#misha answers
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Imagine Superman calling Batman baby girl
Just…just imagine his reaction 💀
“Relax, baby girl, I got it.”
Instant regret. World harrowing regret. Throw-myself-into-the-sun regret. Where’s-the-nearest-kryptonite regret. Why-in-the-world-did-I-just-call-Bruce-I’m-Vengeance-Wayne-baby-girl regret.
Clark swallows before turning around, suddenly very aware of every molecule in the car part he’s lifting. The tiny bubbles in the paint, not visible to the naked eye but very much feeling like tiny knives cutting into his hands at the moment.
Every single emotion is wiped off Clark’s face the moment the words leave his lips. He does have enough self control to school his features into a neutral expression as he waits for Bruce’s reaction.
Bruce is… standing very still.
Clark is afraid he might have broken him.
“I’m s-” Clark starts to say as he sets the heavy metal down gently on the ground.
Bruce holds up a hand to silence him. Clark obliges. There’s a moment. Then two. Then three. Clark wants to fly himself into the sun.
Bruce’s mouth is pressed into a thin line and he’s at a level 7.5 frown. Not good. Not the worst Clark has ever made him frown, but still not good. They don’t talk about the Disaster of The Level 9.8 frown. Dick told him it was the highest score any of the kids had ever seen. It didn’t make Clark feel any better.
“Bruce, I-” he tries again but this time he’s interrupted by the frown morphing into… disgust? Confusion? Clark’s so stressed out he can’t really tell.
“‘Baby girl’?” Bruce says, his lip curling. Ah. Very close to disgust. Distaste, at the very least. “Out of all the pet names, you go with ‘baby girl’?”
“That’s- that’s your only issue with-”
“Of course, it’s not my only issue,” Bruce is quick to say. He starts pacing. Oh no, pacing means a lecture. “I am perfectly capable of moving my own equipment, I told you to sit down and wait for me if you wanted to stay.”
“I just wanted to help,” Clark says and he has no idea what’s happening at this point. Is he forgiven? Is he allowed to call Bruce pet names? Does Bruce like pet names?
“I know,” Bruce huffs. “I know.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Why baby girl?”
“Kon’s been over a lot lately.”
“Ah.”
Another moment.
“Wait, who the hell does Kon call baby girl?!”
Aka the “if Clark didn’t do it on purpose” scenario. Stay tuned for the “on purpose” scenario :)
I’m of course kidding. I’m so sorry, anon, I’m typing this on my phone because the idea of Clark panicking had me chuckle into my soda. Excuse the messy response, my writing is rusty and this was just funsies 🙇🏻💕
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Yellooooooooooooooooo! list 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you!! WHOOOOH
Thanks for the ask :D
My best friends
My favourite music
My family
Sunny weather, somewhere between cool and warm – about 16-20°C, a little windy, with a few clouds sprinkled across the sky
Drawing, especially messy sketches with a black pen and especially my OCs, portraits of my friends and my favourite musicians
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I ASKED WHETHER A KISS COULD HAVE HAPPENED BETWEEN DEAN AND CAS LIKE WITH BUCK AND TOMMY IF THEY MOVED NETWORKS BUT HE SAID IF THEY WEREN’T ON THE CW THEY’D BE BALLS DEEP IN EACH OTHER????!?!?!?!??!?!?!???!???
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I still remember you lol, not sure if you answered that ask recently bc my tumblr app is unreliable, but shugo chara was a ride and I looked through the fic like a year ago and I don’t think I found anything I was willing to read through lol
man, trying to find a good shugo chara fic is so hard now because my standards have risen to the sky and shugo chara was... well, the fics there were good for my 12 year old self, so thats all i need to say
BUT YOU KNOW THE POTENTIAL OF GOOD FICS FOR SHUGO CHARA? OR EVEN JUST.... OTHER FANDOMS BUT SHUGO CHARA AU. SO MUCH POTENTIAL
also hehehehehehehehe thank u for remembering me
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This is a tumblr hug, or a tumblr high five, or a tumblr sitting in the same room together, pass it on to your ten favorite followers or mutuals <3
- lillian <3
Ahhh, thank you sweet lillian <3
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*gives Leo a laser pointer* Go have fun with your partner, bub.
#misha arts#tomiko#SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO ANSWER I WAS WAITING FOR A GOOD IDEA TO STRIKE#rottmnt leo
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https://x.com/spn_van/status/1784210126812975107?s=46
the rings and cuffed jeans and colourful socks and funky jacket, okay mr fashion!
living for it!!
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✋
#whos gonna make the poll to see how different the answers are on here#archive dilfs#david tennant#michael sheen#benedict cumberbatch#misha collins#jensen ackles#taika waititi#rhys darby#oscar isaac#ewan mcgregor#pedro pascal#chris evans#tom hiddleston#paul rudd#mads mikkelsen#hugh dancy#matt berry
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Isn't great that for years, bibros have been like "Jensen and Misha only act that way as a PR stunt!"
And now here we are-- three years post-SPN, no PR to be had, and Jensen and Misha are still acting "that way" and then, in the ironic twist of the decade, Jensen goes on to say that his and Jared's friendship was actually PR!
God. I fucking love JIB.
#And I know that his whole#'contractually obligated'#answer was meant as a joke#but it didn't come off all that humorous#anyway#it's just delicious#I am full#I couldn't eat another bite#thank you JIB#my compliments to the chef#cockles#Jensen Ackles#Misha Collins#SPN#JIB11
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[through gritted teeth, with my eyes red and puffy] I'm fine! I'm fine it's fine I am fine!!!!
#the way in the tmwwbk shot misha is holding himself like. halfway between cas and uriel in the othoap shot. head in my fucking hands#ben edlund and misha collins you must answer for your crimes (depriving me of peace of mind)#jules.txt
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Oh OH also, i don't know if you have seen any videos of that but during the ritual i went to, II had bunny ears on but then he was drummin a little too hard and they fell of his head and into his face. It was so goofy! I'd love to see tiny token inspired by all of the goofiness happening at the Rituals!
I only have these very shitty video screenshots but I love it anyway. The ears are just in his face in the second picture 😭🤣😭
NO I HAVE NOT SEEN THIS YET OH MY GOD this is everything 😂😂😂
Sufficed to say, Tiny II is very confused about the practicality of bunny ears in front of his eyes but he remembers where stuff on his drumkit is... hopefully?
also @murderofcrow 'cause you suggested bunny ears because of ii having them.. :D
#tiny token#levynn answers#thejawsoffate#i do need to draw more goofs in tiny for sure!!#thank you for the ideas Misha!! but if you have any specific ideas please do not hesitate to throw them my way#🫂💋💖#sleep token
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a small Part of Alfred will always see Bruce as his baby even if he isn't very outwardly affectionate about it.Clark and Dick stumble across a book of bruce baby photos Alfred secretly keeps and he gives his commentary in his typical Alfred way. Bruce walks in on the cooing and is like ohshitthisisembarissingileavewhydoesheevenhavethesegottaplaythisoff
Just found this page and I am in love btw
Hi sweetie! Sorry about the wait (it did give me time to incorporate the other parts of your prompt though). I wasn’t sure if you wanted Dick as a child or an adult, so I had a wise soul (Thanks, Alpaca, you da real MVP) help me pick one. I hope we picked right! :D
I also had to stop myself from writing more than this - I was beginning to stray from the prompt, as is typical Misha fashion, oops. Oh well, I hope you like it!
There’s a concerning amount of giggling going on in the living room. Not that Bruce minds the giggling - he hasn’t heard it like this in a while, but it’s not a bad sound.
What’s concerning is the fact that he hasn’t seen Clark anywhere and the giggling is very clearly Dick having fun at someone’s expense. There’s really only one potential victim and while it may be Bruce’s paranoia talking, he does know his son and Dick only has one laugh designed to make fun of Bruce. It’s the one that’s booming through the halls this second. Bruce should’ve known better than to leave Clark unattended in the manor while Dick’s home. It’s rare that they have a moment without any of the kids around, but Bruce was almost certain today was one of those rare moments. He should’ve remembered that Dick visiting meant Dick sticking around even after the others had left. Bruce had just figured he’d go with his brothers to the movie. That’s why he’d suggested it. To get at least a few hours alone with Clark.
They’re supposed to have a date night - Clark insists on it and Bruce pretends it’s Clark’s idea in the first place and not something Bruce hinted at for three and a half weeks. No matter whose idea it originally was though, Bruce had some last-minute bat related details to take care of and Clark, the ever graceful not to mention gorgeous oaf of a man had of course merely pecked Bruce on the cheek and said he’d wander around the manor for a minute.
That the minute turned to half an hour isn’t Clark’s fault obviously, but Bruce can’t really be held entirely accountable when his boyfriend is the most patient and understanding man in the history of forever. Still, he should’ve left Clark in the kitchen, or his office. The bedroom, even. He could’ve made a little comment on how Batman likes everything prepared beforehand, or something equally sleazy sounding. Clark would’ve enjoyed that too. But no, of course Bruce’s mind has been too preoccupied with his work, with the mission. He’s getting better at prioritizing differently, but he’s just human. He slips up every once in a while.
Like now, letting Clark roam free along the halls when Richard Grayson just so happens to also be present at the Wayne manor. Bruce should’ve seen it coming from miles away; not only is Dick the biggest Superman fan out there, he’s also a little shit who likes embarrassing or otherwise annoy his father. Normally he wouldn’t mind. It’s a good thing that Clark and Dick get along. But the giggles are piercing his eardrums and he gets increasingly anxious when Clark’s booming laughter joins in. What could be so funny?
Bruce walks towards the living room faster.
“That can’t be Bruce,” Dick laughs and Bruce’s steps falter. He narrows his eyes and walks more quietly. It’s not like Clark won’t hear him approaching either way, but he can image it’ll take him more than half a second this way.
“It’s like he’s never aged at all,” Dick’s voice rings out.
“Look at the little button nose,” Clark coos, and Bruce freezes in the doorway.
Button nose? Just what in the world are they doing in there? If Bruce was an ordinary man, he’d say he was afraid to enter the room, but instead he pretends he has to listen for a few more minutes before he’s truly assessed the situation.
“Did he get that fixed?” Clark asks.
“Oh no, he grew out of that naturally, I’m afraid,” adds Alfred’s voice and Bruce feels betrayal seep into his bones. Alfred wouldn’t- would he?
They’d had this talk before, of course, about Alfred’s weird habit of photographing every moment of Bruce’s childhood. They’d come to a truce of sorts with Bruce allowing Alfred to keep the old pictures if only he’d hide them away never to be seen by anyone else.
Bruce was… Bruce had been a cute child, even he had to admit as much. Chubby and round, expressive blue eyes, a button nose and a few freckles over his cheeks from being outside in the sun too long. Being cute wasn’t exactly at the top of Bruce’s list of accomplishments though and after his parents died, he had a hard time even looking at pictures of himself from before that night. Because that child was gone, his life torn from his body just as much as it had been from his parents that night. At least the life he was supposed to have. So Alfred had silently bowed his head, letting Bruce decide not to have the photos displayed.
At least until now it seems.
“There’s no way those freckles aren’t photoshopped,” Dick says.
Bruce frowns from his hidden position. As if he’d spend precious time photoshopping dots onto his own face just to appear cuter. Youth these days… Bruce hasn’t had freckles in years and he’s certain Alfred has truly betrayed him when he peeks around the corner of the door. Just as he’s predicted Clark and Dick are sitting on the sofa, a large book open in Clark’s lap. He should’ve burned it when he had the chance.
“They didn’t alter photos back then.” Clark flinches and looks apologetically at Alfred. “I mean, not that they’re that old-”
“It’s quite alright, Master Kent,” Alfred reassures. “We did indeed not alter our photos back in the day. Although we wouldn’t have had any need to with Master Bruce’s photos. Those freckles are entirely natural.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am not, Master Richard.”
“He’s always had dark hair, huh?” Clark asks carefully.
“From the moment he was born, Master Kent,” Alfred agrees. There’s something almost like pride in his voice. Bruce doesn’t want to think about what photos they’re looking at. He can barely remember which photos Alfred has.
“Too bad he won’t grow it out, look how glossy and soft it looks.” Dick points to another photo.
Bruce feels a knot form in his throat. He can’t remember the last time Dick looked at him with such joy – it’s not that they’re not close anymore, but life in Gotham took its toll on Dick. He’s doing better though; Bruce just wishes he didn’t have to look at these old photos to be this happy in the manor. He’d rather nobody ever looked at these photos, but especially Clark and Dick. There’s no reason for them to see what Bruce was like as a child. He’s not like that anymore. Gone are the freckles and the carefree smiles, as well as the wild hair. They’re pictures of a happy child and Bruce is no longer a child.
The happiness part he’s working on. Clark is helping him.
Bruce has heard enough, and he clears his throat discreetly. Alfred doesn’t move an inch. Bruce rolls his eyes, knowing with every fiber of his body that Alfred is well aware he’s there. He’s doing this on purpose.
“Alfred,” he calls quietly. Dick is blabbering loud enough that he hasn’t heard him.
Alfred doesn’t move, but there is a slight tilt to his lips and Bruce wants to stomp his foot like a petulant child.
“Alfred,” he hisses and finally Alfred takes the few steps closer towards the door Bruce needs him to, so that they can talk in private. Well, sort of private, anyway. At least Clark is considerate enough to pretend like he can’t hear their whispered conversation.
“I thought we agreed to keep those hidden,” Bruce says, crossing his arms over his chest to emphasize his annoyance. Alfred, as always, doesn’t give a shit about Bruce’s embarrassment.
“You agreed, sir, I merely complied,” he says as he raises an eyebrow. Bruce deflates like a soggy balloon instantly.
“That’s-” Bruce tries to come up with a decent response, but as is often the case with Alfred, he falls short. “Alfred,” he says instead, voice clearly portraying how displeased he is.
“Bruce,” Alfred echoes in the same voice and Bruce blinks in surprise.
The astonishment must be clear as day on his face because Alfred smiles that secretive yet somehow completely disarming smile of his.
“Look at them,” he says then, and Bruce does.
He’s never been able to disobey Alfred, has never wanted to either. And as always Alfred is right. There’s nothing wrong with the image he’s looking at – it’s his boyfriend and his son looking at photos. It’s not that bad. For a brief moment he just looks at them, enjoying the way Dick is nearly sitting on top of Clark to point out a certain picture.
“They’re enjoying themselves,” Alfred points out, as if Bruce can’t tell that on his own. He avoids saying ‘as am I,’ but Bruce can tell he wants to.
There’s something very domestic about watching his eldest son smile and wave his arms around excitedly. So maybe it isn’t such a bad thing that he’s making fun of Bruce’s baby pictures. It’s not like there’s actually something to be embarrassed about. And Clark is following his every word; Bruce can tell from the way his eyes are focused on Dick’s.
It’s not so bad.
“I don’t get why you still have those,” Bruce still mutters, just to get the last word.
“Because they’re precious to me,” Alfred says, and Bruce can’t find any response to that. The lump in his throat blocks the words from coming out either way, even if he did find something fitting to say. Of course, Alfred must have the final word. He always wins, the old bastard.
Alfred bumps their shoulders together gently and Bruce sends him a shaky smile. Because they’re precious to me. Because you’re precious to me. He doesn’t have to hear the words from Alfred’s mouth to understand them. They don’t talk much about the days before his parents’ murder and he knows that’s his fault. He never realized that maybe Alfred would like to talk about it though, talk about what Bruce was like as a child. Bruce knows how he feels when someone asks about his children and even if Alfred isn’t his blood, he’s the closest thing to a father Bruce has. He should’ve been more considerate.
Dick finally notices him and snatches the photo album from Clark’s lap to hold it up. He looks to Clark and then to the photo album before locking eyes with Bruce.
“Look how similar they are,” he says with a grin.
“It is my face,” Bruce deadpans as he finally walks into the living room.
“Yeah, but who would’ve thought you’d been such a cute baby.”
“A cute baby?” Bruce holds a hand to his chest in mock-hurt. “I was obviously the cutest baby.”
It makes Dick laugh, which was his goal. He really can’t remember what he looked like as a kid. It can’t be that much different from now. He steps closer to peek over Clark’s shoulder. Huh. So maybe there’s something about that. It’s a very cute baby indeed looking back at him from all the pictures and- just how many does Alfred have of him in nothing but a diaper? He turns to glare at his butler. In true Alfred fashion he merely raises an elegant eyebrow.
“The expression’s different though, baby-you didn’t frown like that,” Dick says as he reaches up to try to smooth out the line between Bruce’s brows. He’s too quick for Bruce to swat at him, dancing around his father like natural gymnast he is. Bruce is both proud and annoyed, which is very much on brand emotions whenever Dick is near him.
“Doesn’t make you any less cute though,” Clark chimes in.
“Ew,” Dick says just as Bruce mutters: “Shut up.”
Alfred stands in the doorway and watches his boys bicker for a while longer. He knows it was a risk to leave the photo album out on the sofa, but it turned out alright after all. Sometimes all Bruce Wayne needs to see reason is a little push. Alfred doesn’t mind being the one pushing. Especially when it means he gets to share the pictures of Bruce’s first day of school. Those are a favorite of Master Kent’s as well, and Alfred silently thanks the higher powers that Clark can’t get Bruce pregnant. He’s pretty sure they’d have babies running around nonstop and Alfred is too old for infants.
He wouldn’t mind another child though. Maybe he should hint at adoption. Master Kent is more than ready to take the bait judging from the heart eyes he’s been sending the photo album all afternoon. Alfred smiles as he leaves for the kitchen. It’s time for tea.
#misha answers#misha writes#did I read this through at all? no#am I going to before posting? also no#enjoy#superbat#superbat fanfiction#Superman/Batman#superman x batman#clark kent/bruce wayne#clark kent x bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth#dick Grayson
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Me and my friend coffefromvoid call you milkshake
Interesting, where did that come from? I like milkshakes
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oh?
#my gifs#misha collins#thanks to whoever pointed this out#also i'd recommend listening to his whole answer before this for even more context
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I looked up the pronunciation for biscia and it said "bi-shia" idk how to write out sounds loll
But I saw an ask that said they said it like "bisia" so that's been the way my mind reads it since
that's alright lol, i usually lean into the mispronunciations bc trying to get everyone to say it correctly is kind of a losing battle, and a pointless one since we're all talking over text.
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Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.
Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.
Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.
(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)
So imagine this:
Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)
Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.
Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.
Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.
If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.
As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.
Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.
It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.
One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.
(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)
There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.
Sunday couldn’t look away.
He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.
Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?
He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.
Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most confront in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.
Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.
The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.
It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.
It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.
It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.
It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.
OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.
Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS
So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”
I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?
#hsr#honkai star rail#hsr gallagher#hsr sunday#galladay#idk what I’m doing anymore#they’ve kinda taken over my mind#shoutout to that one ao3 fic where both of them go “’this wasn’t supposed to happen’ as they’re making out#that’s the exact vibes I’m feeling when I think about these two pre-relationship#of course we don’t run away from angst in this ship#everything follows exactly up until the 2.1 end credits scene#let’s see what happens in 2.2#I NEED ANSWERS#ALSO MISHA#I WANNA THROW GALLAGHER AND MISHA’S KINDA WHOLESOME RELATIONSHIP IN HERE TWO#idk wtf is going on there#but until 2.2 explains#Gallagher is misha’s weird drunk uncle/dad figure#it adds more comedy to Galladay whether Sunday knows of/can see Misha or not either way#oof new writing idea#next time#I need to work on tagging#this is just another post all on its own
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