he was at his high school. He’d forgotten where everything was, and he was late for his class. “Excuse me, can you give me direction?” Nobody could help him. A clock ticked ominously.

When he finally made it to his room and started class, he realized he’d forgotten what he was teaching. Nothing on his notes made any sense—he’d forgotten how to read his own handwriting. One of his students raised their hand. He couldn’t remember their name.

“There you are.” Dream raised his arm gracefully, and their surroundings changed in a whirlwind of power that buffeted Hob even though it didn’t touch him. When it settled, they were in a throne room.

His jaw hit the floor. He had to turn in a circle, and then do it again, to be sure he saw every inch of the gorgeous place he found himself in. The statues, the arches, the stairs, the stained glass windows, the throne, the King himself—

Ugh. This was happening again. He’d gone hours without missing time, and it had to start happening again right before the important dinner?

Dream was smirking at him. “Is it to your liking?”

“Yeah,” Hob breathed out. “This might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in.”

His Friend’s smile widened into a more genuine one. “Is that what you intend to wear?”

“Ah...” Hob looked down at himself. He was clad only in nice pants and shoes. Why—oh, right, his dream. How had he not noticed? Dream had been looking, was looking, at him shirtless—

He cleared his throat and looked up (not at Dream; he couldn’t just let his Friend see his embarrassed smile), “Do you have any—”

“You are in the Dreaming. Anything is possible.”

Oh. Neat. Hob lowered his head again in thought. The first outfit he could think of was one of Harry Osborn’s outfits in Spider-Man 3, where he had on a white vertically striped button-up, then a blue shirt, then a dark brown overcoat. In an instant, he was in them.

He looked up and found Dream giving him a contemplative look. “What?”

“It is no matter. If you are ready, come; we shall go to my brother’s castle.”

———

Destiny towered over everyone else in a long, light-colored hooded cloak. He had a book chained to his right wrist, and his left hand was another person’s hand. “Brother, this is Tobias Indiana. Tobias, this is my brother, Dream, and his partner, Robert Gadling.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Indiana said, extending his hand. He appeared...normal. There was nothing that differentiated him from any other middle-aged man.

Hob shook it with a similar greeting. Dream simply glared at it.

Indiana, for his part, didn’t let it get to him. “Oh, you are a prickly one.”

“Tobias is very eager to show you his art. Won’t you come with us and see?”

Dream glanced at Hob.

“Oh, and your beloved can’t come. Tobias is very shy.” Indiana looked, in no way, shy. In fact, he seemed like a confident, unbothered person. “He wouldn’t be able to bear it if anybody else saw his work.”

It said something about how blatantly Destiny lied that he still managed to get Dream to do what he wanted.

Hob watched their backs as they headed for a hallway before realizing that, without Dream, he was a sitting duck. Sure, he didn’t have to pretend to be infatuated with his Friend anymore, but anybody could walk up to him and trap him in a conversation.

A woman’s voice said, “Robert Gadling.”

Fuck, he was too late.

Hob turned around with resignation to face the woman, only to find that she actually...didn’t seem so bad. She seemed distinctly maternal, despite the fact that most people seemed young to Hob.

The boy that was with her, on the other hand, had no hidden depths. He looked like any other overconfident teenage son of a farmer.

“That would be me, and you are—no, let me guess,” Hob cut himself off when he saw her ankh necklace against her all-black clothing, “Death?”

She beamed and nodded.

“And that would make you Jonathan Geiger.” Wait, Dream said his siblings were romantically involved with their plus-ones. This was a little concerning.

“It’s Johnny,” the kid corrected in a Southern American drawl. “An Ah’m 63.”

Well, that made Hob feel a lot better, but there was an unspoken ‘I’m older than you’ that he couldn't let stand. “I’m over 10 times that.” He shrugged, “When you're as old as I am, there’s no way to know your exact age.”

“Who ya with? Mah gal’s the embodimin’ ‘a Death,” Johnny challenged.

“My boyfriend is all Dreams and Nightmares. He’s basically everything you can imagine.”

“How’d ya get yer immortality? Ah beat the devil in a fiddle-playin’ contest.”

“I just didn’t die.”

“It’s actually because you called me stupid right in front of me.”

Both of them turned to Death, Johnny furious and Hob with the blood drained from his face. “I did?” he asked, in disbelief—not that he’d done it, but that she’d apparently granted him immortality rather than killing him on the spot.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I don’t get mad at words said in grief. It’s human nature to fear my realm. Despite the fact that my siblings’ are much scarier than mine,” she muttered. “I only get mad when my siblings are hurt.”

Death looked at him.

It took a moment for it to click for Hob that he was dating Dream, so this was a shovel talk. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered weakly.

“But—hey, listen to me—that goes for you, too.” She poked him in the chest. “My brother has proven himself to be an idiot on multiple occasions, as I’m sure you know.” Somehow, she said it without even a drop of malice. “If he hurts you, you can always call me.”

Hob agreed, “I’ll do that.”

There was a pause.

“Well, we ain’t gonna take up anymore ‘a yer time,” Johnny, the scoundrel, smirked. “I know that gal Delirium’s bin dyin’ to meet ya.”

———

“Hello, Hob! Hobsie! Hobby! Hobert!”

Delirium was a short, thin girl with a high-pitched voice on the cusp of her teenage years. She had untamable hair in a rainbow of bright colors, and her clothes looked like they’d been chosen independently of each other. Those were the only immediate constants Hob could find about her appearance—everything else changed multiple times a minute.

“They should call you David. Or Patrick. Or Nick. Or Charlie. Or Connor. Or Oliver. Or Ian. Or Mickey. Or Yusuf. Or Nicoló.”

What.

“Oh, uh, I’ve stuck close to Robert for way too long to consider changing it,” Hob tried.

Delirium nodded sagely like a little kid.

She was with a Knocker, if he remembered correctly, a little shorter than half her height. He had a copious amount of wrinkles, a somewhat large head compared to the rest of him, a long white beard, and he looked like he hadn’t bothered to change since leaving the mine, complete with a pickaxe in hand.

“What about you?” Hob asked him.

“I’m Pasco,” the Knocker said in a voice just as high as Delirium’s.

Delirium grabbed Pasco’s surprisingly long arm and bounced up and down. “You’re such a Deary,” she told Hob before scrunching up her face and varying her appearance. “No, a dory. A ducky. A bucky!”

“Thank you.” Hob hoped that was a compliment.

She giggled. “You’ve got something on your back.”

“Oh.” Hob looked over each shoulder once. “Not, like, the Trickster Beetle from Doctor Who?”

What? He was British. It was practically instinct.

Her eyes widened and her clothes shifted again. “No! No, don’t worry, that’s already dead for you.”

Well, that was a relief.

“No, smaller. They’re circles.”

He leaned forward, laser-focused on her words. “Uh, moles?”

She shook her head.

“Hives? A rash?” Hob asked desperately.

Tears filled her eyes. “They’re gonna get you.” But then she looked behind her, where a short mustached man in a poncho and an Asian woman covered in blood were dancing. When she looked back at him, her face was blank. “It’s gonna hurt.”

It was only when she and Pasco were walking away that his mind cleared. That...had all been gibberish. Of course, he was sure it made sense to her, but there was no need to get worked up about it. Even if he would get hurt in the future, he was over 650. Hob could handle it.

———

“You’ve been in my realm a lot recently.”

She was a large woman in comfortable clothes with limp, unwashed hair and a large hook on a ring that she was toying with.

Hob had met Dream, Destiny, Death, and Delirium. He didn’t think it was much of an assumption to think he was talking to Despair. “Have I?”

Her quiet voice cut at him, “You shouldn’t be.”

He stared, taken aback.

“If you’re suffering, then so is my brother. He’s suffered enough.” She turned and walked away.

———

Hob watched the door Destiny, Indiana, and Dream had left through. They still weren’t back yet. How long could Destiny’s contrived excuse take?

“Oh, you’re good,” Desire purred from behind him.

Hob whirled around and came face to face with them. His expression hardened. Coming from the one that Dream had warned him the most about, it was basically an insult. “And why’s that?”

They elaborated, “The trick you’re playing on my siblings. You’ve really got all of them fooled. Not even I could manage to fool Destiny.” Desire’s seemingly-permanent smile sharpened as they cornered him, “How are you doing it? Right now, my brother is filled with the most sickening yearning for you, yet you don’t want him in the slightest.”

Well, that was unfair. Of course Hob wanted Dream. To, y’know, be his friend. To do things with him, to open up to him, maybe even give him some physical touch in the form of a shoulder bump or something.

“Not even a kiss,” Desire scoffed. “Nothing about his appearance, while he desperately wishes he was with you. He wants to hold you, kiss you, make ‘love’ to you.”

Hob choked. Dream felt that way about him? He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He’d been determined to listen to Dream about Desire’s manipulations, but...

Dream feels the same way! Yes! Yes! If we were alone—

“...esting.”

Hob felt the dizziest then out of any time he’d forgotten the past few seconds.

His surroundings had changed. He was alone with Desire, who’d completely invaded his personal space. Their arms were wrapped around his shoulders, face inches from his. When they spoke, and their breath hit his face, his stomach turned.

“Seems I wasn’t quite right,” they hissed. “It isn’t that you don’t desire him. You’ve just been made to forget. Someone’s hidden it from you, and done a very good job of it, but it’s been leaking out.”

Their expression and tone softened. “The spell’s had to do a patch job; it’s been snipping away bits of your memory, hasn’t it?”

Hob narrowed his eyes. He got the impression that they were...trying to comfort him.

It was more than a little disturbing.

He ducked out of their loose hold and stepped back. They’d guessed his recent memory problems—so what? That didn’t mean they were telling the truth (even if his instances of forgetting did, in hindsight, have a clear correlation with Dream) and it definitely didn’t mean they weren’t trying to manipulate him. He was done putting up with the Endless. All of this, he decided, counted as a threat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my boyfriend,” he snapped, and turned (apprehensively) to head for the door.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Hob had half-expected and prepared for this. He tried to move to take them down only to find that instead...he really wanted to stay still. Why had he ever wanted to move from this spot?

In the background, somebody spat, “I’m trying to help you, foolish human. As if I was just going to let you keep walking around with all that repressed desire.”

They cupped his chin with their hands and made direct eye contact. “Now, hold still,” they teased, “You’ll feel a lot better when I’m done.”

His ears popped. His senses whited out for a long moment from the pain of a gaping wound in his chest being healed, but not without being reopened first. Hob squeezed his eyes shut to prevent tears from falling as his memories returned to him—he could remember everything, all of his love for Dream.

He wrinkled his nose at an awfully strong smell of something—like a lightning strike?—as he came back to his senses. Then he heard Dream calling his name urgently from far away and opened his eyes to see Dream’s legs. Dream was bigger? No, Hob was kneeling—at some point, he’d fallen to his knees.

He looked up at Dream. He could stay like this all day, just looking up at Dream. (And trying not to wince every time he breathed.)

But Dream was saying something to the person next to him, Desire (they looked pleased). Hob let himself hear his surroundings.

“...you do to him!” Dream was demanding.

“Dream, love, I’m fine,” Hob cut in (only belatedly realizing that the endearment had slipped out). “Desire was helping me.”

Dream’s face could’ve been carved from stone as he turned to Hob. He didn’t say anything, but Hob’s heart sank as he realized Dream didn’t believe him.

He had to fix this. Now that he remembered he loved Dream and he knew Dream felt the same way, the plan was to confess, but he couldn’t do that if Dream thought it was all manufactured by Desire.

Hob clarified quickly, “Okay, it bloody hurt, and I definitely told them not to do it, but I’m glad they did it, really.”

The answer was thunderously directed at Desire, “What did you do?!”

Yeah, so that hadn’t helped. He wasn’t sure why he thought it would. What could he say that Dream would believe?

Desire decided to answer, “Your little pet is telling the truth. His heart was crying out to me...I couldn’t leave him chained up like that.” Their voice took on the evident quality of someone quoting, “You’re the one who told me to serve humanity.”

Dream and Desire started arguing in earnest. Desire maintained a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat the whole time. Hob wanted to believe them, but could this be their plot? To do something that, technically, was altruistic, no catch, while being so out of line with Dream’s impression of them that Dream would never believe it?

Or, was there pain hidden behind that smile, that their brother was in such disbelief?

Or, was Hob futilely trying to assign human motivations to inhuman beings?

Whatever the case, he wouldn’t let this stand. He would find proof.

Now that he had his memories back, he knew around when it had started. It wasn’t before Mary’s New Year’s party. He even, vaguely, remembered making his resolution (to confess to Dream) before the countdown ended. So, it happened before he got home if he had been supposed to follow through on his resolution when he saw Dream. He’d definitely started forgetting after he woke up.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell when exactly it started on account of him being blackout drunk.

By now the commotion was attracting everyone’s attention (except for Destiny and Indiana, who probably already knew what was going on, those bastards). Well, fuck them. This wasn’t a spectator sport.

“Dream,” he cut into their argument, “please take me home.”

“But you haven’t even had dinner yet,” Desire pointed out.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Dream. “Please.”

“If that is your wish,” Dream acquiesced, fury still audible in their voice. The world disappeared in a flurry of sand.

———

When his vision stopped turning, he was in the gallery they left from, still kneeling from chest pain.

Dream stood a foot or two away from Hob, arms hanging at his sides, visibly concerned. “Shall you answer me now?”

Hob thought about telling Dream the truth. No, not yet.

“I will, my Friend,” Hob said as the pain diminished and he pushed himself up with the wall, “but there’s something I have to do, first. Something I have to find out.”

“And what might that be?”

Uh oh. Dream looked even more concerned. It was a good thing Hob was going to ask for something harmless and not, say, something that would be guaranteed to end in a lethal injury on anyone else. “I have to know how far your knowledge of everyone extends. How do you do it? How does it work?”

“I am Dreams,” his Friend started, mildly confused, “and Nightmares. I am all Dreams dreamt...by everything that can Dream; I am the Collective Unconscious.”

Apparently, he thought that was a sufficient answer. Hob disagreed—wait. “I thought the Dreaming was the Collective Unconscious?”

Dream looked more awkward than normal. “Perhaps.”

Fuck kind of answer was that?

Wait. If he was right, then earlier...Hob stood by it, of course, but maybe his Friend thought Hob wouldn’t’ve said it if he knew he was actually talking about Dream.

He could fix that later when he fixed everything else. What was important was that, “If this whole world is you, then—I mean, you’re not messy,” Hob reasoned. “There’s gotta be a place where you keep all the information.”

Dream conceded, “There is.”

———

The library was just as amazing as the throne room. It stretched on further than he could see in all three dimensions, lined with books all the way.

What he could not see were signs or maps or labels of any kind.

“How do you find anything?” Hob asked with a vague gesture to the whole library.

He couldn’t tell whether Dream was answering him or calling for something when he answered, “Lucienne.”

A woman’s voice responded before Hob could even comprehend it. “Yes, sir?”

“This is Hob Gadling. You shall assist him in his use of the library’s facilities while I resume my work.”

Prior to Dream‘s words, Lucienne had seemed like a stern, hardworking woman, what with the suit and her hands behind her back. But when he introduced Hob, her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates—though only for a brief second before she regained her composure. She nodded at Hob as Dream left (probably for the best) and asked, “What are you looking for? We have every book ever written, as well as those yet unwritten.”

What was he looking for? There was no way he was gonna just come out and say ‘The person who cursed me.’ What to ask for, what to ask for—

Hob must’ve been silent for too long, because Lucienne prompted, “For example, I have detailed accounts of sleeper’s dreams.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” he agreed. “Show me my dreams, please.”

It turned out, over 650 years on Earth meant he’d dreamed quite a lot. It was enough to fill several bookshelves, and that was with most people having one of the shelves of a bookshelf dedicated to them, at most. “Er, I’ll only need the past week,” he clarified.

Lucienne handed him the book open to yesterday’s dream. “Do not look at the dream you’re having right now,” she warned. “The ink is still drying.”

Right. Because...he was dreaming. With his senses, his reading abilities, and the laws of physics working correctly, it was easy to forget that he was asleep at the moment. How would the book even record the dream? He imagined himself flipping the page, and words appearing: “I flipped the page.”

Hob shuddered and went further back until he reached the dream he had on New Year’s, right before Dream gave him the invitation.

Oh. It was a dream about him and Robyn having a picnic. Robyn had been telling him a story, in the way only little kids could do. That was...sweet. And also definitely not the kind of dream he’d normally have after getting blackout drunk. Hob supposed if he could stop one of friends from having a nightmare right in front of him, he would do so, too. If only that was the kind of dream he needed.

He looked at the dream for the day after that, then the one for a nap he’d taken, and then all of the ones after that until he reached yesterday’s dream again.

Nothing. Not a single one was about Mary’s New Year’s Eve party.

Hob paced along the bookshelves. Okay, so this had been a long shot from the start. His Friend couldn’t have known somebody had cursed Hob—that was why he was looking for proof in the first place. He would have to do this the old fashioned-way—

Wait, was that Mary’s book?

Hob stopped and set his hand on the wooden shelf underneath the book. Mary, as the host of the party and not someone on the Dream King’s radar, might’ve had a dream about the party.

But...it was one thing for him to look at his own journal, but someone else’s? A close friend’s dreams? She had a girlfriend. He didn’t want to read something he couldn’t unread.

The lights flickered off.

Some soldier instinct of his activated, shooting adrenaline through his system even though all that happened was half a second of darkness.

Hob was berating himself when he realized—part of the library was gone. Not like an explosion, or like a wall had been put up, but like he was in Minecraft and the game was lagging.

“Uh, Lucienne?” Hob called like Dream had called her.

“Yes, sir?” she asked from behind him.

He whirled around, heart still beating like a rabbit’s. “Did you see that?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “No, sir, but I can tell you’re on the verge of waking up.”

“But I’m not done. I haven’t even been asleep for that long.”

“You’ve been asleep for almost ten hours. You are waking up, sir.”

Hob grabbed Mary’s book. “Can I at least take this with me?”

She shook her head as the world faded to black.

———

He didn’t wake up feeling like he’d slept for ten hours, not the sleep he’d gotten used to in the 21st century, anyway. It seemed no amount of comfort mattered when he was lucid the whole time like that.

Hob was splayed on his back across the mattress dramatically, so he groaned when he caught sight of the calendar he’d put on the ceiling.

It was a school day.

With it being 4 am, he was in no danger of running late or anything, but it would’ve been nice if it was the weekend. He knew at least a thousand kids that would agree with him.

Of course, not many of his kids would feel like someone had taken a cookie cutter, cut out their centerpieces, and then replaced those pieces as painfully as they’d been removed.

Hob took advantage of his early wake-up time by going through his morning routine leisurely, taking any activity that would cause him pain slowly. Luckily, this was something he could do without regret—by the time he was done, it was still sooner than he usually left for school.

Hmm. The kids would be concerned about him. As much as he would usually advocate for caring about others, he couldn’t have them telling anyone about any overt signs of his lackluster health that they might notice.

That meant he had to whip out his tried and true method: Bribery via pastries. Hob dropped downstairs and informed the New Inn’s manager that he’d be paying for any purchases made by anyone with an ID from the school he worked at for the next week.

Understandably, his manager’s eyes bugged out, but they couldn’t argue with the increased business it promised the New Inn, not to mention his long-term resident privileges. Afterwards, Hob left for school to prepare.

Class went well. He might’ve had to sit down a couple of times (and then started to nod off), but the pain lessened over the course of the day, and the kids loved the free food. The end of the school day came faster than he expected (helped by his inadvertent nap during lunch).

That meant, as he was gathering his belongings, with no major problems from his work life, he was free to worry about his personal life, aka the events of last night. How exactly was he going to go about finding who’d made him forget when he couldn’t trust his memories and he couldn’t go to Dream?

Someone knocked at his door. Who would do that when it was already an hour after school had ended for the day?

“Come in!” Hob called.

The door opened and revealed...Mary. Guilt hit him full force (figuratively, thankfully for his chest) as he remembered how he’d debated looking through her dreams. And here she was, probably concerned about his behavior since the party. “What...can I do for you?” he asked with a smile that he desperately hoped hid the shame.

“Robby!” she said cheerfully, stopping on the other side of his desk. (The hair on the back of his neck stood up.) “So glad I caught you before you left. I’ve kinda got something important to ask.”

Hob hid his hands underneath his desk so that she wouldn’t see that he was wiping irrational nervous sweat off with a tissue. “Go on.”

“Well, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about New Year’s. About, y’know.” (He didn’t know). “About our midnight kiss.”

...midnight...kiss...?

There was no way. Surely he would’ve remembered that.

But, as a traitorous part of himself pointed out, he could’ve done it if he’d just forgotten about Dream, and Mary wanted it.

No, no. It just didn’t feel right.

Mary pouted, “I was worried you wouldn’t remember. It’s just, you’re such a great guy, Robby. You’re kind and funny. Hot, too.” She gave him a onceover as she walked around the desk. “Won’t you give us a chance?”

“I...” Alarms blared in Hob’s mind as he wracked his drunken memories and found no recollection of kissing anyone at midnight. In fact, he was rather certain he’d been fantasizing about kissing Dream. It wasn’t a stretch that he might’ve told her about it.

“Uh...” It was a stretch that she would do what her behavior was pointing to.

“Well...” He just couldn’t believe it. Years, they’d been friends. She’d helped him decide what he wanted to do with this iteration of himself, and now she almost ruined his chance at a relationship with the only constant in his life? If Desire hadn’t helped him, he wouldn’t even know.

“The thing is...” It occurred to him that Mary definitely thought her spell was still working. He had no clue how it worked. What if she tried to do it again, right now? Hob had to get out of here.

He had to make sure she wouldn’t do it again. He had to go big. That meant using an underhanded tactic: Guilt.

“I don’t know, Mary,” he breathed out eventually. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve just felt off for the past few months or so. Like there’s some essential part of me I’ve forgotten.”

Ooh, it was working. She was pale as a sheet.

“I’ve actually,” he laughed self-deprecatingly, “been having memory problems. Spacing out while talking to people, and forgetting the last few seconds. Haven’t been sleeping well either. I’m worried that there’s something wrong...neurologically.”

Mary had frozen except for a hand she’d moved to cover her mouth. Was that too much...?

No. He remembered how he felt when it first started, and it was awful. If this made her feel guilty, that was her fault.

Hob finished, “And, I just don’t think I can handle a new relationship on top of all of that and school.”

She stared at him wordlessly. When her brain apparently turned back on, she squeaked, “O-of course. I’ll just, um, go.”

———

Thankfully, Hob wasn’t interrupted again between then and when he got home. It was already nearing six pm.

The nap he’d had during lunch had somehow given him enough energy that he wasn’t tired even now. It was a good thing, even if it was an accident, because now he already knew Dream wasn’t necessarily going to talk to him if he just went to sleep.

Instead, Hob was going to try praying first. Maybe it wasn’t possible. Maybe it would go to voicemail. Maybe it would work, but Dream would still ignore him. It was still better than potentially wasting the rest of the night sleeping, and having to wait until tomorrow after school to talk to Dream.

“Dream,” he started, trying to inject intent, “Please hear my words. I’d like to talk to you.”

“Hob Gadling.”

“Fucking—” Hob spun around. Why did everyone always have to appear behind him?

Oh well, he had good things to look forward to in the near future. He gave him a wide grin. “Dream, I’ve found out what I needed to know. What do you have on someone I know, Mary?”

His Friend gave him a scrutinizing look, then closed his eyes. “I shall look.”

He was still for a long moment. Longer than Hob felt like he should’ve been. Then, Dream opened his eyes, and they were full of tears.

His voice was dangerously low: “Mary Cornell...has violated you...irreparably. I cannot begin to describe...” Dream bowed his head.

“Oh, no, no, no!” He couldn’t bear to see his Friend like that. Hob crossed the space separating them in two quick strides and took both of his hands, making Dream look up. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t irreparable. That’s what Desire did; they fixed it.”

He let that sink in as he teared up, himself. “Dream, I love you.”

Hob had the pleasure of watching Dream’s devasted expression turn into one of pure joy before he was pulled in for a bruising kiss.

#now imagine Dream kissing Hob for a while without breathing because Dream doesn’t need to breathe and Hob doesn’t care about breathing #but then the lack of air makes his chest starting hurting again and he makes an involuntary action like a wince that alerts Dream to it #Dream: Hob? Hob are you okay?!? Hob??????????? #yotp 2023 #dreamling #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #hob gadling #year of the otp #my writing #my fanfiction #fake dating #amnesia #crack treated seriously #drinking #(not explicit) #friends to lovers #happy ending #miscommunication #pining #cursed #cursing #new year’s day #destiny of the endless #death of the endless #delirium sandman #despair of the endless #desire of the endless #lucienne #7k+ words

[self-indulgent-simp]

The Paramedic (part 3)

Eddie Munson x (Male) reader

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Summary: An alternate ending to the season 4 finale ,where an ambulance paramedic reader from 2022 stumbles upon Eddie in the upside down right after the bat attack.

Word count: 1431

CW: Blood, death, medical descriptions, angst, (Y/N)

An: I'm on a roll, here is chapter 3 guys!!🤘🦇

Chapter 3

You are awoken by your alarm, at first you just lay in bed enjoying the rays of sun peeking through the blinds. Eventually you get out of bed, stretching your awfully sore body. You look down expecting to see your bare torso and pyjama bottoms and freeze. You are still wearing your uniform and it is covered in dried blood and mud. That is when all the memories of the events from the yesterday flood inn. The weird portal, the monsters and Eddie.

You feel a sense of dread wash over you, the same feeling you got the day before when you left the surgery.

The only thing you wanted to do now was find Eddie and hopefully get some answers. You could try visiting him in the hospital, if he wanted to or was well enough to see you. They might not let you see him though, as you are not a family member. How will you get a hold of him then? Shit, maybe he has a phone?

Instantly you run over to start your laptop and open up your web browser, writing “Eddie Munson” into google. You expect to see a link to his Facebook or Instagram account but what you see startle you. News and true crime articles with titles like “Serial killer Cult leader murders 3 teenagers” and “The D&D cult killer” pop up.

You feel yourself start to sweat, wondering if you had been helping a serial killer all along. Not that you wouldn’t still save Eddies life even if he was. It is not your job to judge; you are supposed to help anyone without bias, but you might not have gotten so attached if you knew. Wait attached? You barely know the man, this situation must be messing with your head.

Eddie did seem like a nice person thought, not threatening at all. Maybe that’s just how you remember him due to the circumstance of your meeting? Maybe he is one of those innocent seeming killers who lull you into a false sense of security before striking? The more you thought about it, none of this seemed right to you.

As you click in on several of the articles something grabs your attention, you see what looks like a yearbook photo of Eddie Munson, from...1986. He looks just like the Eddie you saved yesterday, fuck IT IS the Eddie you saved yesterday! Same name, same face, same hair, same country and fuck didn’t he tell you he played D&D? If that is Eddie shouldn’t he be what, 60 by now? Fuck you can’t even begin to imagine what is going on.

“Time travel…fuuck me. No, nope” you shake your head, things were crazy enough with the serial killer, portal and hellscape business, time travel just added another layer of FUCKED you were not prepared for.

You continue reading and notice a particularly interesting passage “Eddie Munson went missing after his alleged killing spree in 1986, to this day he is still missing (presumed to be dead)”.  That must be when he disappeared to that hell scape? Or maybe he had gone there on purpose? If he disappeared before the killings, then it cant be him who killed those teenager can it? He could be innocent.

Your train of thought is interrupted by your phone ringing. You pick it up, see that it is from an unknown caller and answer hesitantly.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Y/N L/N?” a male voice asks

“Yes, that’s me”

“We have a patient here, Eddie Munson, It says here that you are his emergency contact. We are calling you to notify that he is at Rikshospitalet. You can come and visit him in the visiting hours, from 09.30 to 12.00”

“Oh, ok. Thank you for telling me”

“Have a great day, bye”

“Bye”

He put you as his emergency contact? Given the whole situation it would make sense for him to do so, you are probably the only person here that he knows. Still, it surprised you, you had not expected it.

You want to go immediately, take the first buss to the hospital, but then you get a good look at yourself in the mirror. You look awful, no, before you leave you are going to need a shower, a change of clothes, breakfast and a strong cup of (tea/coffee/energy drink).

--------A breakfast, shower and buss trip later--------

You arrive at the hospital 09.50. At this time, it is crowded with people by the reception, you end up standing in line for quite a while. When you finally get to talk to the receptionist, she tells you that Eddie is on the second floor in room 267.

The closer you get to room 267, the more nervous you become. What if he knows just as little as you? What if he is in fact a serial killer from 1986? The questions keep running through your mind and before you know it you are standing outside room 267.

You hesitate for a second, before you walk in.

Inside the room you see Eddie laying in his bed wearing a blue hospital gown, he has not noticed you entering and is looking out the hospital window biting his nails, his long messy hair framing his frowning face. He looks so frail, with dark rings under his eyes and his skin pale. You had prepared all these questions to bombard him with, but now you don’t really want too anymore. This guy does not look like a serial killer, he doesn’t look like he has a mean bone in his body.

“Eh, hi?” you say awkwardly, walking up to him

When Eddie sees you, he lights up a bit. “You came!”

“Yeah, how.. how are you feeling?”

“If I am being completely honest, like shit. But I guess that’s what you get for playing hero~” the last part he almost whispers to himself.

“Is it ok if I sit down?” you ask pointing towards a chair.

“Oh yeah dude, go ahead”

You take the chair and pull it up to the left side of Eddies bed, sitting down heavily.

“So… you put me as your emergency contact?”

Eddie looks away from you with an awkward smile “Yeeha, I was hoping to get to talk to you. You saw the whole up side down place, you know when you saved my life an all” as he continues to talk his body seems to get more and more animated “So, I thought; this guy is the only person that wouldn’t immediately throw me in the looney bin if I tried explaining myself… and hopefully maybe... you could help me out?”

You open your mouth to answer, but before you manage to utter a word he rambles on.

“You don’t need to help me off course, you already swooped in and literally picked me up like a fucking princess, saving my life. But… I’m…I don’t know what to do”. Eddie looks down at his hands, not daring to see your expression.

You can’t help but feel sorry for him, if you were in his shoes, you are not sure what you would do either.

“I’ll help you”

At this Eddie looks up at you.

“But, before I do. I need some answers, because I don’t know what the fuck is going on”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Ask away man.”

“I’m not so sure where to start…but uh, that upside down place you mentioned. Is that what the place I found you is called?”

“Yes”

“What is it?”

“I am no expert, but it was explained to me as some sort of dark mirrored version of our world. Sometimes portals open between our worlds and you can travel through”.

“When I went through the portal it was through a forest, but I came out in a small town… that does not seem very mirrored”.

“Yeah, you are supposed to enter a place similar to the one you came from, so I have no idea why it traveled me from America in 1986 to Norway in… whatever time it is now, because it sure as hell aint 1986”.

“We are in 2022”

Eddies starts at you in utter disbelief “ 2022?? WHAT?? That’s what 50 years in the future?” he almost screams

“36 actually”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I googled your name and uuh.. I found some crazy shit”.

“Googeld?” Eddie looks at you confused

“Oh right” if he is from 1986 he wouldn’t know about the internet “I uh found some information about you… from 1986”.

Eddie freezes, his hands clenching into fists “what kind of information”

“That you were a suspected serial killer and that you disappeared in 1986”.

#eddie munson x male reader #eddie munson x reader #blood #angst

[waywardnerd67]

Replay Life Chap. 12 - Who We Are

Title: Replay Life - S12E22 Who Are We Summary: An emotional episode has (Y/N) finding comfort in Jensen making him realize once and for all how he truly feels for her. Main Characters: Jensen Ackles, Reader Other Characters: None Pairing: None Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 1705 A/N: Reader’s story of why this episode is meaningful to her is a true story of my own. This episode is special for me and one of many, MANY reasons why I love Dean Winchester and Jensen Ackles. 

Check Out: Replay Life Masterlist

Jensen was thankful to be back home after a week of nonstop travel. He loved all the cast of The Boys, but there was truly no place like home. Walking inside, he could hear (Y/N) talking to someone in the living room.

“Lu-cy, I’m home…” He called out.

He stopped in his tracks seeing (Y/N) wiping away tears and her partner teacher sitting beside her. She smiled up at him standing from the couch.

“I’m going to head out. I’ll keep you posted on what I find out.” She squeezed (Y/N)’s shoulder before heading for the front door.

“(Y/N), what’s going on?”

He sat beside her and she immediately buried her head into his chest. Jensen wrapped his arms around her and leaned them back into the couch. Her body shook as a muffled sob rumbled against his chest.

“Pretty girl, whatever is going on, we’ll get through it. No matter what, I’ve got you.” He kissed the top of her head.

They sat there in silence until the sun began to set. Finally (Y/N) sat up out his arms and wiped away the few tears still on her cheeks.

“Can we order in and watch Supernatural?” She sniffled.

He cupped her cheek running his thumb over it, “Absolutely. Anything you want.”

Within the hour their food was delivered and they began the penultimate episode of season twelve. They had watched a lot of Supernatural while he was traveling for the week. He could not believe there were only three more seasons to watch with her and suddenly sadness filled his chest.

Dean unrolled blue prints on the table, “Okay, we have... exhausted brains, so I saw we try brawn.”

“How?” Sam stood beside him.

“Walls. Now the garage, the Crow's Nest, these are all reinforced steel walls, right? But right here,” pointing to an area on the blue prints, “that's nothing but concrete. And right there, that's an old sewer pipe, goes straight up to the surface...to the override.”

Sam looked at his brother curiously, “So wait a second. We're just gonna…”

Dean smirked, “Straight Shawshank this bitch.”

(Y/N) chuckled while taking a bite of her pizza, “One of my favorite parts.”

Dean stands in front of a concrete wall with a pick axe. Sam is off to the side. Dean swings the pick axe at the wall and gets hit in the face with debris

Sam asks, “Goggles?”

Dean squinting turns away from the wall, “Goggles.”

Sam and Dean are taking alternate strikes at the wall, the pickaxes are making a clattering sound and concrete is flying. After several strikes, they have barely made an impact. The brothers were panting and grunting with each impact.

“No two men should look as hot as you and Jared sweating and grunting. Do you guys do that purposely to try to kill off fangirls?”

Jensen started laughing before seeing (Y/N) was waiting for him to answer, “Oh! You’re serious. No… no, we don’t do that purposely. We do as we’re told for the most part.”

“I think that makes it worse that you two are naturally sexy. No wonder I have such high expectations for men. You two made your characters impossible to compete with.”

He stared at her for a moment trying to discern what she had said. When he went to ask her, (Y/N)’s attention was solely focused on the hunters on the screen.

Toni Bevell stared at the brothers in disbelief, “You're lunatics. Action movie-loving, cheeseburger-eating, moronic American lunatics.”

Sam ushers Toni out of the room as Dean walks up holding the grenade launcher.

“Okay, beautiful. Yippee ki-yay, mother –”

There are several explosions followed by debris falling.

They both laughed at the scene, “You better believe somewhere in the files of deleted scenes there is video of me completing that sentence.”

(Y/N) laughed harder bringing pure joy washing over him watching tears of happiness falling down her face.

Dean embraces Sam, patting his back, “You come back.”

Sam’s eyes glistening with worry and fear unwilling to let his brother see, “Promise.”

“Bitch.” Smirks as Sam steps out of his embrace.

“Jerk.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah.”

He watches Sam walk away and the front door closes.

“That was the last time they ever said bitch/jerk to one another.”

Jensen paused the episode for a moment, “Really?”

(Y/N) nodded, “Yes and I will never forgive a certain showrunner for that.”

He chuckled, hitting play once more. (Y/N)’s dislike of Andrew Dabb was no secret and there had been many times when he would have to keep her away from him at season wrap parties.

“Well I promise whenever we do Supernatural the mini series or the movie I will make sure we say bitch/jerk again.”

(Y/N) smiled, “Thank you on behalf of all SPN fans.”

“Mom, look at me.” Dean grabs Mary’s arm and it’s solid.

She hesitates, pulls out of his grasp and walks over to the oven. Dean stares at his hand for a moment and then looks up at Mary, realizing something. The oven door squeaks as Mary pulls a pie out of the oven.

His eyes narrow on her, “You're choosing this.”

“Your favorite.” Mary says in a singsong tone.

Dean’s younger self excitedly says, “Yes!”

“After you eat.” Mary points at the sandwich on his plate then kneels next to young Dean, “I only want good things for you, Dean. I'll never let anything bad happen to you.”

Dean watches Mary with young Dean with pain in his eyes, “I hate you.”

“This whole day was emotionally exhausting.” Jensen let out a heavy sigh remembering how he could not shut off his emotions once they had started.

“This is one of my favorite performances from you. I know you hear this a lot, but this moment helped me through so much at the time it aired. The fact that I knew you were putting all of your heart and soul into helping Dean find closure with Mary really helped me find closure as well.”

Jensen tried to remember exactly when this episode aired and what had been going on in her life at the time.

(Y/N) chuckled, “This aired the same year my dad died. You know how rocky that relationship was. I don’t think I truly started grieving his death until after seeing this episode.”

Dean continued to speak, “You left us. Alone.”

Baby Sam was cooing in his crib as Dean continued, “'Cause Dad was just a shell.” He approaches Mary at the crib.

“His perfect wife? Gone. Our perfect Mom, the perfect family... was gone. And I... I had to be... more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe. And that wasn't fair. And I couldn't do it. And you wanna know what that was like?”

“Dean walks around Mary to look at her directly and she turns away.”

“They killed the girl that he loved. He got possessed by Lucifer. They tortured him in Hell. And he lost his soul. His soul.”

Mary looks down at baby Sam cooing, seemingly hearing Dean but ignoring him.

“All because of you. All of it was because of you.”

In the Men Of Letters bunker, the machines are beeping as Mary and Dean remain in their dream state. Mary has tears running down her face as Toni looks on.

Jensen looked over to see tears running down (Y/N)’s cheeks. He tugged on her arm and she crawled over onto his lap. Her arms loosely around his neck and her head resting against his neck. Wrapping his arms around her waist, making sure her blanket was still covering her.

“I hate you.” Deans voice breaks as tears run down his face, “I hate you. And I love you. 'Cause I can't – I can't help it. You're my Mom. And I understand...'cause I have made deals to save the ones I love more than once.”

Mary continues to look away but seems to hear him.

“I forgive you. I forgive you. For all of it. Everything. On the other side of this, we can start over, okay? You, me, Sam. We can get it right this time. But I need you to fight. Right now, I need you to fight. I need you – I need you to look at me, Mom. I need you to really look at me and see me. Mom, I need you to see me. Please.”

A soft sniffle came from (Y/N) and Jensen held her closer whispering, “The tears were scripted but I told them the day of that I wouldn’t force it. If tears came naturally while doing the scene then great but if not then I didn’t want to force it.”

He felt her smile, “Of course they came because as much as me or any other fan loves Dean, you will always love him the most.”

Mary turns around slowly and looks up at Dean, eyes widening, “Dean?”

Dean relieved, “Mom.”

Dean’s head snaps back to the bunker and sees the electrodes being pulled off his head. Mary is still unconscious as Dean looks around to see Toni on the ground, throat slit. Looking up, Ketch is facing him.

“Fucking Ketch.” (Y/N) muttered, making Jensen laugh, “Don’t get me wrong, I like that he eventually redeems himself, but right now he’s a douchebag.”

Jensen didn’t quite know when he stopped watching the episode and was watching (Y/N). She had cheered and lifted her head when Jody shot Dr. Hess. He looked down at how comfortable they were sitting there watching tv together. A single thought popped into his head that would follow him for the next several days.

This is the only life I’ve ever wanted.

Not fame. Not money. All he ever wanted was someone to enjoy life with and that someone was his best friend. Two weeks later, he found himself at the Padalecki’s house sitting in their kitchen across from Gen. Her knowing smile plastered on her face as he spoke.

“I need your help. I want to ask (Y/N) out.”

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

For updates please follow #waywardnerd67fics

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#waywardnerd67fics #replay life series #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #rpf series #rpf

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Speaking of Death Battle thoughts on the 2000000000000000000000th repeat of Goku vs Superman? Good? Bad? Or exists?

//Ok, I have a lot to say about it:

//You know how I said that Scooby Vs Courage was my favourite episode of this season?

//It is genuinely at risk of losing it's title, and it's because of Goku Vs Superman 3. Let me break it down:

//Now, I did kind of mention this when I recapped Rick Vs Doctor, but even from the beginning, I was a big defender of the match. When Ben explained why they were doing this again, he made some really great points and convinced me that they had something good in the works.

//And for the people who say that the rerun was pointless, especially since Goku lost again, I need to point out that the SECOND fight was pointless. It happened one series after the first one and seemed to just be made of scrapped notes from the first episode, which, to its credit, I still think holds up today. The controversy surrounding the second episode was a bit intense, but sort of deserved, since the really only good thing about the second fight was Brandon Yates' "Alive".

//As for what makes the most recent episode so great, the analyses for both Goku and Superman are really well done and very respectful to both characters, much unlike the second fight where Goku just got fucked over and Superman got decharacterized like a motherfucker. They do a good job at bringing out both characters best sides and this is what is translated into the fight.

//Unlike the previous two times the two fought on Death Battle, Superman actually plays along with Goku's battle hungry enthusiasm, and the two are pretty chummy throughout the fight despite how they're trying to kill each other. I love it when there's no real animosity between fighters in DB and that they're just trying to test out each other's strength. I also think this shift in motives for Superman is great, because it brings out what I believe is his best side, that being his humility. Whereas in the previous two episodes he was kind of no-nonsense, overly stern and serious and just gave Goku shit for...being Goku, Superman is really nice to Goku in this episode and respects him right until the end, even agreeing to go round 2 with him. So even though the fight ends with Goku losing again, I saw this coming, and I'm at least glad it wasn't a fuck-you death like the last two times.

//Also, what helps is that the voice acting is amazing. Michael Kovach and Xander Mobus are two guys who I respect IMMENSELY, and this episode highlights why. They break off each other well, and Michael's final Kamehameha when Goku goes Ultra Instinct is incredible.

//The animation is the best of the season, bar-none, or at least the best 3D animation. If I talked about everything I liked about it, we'd be here forever, but you can tell the animators pulled out all the stops. The one scene I will draw attention to is when Superman starts to get serious and punches so hard, reality breaks and we see alternate versions of Goku and Superman fighting, like Goku Black fighting Ultraman. I think that was really cool and really clever and paid good attention to the legacy of both the characters.

//Lastly, the post-analysis was very well done. It seems to me that Death Battle really wanted to explain why Superman wins this time instead of just saying, "ugh, he's fucking strong and goku sucks" so they broke it down into categories, and Goku even outmatched Superman in skill. I liked that the fight wasn't a complete and total one-sided beatdown since Goku had a few edges, and that's enough for me.

//If I had to say there were any disappointments with the episode, I have two, and they are extremely minor. For one, I was really hoping that the battle track would be a remaster of Alive from the second fight, but upon reflection, Alive was more of a nitty and gritty and edgy track that suited the more savage mood of the second episode, whereas in this one it's more upbeat and powerful to show just how fun the two were having. So while my expectations were subverted, they were succeeded.

//The other thing I didn't like was how the episode ended. Wiz starts going on a panic and questioning what they're doing before Boomstick snaps him out of it. And the reason this makes me sad is because it feels like Death Battle is trying to justify it's reason for existing to it's audience, which...it shouldn't HAVE to do that. Death Battle exists to paint and show a picture of what would happen if the characters you love were to fight to the death using every ability they have in their arsenal, and use math, science and research to decide who. The people who right the show, in spite of what many people will tell you, are not biased against anybody, and even though they rely on facts to reach their verdicts, it's all about having fun and seeing these crossover fights with two powerful combatants duking it out. That's all there is to it and that's all there needs to be, and it makes me sad and angry to think about how these guys are getting chronic hate for their verdicts from toxic people, since it DOESN'T MATTER who wins! Oh, your fav lost? How sad! MOVE ON! You've got a life to live and if it pisses you off, watch a different series. It just made me sad, that's all.

//Anyway, in summary, top tier episode. 10/10.

//And for those who are curious, here's my current ranking of the Season 10 episodes from best to worst, not including Galactus Vs Unicron (which by the way, I have no say in, I'm not particularly invested in either character, so I don't really care who wins. Subtly rooting for Galactus though.) This season has been absolute fire from start to finish and I love every single episode so far though:

Scooby Vs Courage

Goku Vs Superman

Frieza Vs Megatron

Rick Vs the Doctor

Cole Vs Alex

Bill Vs Discord

Guts Vs Dimitri

Ant-Man Vs Atom

Gojo Vs Makima

Skyrim Vs Dark Souls

Phoenix Vs Raven

Martian Manhunter Vs Silver Surfer

Vader Vs Obito

Stitch Vs Rocket

Killua Vs Misaka.

#mod #death battle

[cenobittten]

How I figured out who Patient 46 was in Security Breach

This post contains an introduction to the theory, why I am so confident and a guide to understanding what the heck I am talking about.

Parts list:

Part 1 - coming soon

Or follow hashtag #CenoFNAF

Warning for Spoilers! This introduction makes references to unreleased stories from Tales of the Pizzaplex volume 5. While no spoilers are discussed explicitly, just knowing what this theory is titled may spoil the future twist of unreleased content. So, if you don't want to know, don't read. Just head on over to the spoiler-free Part 1 and beyond.

Click the read more for the real, summary title.

:readmore:

Gregory was always sus: How I figured out he was Patient 46 and inhabited by Afton

An introduction

Right so, to introduce myself, hi! I'm a long time sort-of FNAF fan who likes Security Breach a lot. This is my second time ever writing down a fnaf theory.

A year ago, my first ever theory was this:

In which I theorised that Gregory was 46 and a vessel for Afton intially from game content only.

Why is this relevant? Well, recent leaks from Tales From The Pizzaplex #5 are very strongly hinting that I was on the right track.

My post got no attention at the time, but that didn't matter much. It became immediately apparent from the reaction to Matpat's theory that… well. Not many agreed with me and I ended up not sharing any more of my theory.

But now, I bring you #Gregtrap theory

I came up with the pivotal evidence for this theory from my very first full watch-through of the game, which was a blend of multiple YTers. I kid you not, I was so enamoured by this game for some inexplicable reason, I watched a mix of YTers to finish the game asap so I could get theorising. I was virtually unable to move for pain at the time so it was a good mental distraction - gotta have hobbies kids!

Since making the initial theory, I have been in the unusual position of watching more and more evidence to support my theory come out. This isn't a humble brag, I literally couldn't have told you what was even happening in my first watch of any of the other FNAF games so I'm thinking I just… tapped into Steel Wool's vibe inexplicably. I was honestly expecting to be completely wrong and some alternative theories posted had even convinced me. However, for Security Breach, I watched Matpat's GT videos echo my theories in real time and I have seen even more evidence building in the lead up to Ruin. This is all so funny to me, it's ludicrous but here we are!

So, I thought the fandom may find it useful to hear from someone who independently came to the conclusion Gregory was Patient 46. There is a lot of nuance to some of the writing/story crafting that I picked up on as foreshadowing but were easily lost on paper. In fact, I remember thinking "Either this game is nonsense and has no clue or Gregory is a villain and the writing is insanely subtle/clever".

I am not joking. There is actually a certain level of sophistication to the writing and the visuals of the Pizzaplex that subtly tell a story. The Steel Wool team used to work at Pixar! And their writing/game design is more similar to a Pixar film than Scott's style. Some of the Pizzaplex scene/setting design is legitimately art imho. The clues were there, just in different places than you might expect. Perhaps these notes will put the game in a new light for you. I want to bust this game open! Lets put our minds together and solve this fazgoo!

These notes reflect my final conclusion after stewing on it for a year, so they are much more refined and based on piecing everything together. But I will point to my thought processes and point out pivotal evidence from the initial stages to show how the theory developed.

My approach to lore investigating is a little different to most FNAFers. Rather than focusing on small lore details or timelines, I put myself in the developer's shoes and make broad observations from a storytelling perspective. I consider what the game might be setting up/trying to say, what did and didn't make the cut in terms of content and what the fans might want to see. Real detective mode.

In my view, Steel Wool were essentially soft-rebooting the franchise. Their goal was to make a game that could broadly appeal to gamers of all sorts, not just the fans. A story base that could be built on via future entries in the franchise, honouring the old stories but remaining understandable to a casual fan. After all, Steel Wool did essentially give themselves the licence to retcon the story via the "pissed off developer" excuse in Help Wanted. I strongly felt that the game should be solvable without knowing the exact details of past lore or obscure details from the books. The mysteries within the game had to have a plot & twists that the ordinary person could follow or piece together. They didn't quite manage it but enough was there to give me an inkling.

I kept my eye open for anything amiss in the dialogue/Fazwatch messages, game missions or in-setting clues like posters - the areas most likely to contain intentional lore clues. In game development, often the last things to be completed are the writing, mission creation and game story which - given SB's rushed development & possible story change - means I focused my attentions on those.

But where on earth do I even start with a game this big? Well, since I don't have access to the game, I'm going to pull out all the things I observed while watching playthroughs as they come up. That way, if you want to check for yourself, anyone can access the same footage used. For reference, my main footage sources are Matpat's GT live and Markiplier. I watched Dawko, FusionZGamer, FuhNaff and Jacksepticeyes playthroughs as well. (Game is such a glitchy mess, it's beautiful!)

It's all too much to do it one go, given my health, so I'm gonna break these linear observation posts into instalments. I'll list all the posts here so people can read at their leisure. Then, I'll make a post summarising the key evidence.

Also: Big credit to all the other FNAF theorists and LPers too - this theory wouldn't have become what it is without you.

I welcome questions, counterpoints or suggestions. Just reply or pop me a DM.

Also note:

- I was and still am a Gregbot supporter. This theory ties into that.

#fnaf #fnaf lore #fnaf ggy #fnaf sb #security breach theory #five nights at freddy's #fnaf leaks #fnaf spoilers #game theory #CenoFNAF

[hansreviewsstuff]

Liar liar

Over the years I have collected a vast selection of books with "lie" or a variation of it in the title, so I decided to read them all. Here are my reviews of We Were Liars, Lies Like Poison, The Supreme Lie and One Of Us Is Lying. Janus Sanders would be proud!

23/10/2022

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart

3.5/5

Booktok book, oh no! To be honest, I can see why it is popular. It's main theme of familial/generational trauma is expressed incredibly well, and even me, who's experience in that subject only stretches to watching Encanto, could really see the reality of the terrible Sinclair family, and how it affects those who are a part of it. I didn't go into the book expecting a story about that (the perils of no blurb) but it was interesting to read about anyway, and I feel those who relate more closely to the subject would enjoy it even more. Now. The plot twist. I try my best to do spoiler-free reviews, so I won't reveal it, but. The plot twist, the overall "answer to the underlying question throughout the book", was a simple solution. A bobs your uncle, here's how it actually is, done, solution. Shocking, no doubt, and I will enjoy reading the book again in the future and spotting all the things that reveal it, but nothing to uncurl. Not sure if I liked it. As a fan of murder mysteries which have complicated solutions that you have to get your head around, it wasn't exactly my piece of cake. And finally. The metaphors. I have seen other people on TikTok comment on this, so I'm not alone. They were a bit too good. So much so that I didn't know whether our main character actually got "shot" or whether it was just a metaphor. This happened all throughout the book and I got very confused!

Favourite Character: Johnny

Would I recommend this book: Mm. Depends. As I said, if you are interested in familial trauma and it's effects, and are ready for a frankly devastating plot twist, go ahead. Just be prepared.

I feel like past me may of slandered this book a bit too much. I skim read it a bit, I think. It's very good, I promise!

1(4? my handwriting)/11/2022

Lies Like Poison by Chelsea Pitcher

3/5

I really enjoyed This Lie Will Kill You by Pitcher, so I had high hopes for this book, but I'm sad to say that it let me down. There were almost two books in one, the murder mystery story and a story about the main characters' journeys and emotions, discovering things together and apart. The latter could of existed without the former perfectly, with some tweaks. I guessed the murderer and the story behind that pretty quickly, and if it was just that, without the beautiful description of emotions, then this book would be a 1/5! (Sorry). Two books in one. Focus on one thing please! Sufficient gay and trans people though.

Favourite character: Lily

Would I recommend this book: Sorry, no. Read This Lie Will Kill You!

21/11/2022

The Supreme Lie by Geraldine McCaughrean

3.5/5

I think past me may have been a little bit too nice to this book, giving it the same rating as We Were Liars.

Halfway into this story I discovered that McCaughrean was quite an established author, writing popular novels which were mainly for people younger than me. It definitely gave that vibe, of a story a children's author has been building in her head for a while, wanting to finally write it down to produce something different than her usual novels. I say this because it was an incredibly well designed world, meticulous and, frankly, very creative. Many stories could be told in that one world. I did have to keep referring to the very useful map! The twist villain didn't really work for me because, to put it simply, I wasn't paying attention when it was said who he was! Oops. Slow start, and also alternating chapters. Listen, I have nothing against alternating chapters! Me with a short attention span sometimes likes two stories going on at once, and I especially like when they cross over beautifully. But the second, not main story in The Supreme Lie about some boy and his dog, I really didn't care about. At one point I was tempted to skip every other chapter. Sorry! I think I said this book wasn't a complete failure because 1) the characters were quite loveable, and 2) the end was quite good with the tension. But the rest of the book dragged!

Favourite character: Kovet (I have completely forgotten who this is)

Would I recommend this book: Maybe for people younger than me. I only bought it because of the cover and the blurb, and because it was in buy one get one half price, but I don't completely regret it. Read other people's reviews of this book, maybe. This review, I realize, is not very helpful! (Basically, the book is about a country plagued with endless rain, and after the leader dies, a simple serving girl must pretend to be the leader as not to send the country into complete dismay. I probably should have mentioned that!)

02/12/2022

One Of Us Is Lying by Karen M. McManus

4/5

Dammit, this book could of been a 5! All throughout reading it I was like this is really good, really good, this could be a 5. But then I guessed the murderer. And it was, frankly, a really disappointing solution. The kind of solution you jokingly guess. Devastating, but I enjoy classic whodunnits where you, well, catch whodunnit. I've heard that the TV show has a better, more surprising and thought out solution, and it's a shame the book doesn't as well. I guess that's why they changed it! Nonetheless, the book was still really good. Different character POV chapters were nice and refreshing, (another reason why the ending was disappointing- I wanted one of the seemingly truth telling character POVs to be lying!) and I liked the whole omniscient-edgy-tumblr-poster-seemingly-murderer making fun of everyone struggling to find them. And again, sufficient and realistic gay people. I was genuinely engrossed in all the characters stories, and even, for once, the romance. Good book.

Favourite character: Kris

Would I recommend this book: Let's be honest, you've read it.

Sorry if the last review was a bit spoilery. But, as I said, you have most definitely either watched it or read it. Hope you enjoyed these reviews!

Books I still have left to post: ↪ The Song Of Achillies ↪ How To Kill Your Family ↪ House Of Hollow ↪ Afterlove ↪ A Whole New World ↪ Splinters Of Sunshine And I want to do a Glass Onion/ Knives out post. Goddammt, I have just realized you press shift new line to make a new line without a huge space. Ughhhhh. Expect better formatting next time, then.

See you, Hans :)

#books #bookreview #one of us is lying #we were liars #the supreme lie #lies like poison

[ngkiscool]

#35 - Going to Therapy

After the laughs of last week, back to some hurt (and comfort),

As always, all the fics are focusing on supporting characters, rated G or T and are SFW. The description includes rating, word count and main characters. This week there are more cw, please mind the tags!

Next week is open to suggestion - would you like to focus on a character that hadn’t got enough attention? Continue with the vibes? Please send ideas and recs for stories that focus on supporting characters (as in, Aziraphale and Crowley are not the main ones). Self recs are encouraged!

Tell Me About Your Childhood by Darky_Parky - 4.5K, rated G, focusing on Warlock, Crowley and Aziraphale. Summary: Ten years after the world didn't end Warlock finally decides to go see a therapist to talk about his childhood. Specifically about a certain gardener and a nanny.

Hastur’s Difficult Year by orphan_account - 1.2K, rated G, focusing on Hastur and Ligur. Summary: Fern Dunaway didn’t know much about Hastur, other then he hung around the offices and dressed oddly. She continued to write rapidly, asking him questions as they got to know each other. “So, can you describe what it’s been like for you, these past few weeks?” He nodded. “Yes. My boss, Beelzebub, the Lord of Hell, you see, told me that this would be a good idea-” “The Lord of….excuse me?” Fern looked up in surprise. She hadn’t heard him right, had she?- Losing your best (ahem) work partner can be difficult. 

Give Me Therapy (I'm a Walking Travesty) by @brokencasbutt67-writer  - 500 words, rated G, focusing on Gabriel and Beelzebub. Summary: k so my old therapist was a very attractive man called Dom, who inspired the therapist in this. I have no idea what this is meant to be so whatever I guess. I wrote this without looking at the keyboard or monitor once so let me know how atrocious it is.

Mothers Take the Stage by Crowoxy - 17K, rated G, focusing on Harriet Dowling, Warlock, Deirdre Young, Crowley, Nanny Ashtoreth, Aziraphale, Brother Francis, Thaddeus J. Dowling, Arthur Young, The Them, Pepper's Mum, Wensleydale's Mum, Dog. cw - Postpartum Depression, domestic abuse, mention of child neglect. Summary: Harriet Dowling tries to be a mother, has a breakdown, meets someone new, and gets invited to an all parents complaint group in the span of an hour. It's the start of how she reclaims her life back with the help of Nanny Ashtoreth and people in a small town called Tadfield and how Nanny Ashtoreth becomes a Nanny for more than just Warlock (the definite Antichrist) and finds out just how much she enjoys it. Alternatively titled: Stealing One Back From the Patriarchy

A Man Called Warlock by Wanderingbard3 - 5.2K, rated G, focusing on Warlock, Crowley and Aziraphale. Summary: Warlock decides to try therapy to help understand why his life feels like such a let down.

Slow Down by Zab43 - 3.5K, rated G, focusing on Hastur, Ligur and Dagon. cw - PTSD, Mention of demonic evilness. Summary: Hastur is busy, very busy. Or at least he wants to be. If he's busy enough maybe he won't have to think about Ligur and try to deal with his loss. Dagon steps in on Beelzebub's instructions and Hastur reluctantly complies. A self-indulgent piece kicked off by my own (semi)recovery from PTSD and a conversation with a friend who lost their partner a year ago.

Is there someone we can call? by Euny_Sloane - 3.4K, rated T, focusing on Warlock, Crowley and Aziraphale. cw - child-parent relational difficulty, Alcohol Intoxication. Summary: Warlock Dowling goes to college in the US to get away from his family and gets sent to the hospital for alcohol poisoning only weeks after his arrival.  He's terrified of his parents being informed, and ends up in a counselor's office to sort out what to do next. Nanny makes a (figurative) appearance.

Lost Boy by LeesaCrakon - 4.2K, rated T, focusing on The Them. cw - Self-Hatred, Depression. Summary: Wensleydale and the rest of the Them are grown up now. The rest have all left Tadfield but Wensleydale stayed, being an accountant, just like everyone said he would. Life is dull, but a spontaneous visit from his childhood friends shake things up, resurfacing old memories and, along with it, old feelings Wensleydale had thought were best left forgotten. After all, there was no possible way Brian would ever feel the same way about him. Right?

And They Were Roommates by Rathgrith - 14K, rated T, focusing on Hastur, Ligur and Eric the disposable demon. cw - Canon Typical Violence, Mental Instability, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, PTSD. Summary: Ligur is back, but not quite the same. Hastur decides they should share living quarters and calls on Eric to give his office an upgrade.

Warlock sees a Therapist by bixbythemartian - 3K, N/R, focusing on Adan Young and warlock. Summary: Warlock Dowling, not-the-anti-christ, was still heavily influenced by an angel and a demon as a child, and it definitely impacted him, as a person. This is a brief excerpt of a visit to his long-term therapist, a very nice and as yet unnamed lady.

Last but not least, the fic that no list about therapy will complete without it (even though the main characters are Crowley and Aziraphale) - Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm - 100K, rated G. cw - Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, some discussion of suicide, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse.

Summary:  As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:--His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses.What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Authors - if you wish that your Tumblr account will be tagged, instead of the AO3, please comment or DM me the handle. Thanks :)

Bonus - master list with all past recommendations!    

Thanks for reading, and remember - sharing is caring!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #weekly spotlight #ngk recs #warlock #hastur #ligur #gabriel #beelzebub #dagon #the them #harriet dowling #Theodor Dowling #arthur young #deirdre young #dog

[yugiohcardsdaily]

More Pokemon talk, specifically about my OCs/FCs for Shield and PLA. Because that's all I think about nowadays, sorry!

Last post was an outline of events that mostly focused on Kara. This one will be more about her twin sister.

Like Kara, Kahlan (who usually goes by Kay) isn't a trainer. Unlike Kara, she does have Pokemon before the Gym Challenge in Galar. She doesn't participate in the that tournament, or any kind of competition. They just make her life easier, as Kay takes up the role of the PC's mom in all but title/blood. That means making the money so she and her sister can live on their own. Not to say that Kara never did anything before being bullied into the Gym Challenge, but it's much less than Kay's work.

Kay is a homebody and is happy to settle down somewhere. Galar is perfect in her opinion. Has nothing to do with the cute boy next door who just happens to be the champion. Nope. Nada. No, but really, she loves the region. She becomes good friends with Hop and Leon's mom, especially during the GC.

What Pokemon does Kay have? A little male Joltik. He helps Kay make clothes, a job she's been doing ever since she and Kara ran away from their mother. A female Meowstic. She helps with general house chores. A white Florges, who has a "court" of five Flabébé, one of each color. They tend to the garden. A male Machamp (get your head outta the gutter, you >:/). He helps with the yard work the Florges doesn't handle as well as repairs and heavy hands-on tasks. And when he was a Machop and Machoke, he would spar with Kara. He no longer does because he's too strong in his final evolutionary form and doesn't want to injure Kara. She also has a Ditto and a male Zoroark, but they don't have assigned jobs. I'm sure their abilities to transform via Transform and the ability Illusion come in handy, however.

Kay attends every single match Kara has in the stadiums, cheering her sister on. She's very aware how much Kara doesn't want to be doing this, so she's just trying to be as supportive as possible. Sometimes, while Kara is on the road or out in the Wild Area, Kay sends Zoroark to bring her something sweet she's baked, which usually makes it to Kara without being devoured by the messenger. Kara always appreciates it, though she rarely ever said thank you or sent anything back in return, too preoccupied to think about it.

She gets super stressed during the events at the end of the game where Chairman Rose almost recreates the Darkest Day and Kara has to be at the forefront of the fight. Kara and Leon nearly got blasted when the Dynamax energy started going out of control while they were on the field preparing to face off. Watching the events play out is simply terrifying, for obvious reasons, and the only thing keeping her grounded and from having a breakdown is Meowstic, who accompanied her to the show. (Her Pokemon had been alternating who went to the matches with her.)

It's such a relief when Eternatus is captured/defeated and the threat is contained. She runs and hugs Kara so tightly, telling her how proud she is and that she's thankful Kara didn't get hurt. Kara makes a comment on how Leon may have been injured since he was the first on the scene to deal with Eternatus, turning Kay's attention to him and his Charizard. Why'd Kara do that? Two reasons. One, she didn't want to see her sister crying over her. Two, she knows of Kay's crush on Leon and this was light teasing. Leon's flustered by this, which Kay doesn't notice because she's too concerned with his well-being to read social cues.

When Kara becomes champion, Kay is so happy and proud of her. But she's also worried. Their mother pushed her to do this before. That was why they ran. Now what would happen? Would Kara become like their mother? No. Kay predicted her sister's outcome would not be prideful or cruel. Kara wasn't like that. No, instead it would be dark and depressing and withdrawn, much like Kara herself had been when they were younger.

Kay sees it before it even fully starts. Kara skipping meals. Kara late to champion matches. Kara spending too much time alone. Easily agitated. She tries to talk to Kara, but gets shut down, which she expected. She knows her sister wouldn't want to worry her or unload her problems onto Kay. Unfortunately, Kara's actions are causing Kay to worry, anyway.

One night, Kay overhears Kara talking to her Pokemon team. The current champion is thinking about staging a loss so she doesn't have to do any of this anymore. If they don't want to do that, she won't force them, but she can't stay here like this anymore. She'll run away on her own to stop burdening everyone with her existence.

Kay does not like this, obviously, so when Kara leaves the house the next day, Kay calls all the people she knows that care about Kara and demands they come over. It's the most assertive she's been to any of them, so they obey, of course. Piers and Marnie, Hop, Bede and Allister, Leon, and Sonia show up in that order. After discussing Kara, Leon decides the other Gym Leaders should be aware of the situation, which Kay reluctantly agrees to. Her only concern is that her sister might come home to all these people and either run or shut down again.

(Hop also reveals that Zamazenta had recently come to Zacian to talk, and he believes it was for the same reason Kay called them.)

While they wait for Kara to return, Kay goes into hostess mode and begins making dinner for everyone. Her Joltik rides on her shoulder while Meowstic and Zoroark assist. The moment she stops doing anything is when she starts crying. She's a silent crier and doesn't shake unless she's very, very emotional, so she doesn't expect anyone outside of the kitchen to notice. For her safety (Electric and tears don't mix well), Joltik scurries off her shoulder and onto Leon's hat on his head. Of course he noticed, somehow. They'd been neighbors for years and friends for almost as long.

She tries to brush it off, but he won't let her. Bottling up her feelings just because her sister is suffering isn't good for her. She tries to explain that she's not really sure why she's crying. Maybe it's because it seems like she and Kara left home for nothing, that the fate they were trying to escape caught up to them, anyway. She always feared this would happen if Kara became champion. It's what their mother wanted. Kay should've never let Hop talk Kara into participating in the Gym Challenge. She should've done something to keep this from happening. If she had--

No, she can't beat herself up about this. It's not her fault. It's no one's fault, but if it's anyone's, it's Leon's. He saw how reluctant Kara was to choose a Starter and battle Hop, and yet he still chose to endorse her and push her into the Gym Challenge. But this isn't the time to be blaming anyone. They're doing something now. Better late than never, yeah? He's right, of course. Leon hugs Kay until she stops crying, then helps her and her Pokemon finish and serve dinner for everyone.

(By the way, Leon sees Kay as a friend at present. Though he is aware of her crush on him. He's just too busy for a relationship and hasn't given love much thought in his life, what with being champion for ten years and all that.)

They successfully convince Kara to step down from the role of champion instead of running away. Kara goes the extra step and retires from competitive Pokemon altogether. Kay is okay with this. Whatever makes Kara happy makes her happy. It might take a while to find out what that is, however. That's okay. As long as they're together, everything will be fine.

Fast forward two years. One morning Kay goes into Kara's room to wake her up and enters an empty room. She panics. Calls Bede. Kara isn't with him. Calls friends. Not with any of them, either. Looks all over Galar. No trace of Kara. Did she run away after all?

The only things missing--aside from Kara herself--are her camping bag, her phone, and Zamazenta in his ball. Everyone who knows Kara knows she wouldn't abandon her other Pokemon. She also wouldn't have left without a note or a message of some sort. Something happened. Someone or something took her.

Who? What? Why?

These questions would haunt Kay for months, perhaps even years, to come. She tries to hold herself together, but without her twin she feels somewhat incomplete. She puts on a brave face. Then her Ditto thoughtlessly transforms into Kara one day and completely breaks Kay. Zoroark instantly attacks Ditto to the point of fainting them, returning them to their pink putty form. When revived, Ditto is harshly lectured about that appearance. They're not the brightest Ditto, but they know they screwed up and do their best to apologize. Kay remains an emotional wreck for a long time after this, however.

Eventually, Kay goes to a support group for people who have lost a family member and are struggling to cope with it. It's in Unova. Leon and Hop's mom volunteers to keep an eye on Kay and Kara's Pokemon while Kay is gone. Kay brings Joltik with her for support.

She gets lost along the way and ends up running into a man in white. He notices the little Joltik on her shoulder with a smile, though he always seems to be smiling. She asks him for help, using her phone to show him the address she's trying to reach. Along with the address is the name of the event. His smile fades behind his "smile." Despite this, he guides her towards the place.

While they walk, she introduces herself. He gave her his name--Emmet--and not much else. They passed by an advertisement for the Battle Subway, which has Emmet standing alongside a man in black who looks just like him except with a perma-frown. She can't help but stop and stare at it. Of all the people to run into, she ran into a man who also has a twin.

Emmet stops when he realizes Kay's not walking with him anymore and turns to see why she changed course. She asks him about his brother. What's his name? It's several moments before Emmet finally says it. Ingo. She pulls out her phone and shows him an image of her with Kara. He's able to put two and two together (the event was for grieving families, after all) before she starts explaining, though he lets her speak. Her twin sister went missing without a trace several months ago and she's been having a terrible time dealing with it. She wonders if maybe being with Emmet and Ingo could help her. Then Emmet reveals his twin brother is also missing, but he's been missing for about three years. Coincidence? Maybe. But for their siblings to go missing and for them to then meet each other like this...

This leads to a friendship, a partnership, as two twins trying to find their siblings lost in time and space.

And that's all I got for now :D

#not duel monsters #pokemon #long post // #my pokemon related stuff

[hedonist-aesthete]

Local Tilaari Prince Does His Best To Annoy Local Beleaguered Ship Captain, Discovers Captain Occasionally Has The Patience Of A Saint

#calderon lynch #sketch #andromeda six #the patience of a saint not that he is a saint #lol saint cal #oc: adaon #he would annoy heilyn so much and i love that for him #it's always fun to make your ocs opposites #a6 traveler #alternate title: he finally got the attention he wanted and now wants more #04:14

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :’) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren smut #eren fluff #levi x reader #I DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT IT

[you-can-call-me-wanda]

Awful Flirt

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Reader

Author’s Note: HOW TO COME UP WITH TITLES HOW

“So, what do you say we get out of here and go back to your place?”

You sighed into your glass as you took another sip of your drink. The boy seated next to you at the bar, while persistent, was an absolutely awful flirt and quite honestly getting on your nerves. He had been talking to you for almost twenty minutes now and it was getting harder and harder to tune him out. This had to have been his thirteenth time he had asked if he could take you home.

You had every intention of ignoring him the entirety of the night, but it seemed he wasn’t easily put off by your cold-shouldered attempts at turning him down.

“Look,” you said, finally and begrudgingly talking to him after giving him the silent treatment for so long.

He perked up immediately at the sound of your voice, and you almost felt bad for getting his hopes up.

“Look, Jerry, you seem like a nice enough guy but-”

“Nikki,” he interjected, correcting you.

You looked at him curiously.

“Pardon?” you asked.

“Nikki,” he repeated. “My name’s Nikki.”

“Oh,” you said.

Shit. You really hadn’t been paying attention to anything he’d been saying. He had been blabbing on and on about himself for over a half hour now and you hadn’t even caught his name.

“Right, well Nikki, you seem really nice, but I’ve got to get going.”

The infuriating smirk he had been donning all night returned to his face. You found yourself wishing you could wipe it off somehow.

“What’s the rush doll?” he asked you, sliding seamlessly back into romance mode. “Got somewhere more important to be?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, I do actually,” you replied. “My bed. I have work tomorrow.”

Nikki, either completely daft or just refusing to accept any form of rejection, kept right on going.

“Need some company? In your bed I mean.”

“I’m fine on my own,” you snapped.

His grin only widened, reminding you of the Cheshire Cat although you didn’t feel intimidated in any way. Nothing he had said to you so far had creeped you out or scared you. It was just entirely obvious that he was a cocky son of a bitch that felt like you should be falling at his feet over how attractive he was.

And he was attractive, but that didn’t matter because he was a nuisance and you were tired and you just wanted to get home, right? Right?

So why did you keep entertaining him by keeping the conversation flowing?

“Why be fine on your own when you could be great with me?” he asked, sidling up closer to you so that his body was pressed flush against yours.

You tried to ignore the way the growl in his voice and the heat of his body sent a shiver down your spine as you shoved him off you.

Nikki didn’t falter though.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “I’m in a band, y’know.”

You raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Does that line usually work on people?” you asked drily. That had been his most pathetic excuse to pick you up yet.

“If you must know, the girls usually eat that shit up,” he told you with a bit of a laugh.

Nikki knew that line wasn’t going to impress you and that was exactly why he had told it to you.

There was something about you that was different from the people Nikki usually picked up from bars and that was your complete unwillingness to give him any bit of attention. Normally, the girls he and his bandmates picked up after a gig or night of drinking were all over him, drawn to his alternative style or bad boy persona. You were neither. In fact, you seemed completely disinterested which just made Nikki want you more. No one had ever made him work this hard before and it excited him.

“Well, it’s not going to work on me,” you stated. “Wannabe rockstars aren’t really my type.”

“Hey,” Nikki said, dropping the flirtatious tone. “I’m not just some wannabe rockstar. I’m Nikki Sixx and I’m going to be one of the greatest musicians alive. Just you see.”

There was a glimmer in his eye as he spoke, and you regarded him with interest. For the first time tonight, he seemed to be speaking with a passion.

You motioned to the bartender to pour you another drink. Perhaps you could stay a bit longer now that things were getting interesting.

“What kind of music do you play?” you asked, leaning closer to him to hear his reply better.

He could hear genuine interest in your voice for the first time since speaking to you and Nikki smiled.

“Rock and Roll,” he said. “Heavy Metal more specifically.”

“So, I take it you like things fast and loud?” you asked with a smirk, raising your eyebrows.

Nikki, who was caught off guard by you turning the tables on him so quickly, couldn’t fight off the small blush that rose to his cheeks at the implication of your words.

He found his footing quickly though and played along.

“Hell yeah,” he said. “And I’m a bassist so I like things deep too.”

You bit your lip to contain the laugh that threatened to spill out and Nikki’s eyes trailed down to your mouth hungrily.

“You’re cute,” you told him. “A sleazy dog. But cute.”

Nikki grinned.

“Well, I appreciate the compliment doll,” he told you. “Especially coming from someone as gorgeous as you.”

The line was just what you expected from him, and you rolled your eyes, though your annoyance from earlier was long gone.

“You need to work on your game,” you teased. “I saw that line coming from a mile away.”

Not for the first time that night, Nikki found himself marveling at your forwardness.

“What could I do to surprise you then?” he asked.

You gave it some thought, tapping your finger exaggeratedly on your chin.

“Hmm,” you said. “You could… You could ask me out.”

Nikki furrowed his brow. That was not what he was expecting you to say.

“Ask you out? I’ve been trying to get with you all night.”

“On a real date,” you elaborated. “Take me on a real date like a gentleman. Show me how much you want me.”

Nikki gave this some thought and straightened up, immediately up to the challenge.

“Easy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He was rising to his feet already, ready to take you out.

“Not so fast,” you laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I have to be getting home. I have work early tomorrow morning, remember? You’re going to have to do this the real way and have a little patience.”

Nikki pouted dramatically.

“Seriously?”

You merely shrugged.

“Here’s my number,” you responded, handing over your digits scrawled onto a bar napkin. “You can decide for yourself if you want to call or not.”

In the time that Nikki spent examining the scrap of paper you had handed him, you had already stood up from your seat at the bar and were gathering your things to leave.

“Wait,” he said, realizing you were on your way out.

You raised your eyebrows, silently asking him what was wrong.

He glanced between your number and you one last time, looking like he wanted to argue with you, like he wanted to tell you how frustrating this was.

“I’ll call you,” he said instead with a small sigh.

You just left with a nod, not allowing yourself to smile until your back was turned to him, and you were sure he couldn’t see the pleased expression on your face.

#nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x reader #motley crue x reader #motley crue imagine #wanda writes

[final-boy]

Any superbat fanfics you can recommend? Just starting out in the ship

Yeah i've got a few i really love! Ill post them down below, as always scan the tags and warnings before reading ^_^

🦇 "Be My Heater" by SentientBot

It didn’t matter that Batman conceptually knew the symptoms of hypothermia, experiencing it was a whole new beast. How do you call for help when you don’t even realize you need to?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852290/chapters/70773177

🦇 "Again I Go Unnoticed" by Sam4265

Bruce Wayne moved to Smallville when he was eight years old, beginning a friendship with Clark Kent that would come to define the world. But for now they’re just teenagers in love with all the wrong people, running in circles until they finally find their way to each other.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425502/chapters/46230448

🦇 "Satisfaction Brought It Back" by SpiritsFlame,slippin_into_darkness

(I re-read this one constantly)

Bruce always thought that Superman's cute shtick of rescuing cats from trees was a bid for publicity—until a confrontation with a magic user leaves him stuck as a cat. He learns how mistaken he was when Superman not only rescues him, but takes him back to a small Metropolis apartment. The opportunity to learn more about the alien can't be ignored, but is Bruce ready for everything he will learn about someone he has only ever regarded with distrust and dislike?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599113

🦇 "Get Over It" by Rotasha

(i recommend Rotahsa's entire library tbh, fave fic author)

Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673140/chapters/54192562

🦇 "In Every sense of The Word" by froggy-o (bobafiend)

Superman could not find it in himself to get along with Batman. Every conversation between the two was an argument, and not even Wonder Woman could force the two to make peace.

At least everything was going well at work. Bruce Wayne had recently bought the Daily Planet, and Clark was finding himself rather taken with the man.

Alternatively titled "Why Wonder Woman is on the verge of losing her fucking mind."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381521

🦇 "Just A Pinch" by Leo_Our_Queen

Bruce bakes for Clark and the whole Batfam learns that Kryptonian taste buds are nothing like human taste buds.

Good thing Clark loves Bruce's cooking anyway.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24679585

🦇 "A Game of Misunderstandings" by JustGettingBy

Things were going well for Bruce until some hot-shot reporter learns his identity. Now, he'll have to do what he can to keep his secret quiet. Even if that means joining the game of blackmail that Clark Kent started.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697165/chapters/51750667

🦇 "To Bring Light Back To Your Eyes" by GoldfishForHire

Months after the Justice League is formed in the wake of Steppenwolf's attempted incursion, Superman begins pulling away, becoming isolated and withdrawn. Bruce wants to help, but doesn't know how. He goes to Martha Kent for advice, and an offhand comment leads to a clumsy, though successful, outreach.

Or, Bruce bakes Clark terrible pie to make him feel better, and Clark finds this very endearing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640703

🦇 "When Everythings Made To Be Broken" by Mithen

(Mithen also has a huge library of SuperBat fic like...YEARS of fic)

Batman wakes up in an abandoned farmhouse.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/329946

🦇 "All Each Riddles,When Unknown"

Post-MoS AU: Clark, struggling to deal with the events of Black Zero Day, is assigned a straightforward human-interest piece—on Wayne Enterprises. Then Batman catches Superman's attention, Clark Kent starts investigating Batman, Bruce Wayne spends a lot of time arguing with hitting on Clark Kent, and Bruce's best efforts to find a way to hurt Superman start to bear fruit.

And then things get complicated.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485518

🦇 "The Downsides To A Secret Identity" by Liodain

Bruce Wayne has taken a shine to Clark Kent, but Clark is more interested in the Bat of Gotham. The Bat, however, has it in for the Superman in a big way. Clark should probably have considered that before falling quite so hard. They're working together to track down some missing Kryptonian weaponry, after all...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592057

🦇 "Saudade" by Liodain

It's midsummer, 2006. In the wake of his son's death, Bruce Wayne tries to outrun his grief on a cross-country road trip. When his car breaks down on a dusty road in the heart of Kansas, a friendly stranger stops to lend a hand.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484096

🦇 "Flu Season" by Psychobabblers

Bruce is determined to find out why Clark skipped a League meeting. Turns out, even Kryptonians can get sick once in awhile.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31547717/chapters/78048578

🦇 "Loading and Aspect Ratio" by JUBE514

It only took a year into the whole charade of heroism for Bruce to overhear a conversation between some goons- some low level thug hired by the Riddler this week- about nothing at all pertaining to what the hell the Riddler was doing in the sewers but instead:

“ The Batman can fly, you know, I’ve seen his wings.”

A world where nobody has wings, but people think they do, and that changes everything.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34977802

🦇 "Gotham" by Messier_47

(This is the only ongoing fic in this list. Its incredibly well written.)

Clark hated Gotham.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23023852

Okay,,Im gonna end this here, mostly cuz its gotten long af

if yall want me to rec more, just let me know! these are just some of my personal faves (●'◡'●)

#superbat #superbat fic rec #superbat fic #superbatfic #im reading Aspect Ratio rn #it fucks #Almost all of these fics made me cry at some point but im also a big crybaby so #Digging thru my bookmark ao3 tag for this lmfao #praying the Read More works lmfao #finalrec