#the old brain machine really spills the tea sometimes

[devilsofficialfanfic]

Another excerpt from a WIP, re: Team Voltron:

They might be inconsiderate selfish children, but they did have the universe’s most powerful superweapon in their possession.

#anti paladin #oof #the old brain machine really spills the tea sometimes #team voltron #its def from lotors pov fyi

[pixiebuggiewrites]

A spilled coffee and a chance encounter

Valentines drabble exchange piece for @zorua-adorable you put that you liked soulmate au, meet-cutes, and coffee shop au’s so i kinda did a sort of hybrid of the 3 hope you like it!!

Big thanks to @eat0crow for setting this whole thing up!!

Wordcount:1103

Marinette was running on 2 hours of sleep. Again.

She had a busy schedule okay? Balancing ESMOD classes, commission work, and searching for Lila Rossi aka Hawkmoth 2.0 took up a lot of time. So sometimes she just had to make up the sleep deficit with caffeine.

Ah yes, whether she was knee deep in fabric or dealing with an akuma at 2 am, coffee was always there to help her through. And after pulling such a late night finishing assignments, she needed some desperately.

Too bad her roommate hid all of her coffee. 

Adrien had claimed that it was "for her own good" and that he was "saving her from an early grave" like the both of them weren't basically demigods after so many years of miraculous exposure. Well, she had been wanting to try the small café she always passed by anyways. This just the perfect opportunity.

Doesn't mean she's not getting back at Adrien though.

                                                          ----------

Marinette stepped into the café and took a deep inhale at the pleasant aromas of coffee beans and fresh pastries.

Despite the small shops location and the time of day, coupe du destin was fairly uncrowded. There was a very inviting aura about the place, reminding her of the many days spent at Fu's old tea shop as a teen. While someone had been leaving as she entered, besides that there was only one other customer in the café.

She was thankful that she wouldn't have to deal with the usual morning rush line, especially since there only seemed to be one person working. It was a girl who seemed to be a couple years younger than Marinette with a smile that put the sun to shame, and she was saying that as someone who knew Adrien Agreste.

The young lady at the counter, Felicity according to her name tag, smiled at her. 

"Welcome to coupe du destin! What can I get for you today?" She greeted with enthusiasm

After ordering herself a caffe mocha, Marinette watched as the lively barista flew between machines and equipment creating her beverage, she honestly wasn't sure if the girl knew what she was doing, maybe it was her first day? Eventually the barista came back over to the counter with the finished drink.

Of course though that's when things got just a touch odd

After paying for her drink, the barista looked to be analyzing her. Though It was almost as if she was looking through her, straight into Marinette's soul.

Now if she were anyone else, she probably would have been more creeped out by something like that. But she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Guardian of the Miraculi and heroine of Paris. Honestly this didn't even make top three for weird things she's seen this week. It also helped that the girls analytic gaze reminded her of Luka. She still wasn't sure whether or not he was a meta of some sort or if he just like that, but this barista had the same look in her eyes as when Luka would figure out somebody's heartsong.

She could only hope that the girl wasn't about to pull a guitar out from under the counter.

After the peculiar girl had been studying her for a minute she stopped and broke into another wide grin with a newfound gleam in her eye.

Thankfully the barista did not at this point pull out a guitar, instead having grabbed a red pen from a mason jar next to the register and quickly drawing something on something on the cup before handing it to Marinette.

The drawing was of a robin.

After paying, Marinette finally got to try her coffee. Marinette took a sip and... it was the best coffee she had ever had. She was definitely making this her go-to café from now on. And if Adrien kept hiding her home supply, she would likely soon be a regular.

She wouldn't get to finish her heavenly coffee though, apparently being a superhero for nearly a decade had not made her any less accident-prone. As she turned around to leave the shop, she walked right into a man who was getting up from his seat and spilled her coffee all over both of them.

Only one other customer in the café, and she somehow managed to run right into the guy. So much for having the goddess of luck in her purse.

She finally got a good look at the guy. He was about her age, maybe a year or two older, but that could just be how tired he looked, somehow he seemed even more exhausted than her which was quite the feat. Other than looking like he was gonna pass out any minute, he was quite attractive. Like her, he had black hair and blue eyes, Though his eyes were more of a gunmetal than her shade of bluebell. Average height, and very well built. And his suit…

Oh sweet Tikki she was so dead. That suit was designer, it can't have cost less than somewhere in the quadruple digits. And she spilled coffee all over it. She was so screwed.

This guy was probably loaded and she ruined his suit and now he's gonna ruin her. He was gonna sue her for all she's worth and she'll have to fake her death and go live all alone in Tibet and her only company will be Tikki and a hamster named-

"Are you okay?" The man before her asked, with a concerned look that managed to break her out of her catastrophizing. While her spirals had gotten better as she got older (and a therapist), evidently the lack of sleep was bringing them out in full force today.

"I'm so sorry! I should have been paying better attention to where I was going." Her mouth finally caught up with her brain as she began apologizing.

The man began to reassure her "Don't worry about it, it was just as much my fault. I am sorry about your coffee though, could I buy you a new one?"

Oh yeah her coffee, about half the cup was lost in the collision. "Oh no it's fine, if anything I should be offering to pay for your dry cleaning considering I totally ruined your suit."

"Really it's fine, plus I'm getting myself another anyways."

Well if a cute guy was gonna offer her free coffee who was she to refuse?

"You know in that case I might just take you up on that offer…"

"Tim."

"Nice to meet you Tim, my name's Marinette."

Neither of them noticed the ladybug drawn on Tim's empty cup.

#maribat #timinette #maritim #ml x dc #MaribatDrabbleExchange #buggiewrites #oneshot #ah sorry I'm posting this so late lowkey sick atm so it took forever to work up the energy to get my computer #hope you like it!!

[greenteabtch]

drabble: acquired-- meghan vael’s locket...

summary: sebastian notices hawke’s new necklace is eerily reminiscent of one from his past.

1.5k drabble

cw for implied mentions of child abuse

-

He tried to ignore its shine at first.

Jade green, reflecting off swords in the heat of battle. Glinting, when the sun burst through overcast skies over the beaten coast. It shone beneath the splatters of blood, warm upon her vibrant skin. Sometimes it was obscured by strands of ink black hair, curling around the locket or framing it like the sea.

It hardly seemed out of place amongst Helena’s armor, but each day Sebastian found his eyes drawn by the necklace's magnetic pull.

His growing obsession with the little thing came with a price, paid in the form of a club to the head during a brawl with some thugs.

The necklace had flashed at him as he fell to the ground, rising off of Helena’s chest as she swung her staff. He felt the stone hit him hard, further impacting his skull and sending a shudder of pain through his back. Gray sky turned to black as throbs took over the quiet of his mind. Knocked off his feet and flattened into the cobblestone, his head ached in ways he’d forgotten, a familiar sensation, though this time, from the outside in.

“Sebastian!”

He heard a thunk as the last enemy fell, foggy to his senses.

All he could manage was a groan from his winded lungs, his cerulean eyes screwed tight against the blurring world and pounding footsteps. It turned out he needn’t worry, as ice cold palms stung his cheeks, relieving and electrifying all in one touch. A sizzle whispered in his ears, along with a murmured apology.

“What happened to you?” Helena asked, and if he had cracked an eyelid open he knew he would see her brows furrowed as her brown eyes scrutinized every single mark on his skin, searching for the ones that were out of place.

Sebastian’s heart palpated alongside the prickling of his skin, responding to the charge Helena drew into her hands. Healing. She would heal him.

Relief was instant and so was his stare because as soon as she touched her long fingers to his forehead, all he could see was her.

Lips pursed, a few hairs spilling from her bun. Mildly irritated. Flushed.

She was beautiful.

But something else...

“Where did you get that necklace?”

Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Confusion appeared on her face, the scrunch of her nose and the flick of her eyes against his before she returned to her work. 

“In the market for some new accessories, Seb?”

He knew she was deflecting (the woman was proving to be quite the guarded companion) but a chuckle bloomed from his belly, warm and sprouting fire red tiger lilies on his breath.

“It looks familiar. That’s all.”

Hands stumbled in their machinations, though the hum of magic resumed in seconds.

“I actually looted it off one of the mercenaries you hired me to kill.”

“The Flint Company?”

“Yeah.”

Sebastian pursed his lips, a number of thoughts running through his mind. The healing continued for a few minutes longer, little curses peppered into the companionable silence between the two.

“Helena?”

“Hm.”

“I have an odd request of you,”

“Is it a naughty one?” a voice called, a few meters off from where he laid. The mage scowled in Isabela’s direction as a giggle tickled Sebastian’s throat. Above him Helena tinged pink.

“What is it?” she asked, her tone curt.

His eyes found the glinting gem again.

“Could I see that necklace of yours?”

The confusion was immediate, her cool hands ceasing their glow and coming to rest in her lap. She found his gaze, chilling dark against bright light, a sea of words he knew she wouldn’t voice.

Instead, she reached behind her, loosening the red chord that bound the locket and removed it from her neck, their fingertips brushing as she released it to him.

Still on his back, Sebastian dangled the amulet above his head. In closer view, the locket appeared to be made of jade, a material common amongst the pillars that towered in his childhood home. Serpents curled along the surface of the charm, the proud Starkhaven symbol glaring in the rays of the sun. His ear tingled with contact as Helena’s thighs shifted beside him.

“I assumed it was from Starkhaven. Can’t really tell though… Easterners and their dragon obsession.”

From beneath the necklace Sebastian smirked at her.

“You were right.”

Wide fingers tested its textures, a set of out of place bumps ridging along his thumb. Instinctively he rubbed over them, the pattern ingrained in his brain as he felt the mechanics give way under pressure.

With a click, the locket snapped open, revealing a smooth hollow inside. The Vael family crest lined its back, inlaid in gold, two twisting serpents’ fangs piercing a sun.

Breath shot from his body like an arrow, burying itself in his cupped hands.

“Seb?”

He had known it was a possibility. A reason that locket looked so familiar and made him conjure the smell of burning candle wax and dusty furs. Cardamom spice and expensive perfume filled his nose, as if she were right there beside him once again.

Ma’s pinched frown and upturned nose soon followed, sending a chill down his spine.

“It was my Mother’s,” his voice came out rougher than he expected, smaller too.

The knee beside him tensed.

“Are you certain?”

Helena’s tones sounded as sharp as usual, but this time molten metal coated her blade.

Sebastian tilted the locket towards her, showing her the secret heirloom she had been wearing around her neck for almost a week now. Light bounced from it to her face, illuminating the earthy browns in her eyes.

They seemed to drip into caramel, alongside understanding.

“I’m so sorry.”

Sorry… An interesting sentiment in this case.

“You needn’t be. She is by the Maker’s side now… no need for her frivolous heirlooms and pompous jewelry.”

“Still…. It was wrong of me to wear it. Especially so soon after--”

Sebastian cut her off.

“You didn’t know lass. You couldn’t have.” A twitch pulled the prince’s full lips into a gentle smile, despite the twist in his chest. Clever woman that she was, Helena’s disbelief was visible in her squint. 

Rising from the ground with a free hand, Sebastian held the locket between them, leaning in.

“Starkhaven royals have jewelry that signify their status, usually engraved with their crest inside secret compartments. Opening them is complex, unique to each item commissioned for their family member. I only guessed this combination because I had stolen it from her as a babe.”

“Troublemaker, were you?”

“My parents certainly thought so,” he smirked, though it was more of a grimace this time.

They sat like that for a moment, the necklace between them.

“You should have it back.”

Sebastian looked towards Helena, his brows raising at the proposition. She met his stare evenly, burning intensity crackling in her eyes like the lightning she so often commanded in battle. The tug of her cheek made the beauty marks on her face jolt, her narrow brows knitting together. 

“It is your mother’s after all…. I’m sure she would want you to have it.,”

An array of memories slipped through the cracks just then, a stinging cheek and a cold room, guards posted outside his door, the only respite from his tears being an itchy blanket and a meager few hours of sleep. The spicy scent assaulted his senses now, threatening to overpower and suffocate him.

Yelling, plates shattering, a muffled sob, Thaddeus’ stern face bandaging his wound in the low candlelight… 

Jingling windchimes interrupted his thoughts, the product of a light breeze flowing through the market square. 

Cardamom gusted away, overtaken by moon peach blossoms, herbal tea and the metallic flavor of blood.

A hand. There’s a hand on him. Thin over wide, but power all the same in its grip on his.

Helena’s warm skin now obscured his view of the green monstrosity, a golden obstruction to the colliding memories in his mind.

It took all the strength he had to blink back the water that had begun to pool in his eyes.

“No. She wouldn’t,”

Helena didn’t say anything to this, and for that, Sebastian was thankful. A simple nod was all he received in turn, black hair twisting in the gentle breeze that ebbed her scent in his direction. It had carved a path into his lungs, and as if he had never done it before in his life, Sebastian breathed.

He pocketed the necklace.

Without warning he stood, still imbalanced from his head injury despite Helena’s best attempts at healing. She looked up at him now, the slant of her brows making her look much smaller than she usually did on the battlefield. He extended his hand to her, pleased when she accepted without question.

“Come on Hel, I’ll buy you a new necklace. Something much nicer than this dusty old relic.”

Protests burst from Helena but they fell on deaf ears, as all Sebastian could focus on was the filtered rays of sunlight pouring from the clouds above, illuminating the path in front of him as he walked forward into the warmth.

#hehehhehehehehehe #drabble #my writing #my fanfic #helena hawke #f!hawke #sebastian vael #sebhawke #da2 #dragon age 2 #dragon age

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (4/?)

A/N: Not only is this a long chapter, but I found a way to incorporate a prompt given to me by @hoodoo12 almost two years ago I think. Also, @twenties-sweetheart I incorporated what led the reader and Zeta-7 dating. This fic is almost done. I think there's only one or two chapters left. Hope you guys enjoy!

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

_________

Chapter 4 : Your Answer

You remembered when you didn't love him; a time when you had hoped he'd be a father figure and a friend who you could play card games with on Tuesdays. You used to not know him; though once you did there was no turning back. You used to not need him, but you didn't know how you couldn't. It used to be a simple crush, but he already loved you from the start.

Perhaps, you had always known, but you didn't want to see it; you had wanted to know, but your brain at times didn't want to believe it. You thought words like his were meant for fairy princesses who lived in high towers above the heavens, for royals and the knights who attended to them; for anyone else….except you. It just didn't seem possible that this man could want you, but he did and explained for the last half hour as to why.

“That’s...that’s amazing!” you exclaimed despite yourself. “You really feel that way about me?”

He nodded, his face still flushed. “I do...I-I-I love you. Do you,” he gulped. “do y-you love me?”

Of course you did, you had said so a few times already, but he was going to need a better explanation; to be reminded continually. You screwed your mouth to the side, wondering how you could put it delicately. “Well…there's too much to say, and I know it would never be enough, but I can try. Oh, and if I start to wax poetic, then let's just say it's the writer in me trying to get out. Ricardo,” you paused, encouraging him to sit down because the poor man looked ready to shake out of his skin. “what I feel is beyond love; it's our souls dancing and singing in the night, moonlit kisses, and disappearing during daybreak. Why it's not even serendipitous, but a luxurious splendor you shower me in, day in and day out, with breaks which threaten to tear me into bits and madden me. It's an adventure," he perked up at this; it was familiar territory. "with discoveries and revelations that nip at my inward parts, and pains me with equal parts desperation, fear, and gladness." Caressing his lips with your fingertips, he sighed happily." You fill my mouth with bliss, working peace along the curve of my cheek, and color my world with mystical, intelligent sayings. Ineffable creature, your veracity; how you express yourself so honestly, I'm surprised the whole world hasn't fallen in love with you. Though, I'm glad you reserved yourself just for me.”

Placing a kiss behind his ear, he made a funny noise, but you continued. “To say I love you my dear Zeta-7 isn't enough, for you are as much of myself as I am of you. Like I've said before, I'll remind you as much as you need me to.”

“H-h-h-h-how do you know? When - when was it that y-y-you started to see me differently?”

The question really struck you as odd considering it wasn't in any of his usual tones; he had seemed so sure of himself earlier, and now self-doubt peaked it's little head out. It was solemn, in a faraway voice, followed by a frown, and the deepening of the lines in his forehead. You stood up, seeing as he seemed upset, and he took this opportunity to go and make some tea; it was one of his coping mechanisms. Soon the scent of lavender filled the house; he returned and set down the cups carefully so as not to spill it.

“Oh,” he frowned; a bit tired from the emotional rollercoaster he had been in for most of the day. “I'm s-s-so sorry. If only I-I kept things simple, then it wouldn't have gotten so complicated.”

“It's okay,” you whispered. “we're both a little flustered. It….it really took a lot of courage to say what you had said earlier. So you shouldn't apologize for being human.”

“But I'm - I'm still so sorry.”

You moved your chair as close as you could, stretching out to work your fingers through his soft hair, and managed to find the beginnings of silver strands, but you said nothing of it. “You should have seen how you looked when you told me you loved me. You were so earnest and charming."

He reached out to take your hand and place it upon his heart. It was beating wildly, almost dangerously you thought. You waited until he calmed a little, and when the heavy blush and the redness of his ears softened, you knew that it was time. He really was too much, too good for you, too lovely, and you sincerely hoped you wouldn't offend him. “I hope you're ready, cause this really is going to be a long story. I think by telling it, it'll make my answer to your proposal more believable.”

________________

For years, you two had lived in the same town, in the same neighborhood, only houses away from each other. It was funny how you two hadn't met before, though Rick would later tell you it was because of his job. At the time, you would say you were old enough to know what heartbreak felt like, as well as what warmth and kindness should be; though you hadn't been in any sort of serious relationship. Like any woman your age, you had dreams of meeting someone, but for the most part, your love life wasn't first and foremost on your mind; you were busy trying to get through everyday.

So when you met Zeta-7, it never occurred to you how much he would someday come to mean to you; let alone how much your life would change. Now, it had taken a while, a little longer then you'd care to admit. It certainly wasn't love at first sight, for under the set of circumstances in which you two had met, Rick had come off as a friendly old man. But of course, after helping you carry groceries, a cup of tea, and a ukulele song, you warmed to him and became fast friends.

At first, you were hesitant in allowing him into your home; you'd seen enough Dateline to make you cautious. So, you two would meet on your porch on a regular basis, though it was not long before you felt safe enough to let him come over and repair small appliances; it was fascinating watching him tinker. And when he wasn't too busy, you'd go and see what he was doing in the garage. Perhaps you should have known then that he was different, but you had no point of comparison, and just went with it.

Sometimes, you two would just watch TV or have an occasional dinner at Shoney’s, or a late-night ice cream on your front porch. And you'd listen to his laughter; how his happy noises seemed to fill up the house. You were delighted by the nuances of his gentle voice, and at night, he'd tell about the stars, going into detailed explanations of constellations and about other heavenly bodies. It made you wonder what was out there, and it only fed your curiosity. You were comforted by his warm presence, thinking it was nice to have a father like figure around again, to fill up the time, and carry on long, meaningful conversations with. His eye for detail and selective word choice made most of your conversations laid back but stimulating.

Whether it was in your house, in his kitchen, or a quick cup of tea in the garage, he enjoyed sharing his homemade brews and you enjoyed drinking them. While at first glance he seemed simple, you took quick notice of his genteel manners, in the way he talked, in his general presence which you found was pleasing. It did not take long to notice that he was a learned man, with various degrees which hung in the left corner of his living room; he was actually a doctor in several meanings of the word. Perhaps in all meanings of the word.

Watching him mutter to himself, blissful, carefully piecing together a device that did who-knows-what filled him with joy. And you had always assumed that anyone above thirty-five - at least from what sense and sensibility told you - could not have any passion left, but you saw it every time he showed you a new invention; you saw him as he should be. As though he were this character who stepped off a page, you found yourself growing ever so curious about his thoughts, feelings, and machinations of his wonderful mind. You wanted to get close, to know him better, and he took this positively as you wanting to be best friends. And when he held you in his arms for the first time, you knew that he had ruined men for you. He wasn't supposed to feel so strong, and his arms weren't supposed to be sure, and hold you warmly, and most of all, there wasn't supposed to be a flutter.

Now having it formed in your mind that he was indeed a man, you could not smother your curiosity, though still, you tried to conceal it. It felt good to feel cared for again, and you didn't want to threaten it. Still, the affection you held for him was not the kind one felt for a parent. And your hopes and dreams were shattered, with this sudden, intense awareness of him, conscious of every breath he took, of his mobile features, recognized every nuance in his reflections.

All those times when you'd watch him dance in the kitchen, swaying about, more spritely than others your own age, you'd laugh, and he’d ask you to join him. And when your hands touched, it was like a current passed through you, and that giddiness would last all day. Those hands, which could create worlds, whisk a cream, or trace pictures in the sand, you could hold them in yours for eternity. Even longer, if what he spoke of at times was true.

If he had weeks where work kept him busy, he would call you, and you'd drop what you were doing to listen; he was always so excited to hear your voice; it lightened up your day. Or when he finally saw you after a few days, he'd greet you with a warm hug, and you'd return with equal enthusiasm. At times, you felt as though neither wanted to let go and held on to each other longer than what was platonically acceptable, but you'd pretend as though nothing happened, even if your heart was screaming. Why you'd almost lose yourself in his grasp.

As a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, you never felt as though there were any hidden agendas, or that he had a pervy attraction to you. On the contrary, you felt like the pervert for feeling all giddy and excited whenever he spoke with enthusiastic intelligence or showed you his experiments. There were times when you'd reach out and pat him on the back, telling him he had done such a good job, and he'd gift you with his winning smile, which caused unusual thoughts to cross your mind, and it messed you up. What was he to you?

Whether you were at home, or you sat in his home for a tea party, you knew something was the matter with you. You were a mess of feelings, of messy, happy, effervescent feelings, which you expressed in your work, in your writing. Harmless thoughts, which lingered and filled the contents of a novel. It was the story of a young woman who had fallen in love with her older, mute neighbor. In your head, you reasoned that your character was nothing like him, that the older man, as brilliant as he was in mathematics, science, and botany, who expressed himself through his actions, and kindness was made up. Perhaps your readers thought the same, but the modest ebook sales only reinforced that maybe there was something to it.

Missed glances, brief moments where you touched, awkward laughs, and a heart heavy feeling sitting on your chest; he was always on your mind. In between your issues, when you were doubtful, he'd reassure you of your capabilities, and when he felt lacking, you'd remind him of his genius. And while there were many moments which had been lovable, which were dear to you, you replayed the times that were nearest to your ideals; of what fits into your daydreams. You're not sure when, but it had been you who started to flirt regularly, and watch him blush, stammer, and get flustered; it gave you an odd thrill knowing it had been you who had caused him to feel as such, but then it would trouble you all the more. It wasn't fair to him, and you weren't helping your cause.

What were you doing, trying to toy with the feelings of an old, lonely man, who had little in the world, but your friendship and a few possessions; it filled your heart with grief. You didn't want to hurt him, you just wanted him to think you were beautiful, smart, funny, and well everything you'd want your crush to feel. If you were unhappy, he'd cheer you up with gifts, desserts, and his generous affection. For the most part, you knew his intentions were honorable, but in your head, you'd hope differently.

It could not work, he was so much older than yourself; not that you cared. For all you knew you were like the daughter he never had. In your heart, you tried to resolve that all you felt was friendship, but then he'd smile, laugh, or be kind to you and you were falling apart. You weren't a kitten, you had always liked men your own age, but you didn't just like him, you were intoxicated by him.

He wasn't even handsome. Well…at first, you didn't think so. You did however find him strangely adorable, and lovely. He was tall and slender, so he wore clothes well. Very gentle and nice, clean-shaven, with abundant blue hair, with the exception of the few strands which choose to be rebellious, prominent buck teeth which gave him a childish innocence, but straightforward, electric blue eyes which reminded you otherwise.

Your eyes would follow him as he moved about the room. Rick had long lashes for a man and was just as impressive overall, and intelligence was even more so. Could anything possibly stop him? Death perhaps, though Zeta-7 didn't care to admit how age played a big role in his energy levels at times, but you knew it was to be expected. You knew what you were getting yourself into when it came to dating someone so much older than yourself; if he'd consider it that is. For hours, he somehow kept up with your foolishness, and you barely managed to follow his genius.

You'd follow if he asked you to come, and in time you knew you were his. You felt loyalty to him, the kind which you knew you'd never revoke. You thought at first that it was his personable nature which had endeared you to him, but it was everything. He was everything.

Zeta-7 had always been affectionate, but not in the way which made you worry. You craved it, his attention, his affection, and wished to be closer than woven gossamer, and took everything he was willing to give you. You were not in love, you would tell yourself, it was merely infatuation. He was simply a cheerful grandpa kind of man, whose arms you would melt in, whose gentle, and generous affection you were greedy for. You were selfish, that was simply it.

Then came the defining moment, which happened one night while you two were cooking together. You needed a few cloves of garlic to chop for the eggplant lasagna, and he just kept handing you cloves. You told him you had enough, and he smiled warmly, telling you there could never be enough garlic and you stopped. You two stared at each other for what seemed like hours even though only seconds passed. It was as though you had come to an understanding.

His winning smile had been the most beautiful thing you had ever seen, his eyes captured you, and you knew for a fact that what you felt was something greater than friendship. The rest of the evening you found yourself in a daze, and hesitant to be near him. In your heart, your feelings felt as though it were almost forbidden, as though you shouldn't feel this way for someone who was a great friend. You blamed these feelings on your own impatience, inexperienced like the man before you. Yeah, you wanted his attention, and he had been attentive. Everyday he made sure your emotional needs were met, he'd probably do just about anything if you asked him to, but you were scared, perhaps just as afraid as he was. Still, the words themselves were an enigma, they burned, they toiled, begging to be said, but you were afraid. Yet, you searched his face, and found the answer; you were falling in love with him.

His sing-song voice twisting and curling about you. You wouldn't risk it you told yourself, but before you went to bed that night he called you and apologized if he had offended you. “No”, you had said, “I'm just not feeling well, but I'll be fine. I promise, I'm going to be okay, so you don't have to worry about me.”

“I-I-I can't help it, I care about you.” was his sincere reply.

Those dizzying warm feelings of affection bubbled and boiled, and you did your best to try to repress them. As usual, he wanted to help you feel better, but you were afraid it would ruin things; you'd rather hurt yourself, then hurt him, and never see him again. For the next week, you thought long and hard, and the next time you two met, you were sitting in his home for afternoon tea, and you told him of how you felt right out of the blue. “Rick, I like you.”

Being the dear man he was, he thought you were talking in platonic terms. “Gosh, really? Well, that's why I'm - why I'm glad we're best friends.”

“No,” you sighed. “that's not what I meant.” You watched as his smile turned to fear, but you continued. “I know you're much older then I am, and you probably see me as some kid, but I'm a grown woman, with adult feelings. And for a while, I thought it was nothing, but I can't ignore it anymore. I care about you as my friend and I understand if you don't want that to change, but I see you as a man, and I hope you realize that I like you so much. There's nothing you can say which will change it because I don't want to change these feelings of mine. I'm not saying this to make fun of you, or because I'm lonely, but to let you know that I like you and that I'm not ashamed.”

So what if you were a kitten, you cared about him, and you knew that if he were to let you down, he would be gentle about it. The sweet, kind man that he was, gently, and carefully placed a shaky hand upon yours and gave it a squeeze. And he cried, “Gosh, you - you don't know how relieved I am. I-I-I thought I was a pervert for-for feeling the way I had.”

“Wait, you….you like me too?”

He groaned, as though he were in pain, and studied you before he continued. “I-I-I don't understand, I'm - I'm so old and gross, and y-you are like a freshly bloomed rose. H-h-h-h-how…..w-w-why?”

You reassured him, taking his hand in yours, rubbing your face into his shaky palm. “Because I just do.”

When he calmed, he looked at you with such affection, and the soft look he gave you made your breath caught. He was in love with you. Even back then, his feelings had been greater, but you dared not believe it. How could you believe it?

Your kind, gentle friend had won you over with such kindness and attracted you with a tender heart. When did you know? In moments when you saw him, not the old man, but of the softness, the beauty of an intriguing mind, and of winsome determination to be happy and to help you be happy too. You held each other so tight, you felt as though you were bound together.

He held you with a strength you did not realize one his age even still had. This was a time before kisses, before great declarations. It was a time to feel, to learn, to hold one another in a soul-crushing embrace. His heartbeat was alarmingly fast, and there had been something almost boyish in the way he placed a tress of hair behind your ear. You were the first to admit your feelings, but he had been the first to ask. A nervous chuckle escaped him, and a little lip-bite followed. “I-I am quite fond of you, and seeing that we - that our feelings are mutual, would - will you…will y-y-you go steady with me?”

As archaic as the terms might have been, it was still charming, and being the kind of man he was, you knew he meant it, and that there was only one way to answer. “Yes, I'd love to.”

Of course, you would go out with him. And forever, that memory would be etched upon your soul.

________

With wide eyes, he remembered how ashamed he had felt. He sat up, ready to shield his face, but you held your arms open. Like back then, you held each other in a soul-crushing embrace. “Do you understand now, my dear, dear friend? There was no way it could have been anyone else. Like a tree planted by streams of water, I've flourished under your attentions. You see me…. you see what I am, as I am. We make each other happy, every day, all the time.”

You two were not wary strangers; passersbys in one another's narratives; not in this instance at least. Neither were you two butterflies emerging from cocoons; descendants of lovers found in a field of barley; discovering and reveling in springtime gusts and gales. No, you were not beautiful like alabaster apples on a ledge; nor figments of one's imagination. You were, however, on the cusp of change; this was the rest of it; the continuation of what had been attempted two years ago; it was nothing like how you thought it would be, but the expectancy of the moment was palpable nonetheless. For your part, you admired the lovely scarlet coloring which crept up his neck and tinged the top of his ears; how becoming it was as well as boyish. And if it weren't already obvious, you didn't need time to think of a reply, and with clear purpose, you answered. "And dear, well, we are still friends. We're best friends. The sweetest, dearest friends that anyone could ever have, except that we love one another. Oh, I do want to. I will marry you."

Oh, whatever future there might've been destined for him, you altered its course by your acceptance of his proposal. Unlike the nihilistic view where no one had a choice, and what had been written was set in stone and that nothing mattered, you decided would not be so. In partaking in this agreement, you had taken on the consequences of what might occur in connection with Rick's work life. You had also taken on the responsibility of what you'd have to do once Rick surpassed the ability to mechanize himself any further than he already had. Still, you could live with this new burden because you were no stranger to heartache and had to make the best of what you two had; love made you do it; unbidden joy was your reward.

Tbc

#Doofus Rick x reader #rick sanchez x reader #Doofus Rick #J19ζ7 #j19z7 #rick j19z7 #Rick and morty #rick and morty fanfiction #Rnm #rnm fanfic #rnm fic #Rick and morty fanfic #My writing #my fanfiction #My works #fanfiction #Fanfic #multi chapter #rnm fanfiction #Rick Sanchez #Rick x reader

[rookieinbflat]

New Territory

Open Heart - Ethan x MC (Levin Stern)

Summary: Ethan and Levin spend the weekend looking after her younger sister, which prompts a conversation about having their own children.

WC: ~2000

She’s standing silently in the doorway of the spare bedroom in their apartment, watching on as he reads her younger sister Isa to sleep with a copy of Finding Our Way in the Universe, a book that he picked up yesterday under the recommendation that it is a luminous behind-the-sciences record of a two-decade astrophysical feat. Levin chuckles to herself, she cant say she’s surprised, she can’t say she’s not guilty of advanced reading either, remembering how she used to read Isa to sleep with a copy of The Great Gatsby. His deep voice is soft and lulling, she can only watch in admiration at how well he handles children, despite him not giving any indication of wanting them.

Isa loves him, which is shocking, the eight year old often bristles at anyone who gets too close to Levin, she’s possessive of her older sister despite the sixteen year age difference. Ethan has done a good job of showing Isa that he’s no threat to their relationship, he invites her along to picnics, gifts her with clothes that catch her eye, leaves sets of sparkly gel pens in her rucksack, buys Isa punnets upon punnets of strawberries - her favourite.

She looks just like Levin, Ethan thought as he looked down at the child stretch across his lap. They share the same long chestnut coloured hair, chocolate brown eyes, freckles littered across a button nose. He smiles softly at Isa, who was still sucking on her thumb in her sleep. She’s got to kick that habit, he thinks to himself, there are multiple studies showing the deterioration of a child’s teeth when they suck their thumb past the age of four, not to mention the sheer amount of germs she must be picking up. He’ll be sure to show those studies to Levin tomorrow, maybe slip some hand sanitiser into Isa’s rucksack too.

When Levin suggested to him that she drive down to Fairhaven and bring Isa up here for the weekend, he almost couldn’t imagine anything worse. A small child running around the apartment, leaving grease fingerprints on all of the stainless steel appliances, spilling milk on their expensive rug? But Levin, oh his sweet Rookie, looked at him with eyes that he couldn’t say no to. Levin drove down and got her after work, they arrived back just as he was finishing cooking dinner, they ate and spent the rest of the night playing board games, she was shockingly good at Scrabble for a child. Ethan had met her family before of course, weekends in Fairhaven spent in the park or at home for birthdays, her mother and father often came an visited for various events in Boston and they would have dinner. But looking after one of the children for more than a couple of hours at a time? This was was new territory for him - for them.

He doesn’t notice as Levin watches on from the doorframe, his body is turned to face away from her as he continues to read from the new journal he’s just bought.

After a few more moments of watching Levin pads out to the kitchen, making a pot of tea and pulling two mugs from the cupboard. It’s been a cold winter here in Massachusetts and her other siblings had been spending their days at school neglecting their beanie and scarf, sharing water bottles, and failing to wash their hands. A nasty strain of the flu struck them down and Levin brought Isa up to Boston to take care of her, their mother had a lot of her hands right now and Isa, like Levin, had an autoimmune disorder that meant she could not afford to be sick with the flu. She just feels lucky that her mother finally caved and took Levin’s advice to move from Charlotte to Fairhaven, she couldn’t stand being so far away from her family but she couldn’t leave her placement at Edenbrook. Now, she could take care of them when they needed it, see her siblings more often, be apart of their lives.

Ethan emerges a few moments later, just as Levin is pouring two cups of tea for them. She chews on her cheek lightly at the sight of him, grey sweats and a black t-shirt never looked so good. His hair is ruffled and the stubble she loves so much is getting a little longer, almost time for a trim. He walks over to her and picks up a mug, leaning against the kitchen counter, they’re both studying each other, trying to figure out what’s going on in the others mind. A common past time of theirs, mainly hers, she always wants to know what’s going on inside his head. All Levin wants to do is crack open his skull and unravel all that grey matter, pick his brain until there’s nothing left she doesn’t know, lay it all out in a long line wrapped around their apartment. It was the psychologist in her.

Ethan, on the other had, has no need to do such a thing. He’s never met someone as honest as Levin, she says exactly what’s on her mind - when appropriate - but most admirably, whatever you asked her, she would answer honestly. She’s got no need to lie, she said one night over dinner when they’d first started seeing each other, she doesn’t even lie to save face, that sort of lying, she says, is for people who can’t own up to the realities of their own lives. That was probably one of the first times he knew he loved her, this gorgeous, honest, brave woman was all he ever wanted.

“Are you psychoanalysing me, Rookie?” He’s smirking now, watching her with his gorgeous blue eyes.

Levin bites her lip and looks down at her tea, “Sorry, I can’t help it sometimes, I was just watching you and Isa before,” he puts his mug down on the counter next to him and closes the space between them, taking her mug and doing the same, “you’re really good with her,”

He places his hands on her hips and pulls her against him, “I’m just glad she finally lets me hold your hand now,” she wraps her arms around his waist and looks up at him. When Ethan was first introduced to Isa, they had driven down for their mothers birthday, as they were walking hand in hand from the car to the park, Isa ran up and swatted Ethan’s hand away and replaced his with her own. That happened for the first six months of dating.

They’ve never talked about children, not really. It’s been bought up a couple of times and while Ethan hasn’t outright said he doesn’t want children, he’s never said that he does. She tries not to push him, she tries not to psychoanalyse him, but its hard when he doesn’t fully open up. She thinks he’s still figuring it out for himself, but time is closing in on them, they’ve been engaged four months now, the topic is going to come up soon, Levin has just never been sure on how to approach the topic.

“I think she really likes you now, you should consider yourself lucky - she’s not an easy kid to win over,” Levin smiles up at him, their foreheads bumping against each other.

“She’s so articulate for her age, socially and emotionally mature,” He speaks as if not directly to her, but as if he’s pondering something, then he looks down, “she’s so much like you,”

He reaches down and grabs the back of her thighs, hoisting her up so she’s sitting on the counter, he’s standing between her knees. He runs his hands up and down her bare legs, the shorts she wearing don’t cover much, and he can’t resist the feeling of her soft skin. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, looking deep into her eyes and she raises an eyebrow, “I want one,”

She’s confused as to what he means, he’s always speaking in riddles and she’s always trying to decipher him, “You want one bottle of scotch, one more dog, one new Mercedes?” She laughs and his heart jumps in his chest, her laugh is his second favourite sound, the first being the sound she makes only for him, “What do you want one of, Ethan?”

“I want a child, Levin, I want a child with you,” He says sincerely.

She smiles broadly and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a long, intimate kiss, the kind that makes his heart speed up, “Took you long enough,” she laughs and he smiles too, “but we still have Isa for two more days, not sure you have enough experience to make an informed decision here,”

He laughs now, his eye crinkling at the edge, these are her favourite moments with him, she thinks, when they’re in their kitchen, sipping tea or cooking dinner, when they don’t have the weight of the hospital on their shoulders. “I know what I want, I see the way you are with her, you’re going to be an amazing mother, we’re going to have beautiful children, I want a family with you,” he kisses her again, longer and deeper, running his tongue along the inside of her lip, making her shiver. She loves it when he does that.

Ethan can already picture it, the two of them and a house full of children. They’d sell the apartment, or maybe keep it for weekends away in the city, and buy a house on the river, just a short drive out of town. They’d have beautiful kids, maybe with her hair and his eyes. Weekends spent visiting Naveen or her family, running along the river, they’d be great parents, they’d give their children a guiding hand, but also enough space to discover and grow. Ethan had never thought about children until he met Levin. That first month she was in the hospital and helped him test out the fMRI machine. She’d asked the words so casually, ‘do you want kids?’, like she was asking what coffee he wanted from the cafeteria. Maybe for her, the question was casual, Levin had grown up in a large family of nine children and dozens upon dozens of cousins, a big family was always apart of her plan. Ethan didn’t want to bring up the conversation about it children were apart of his future until he was sure he knew what he wanted.

Now he knew. He wanted a whole house full of Isa’s for the two of them, he also knew that Isa would be over the moon at the prospect of being an Aunty. She was the youngest of the Stern bunch and desperately wanted nothing more than a younger sister to dote on like Levin had doted on her. Maybe Ethan and Levin could give her that, a little bundle of joy to take care of, and play with, and Isa would show her how to scam Ethan out of hundreds of dollars worth of strawberries.

Ethan is pulled out of his family fantasy by Levin running her hands under his shirt and across the skin on his hips. “So you want to make babies right here where we cook our food,” she mumbles against his lips and a deep rumbling laugh comes from his chest, he presses harder on her hips, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“Mm I want to make them here,” he kisses her lips and then trails more down her neck and across her collarbone, “on my desk, on your desk, in the shower, maybe even in the backseat of the car,”

He nibbles on her skin and she laughs again, “You’re keen, but I think we have to make it to our wedding first, I do want to enjoy our honeymoon with glasses upon glass of sangria,” she pulls him up from kissing further down her chest to look into his eyes.

“I guess we probably should wait, logistically,”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t do any of the fun stuff now though,” she taunts and captures his lips with hers, pulling on his bottom lip with her teeth.

Ethan groans, “I just got her to go to sleep, it cost me another punnet of strawberries,” He looks at her pleading. She’s not exactly capable of keeping quiet when they get going.

Levin chuckles and pulls his shirt over his head, running her hands over his taut muscles, “I’ll be quiet if you will,” she tells him softly.

“I will make no such promises,”

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #doctor ethan ramsey #choices #open heart #choices: open heart #oh #love #cute #fluff

[mythicalsecretsanta]

being with you (G)

This gift is for: Jessica (AKA @greenyjess) 

Happy Holidays!

For you I wrote about Rhett and Link enjoying some much needed together-time in their loft. This gift is something warm, soft and fluffy.

Hope you like it!

From your Secret Santa, Natas (AKA @electricdoves)

Link to AO3 or read below:

The office is dark and quiet, Thursday nights reserved for the both of them working late as usual. Rhett wanders to the kitchen, empty tea mug and accompanying coffee mug in his hands. He feels at peace, almost at home now that the place is deserted and not crawling with crewmembers.

Having so many people working with them feels like a blessing and a burden all at the same time. He knows they do good work. They come up with a lot of content and do a lot of the ground work so he and Link have the time to get down to business. But sometimes Rhett thinks wistfully of the days when it was just the two of them, working so hard to come up with new ideas in his brightly lit green basement.

Thursday nights feel a bit like these old times.

The upgrade in their kitchen doesn’t come with wistful feelings though. Dimmed lights reflect on stylish tilework and chrome appliances. The big fridge holds enough to feed himself and many others. Rhett hums to himself as he makes a mental note to check later if Josh has left him some of the turkey leftovers.

  Stevie was the last one to bid them a cheery farewell, her bag slung over her shoulder as she saluted Rhett through the inside window to their office. Link was too invested in his current reading material, eyes glued to the screen and brow furrowed, to notice Stevie or even Rhett as he went to refresh their beverages. Rhett doesn’t mind, he knows how focused Link gets around work and how it’s not a reflection of his feelings towards the people around him. Link knows how to work hard, maybe even more so than himself. The quiet does begin to feel a bit unnatural without Link around. Their kitchen is build for so many people that it feels a bit too big. As he waits for the coffee maker to warm up, a soft hissing from the machine accompanies Rhett’s humming.

  The wish for Link to be there with him in that simple moment is as instantaneous as it is familiar.

Rhett knows it should probably bother him, his codependency on Link and their bond, but it doesn’t. It did bother his younger self a lot, made him more harsh with Link than he probably deserved and made him keep an artificial distance between them even when he felt he wanted to get closer.

Especially when he wanted to get closer.

Rhett counts it as a huge win for his present self that he managed to overcome his own prejudice and inability to act beyond it. It had taken a lot of counselling, full support from the important people in his life, some ungentle coaxing and teasing from Link. Now Rhett just feels thankful for the place he is in, thankful for the way he can recognize and categorize his feelings regarding his best friend and business partner, thankful for the rush of warmth whenever he thinks if Link and how he knows they make each other better.

Waiting for coffee and tea would be better if Link was there with him, Rhett can accept that. Especially to himself in their empty office kitchen on a quiet Thursday night. He doesn’t hear the not-so-quiet footsteps around the corner, nor the near stumble in the trash bag just outside the kitchen, so Link’s presence right beside him feels like a physical manifestation of his wish.

“Missed you, man. Office felt weird without you, too quiet.” Link yawns, positioning himself on the counter next to Rhett. His knee brushes up against Rhett’s arm as Link softly sways his legs.

Rhett smiles at the man beside him, happy Link’s thoughts apparently went the same way as his own. He goes on to think about the possibilities if wishes worked that way, just think about him often enough and Link just appears out of thin air. Link would probably be pissed off about getting wrenched away from work, or sleep, just to be next to Rhett. Rhett’s smile grows a little wider as he imagines Link annoyed, yelling at him “Not again, damn you Rhett!” as he’s teleported once again at Rhett’s wish.

“What are you smiling at?” Link asks him, even as he seemingly on instinct mirrors Rhett’s smile.

Rhett just shakes his head, ridding himself of the imaginations of his tired brain. He busies himself with operating the coffee machine, pouring Link a cup before handing it to him. His own tea is quick to make, steaming in his hand, before he looks over at Link again.

He knows better than to squirm under the attention Link gives him now, regarding him with bright eyes and a lingering smile. Instead Rhett squints as he takes a sip of his tea, which is still too hot to actually enjoy but he toughs through it.

The grin he gets tells him he isn’t as good at fooling Link as he wishes he was. Link’s shoulder bumps into his arm as they walk back to their office space. Rhett makes sure to stay a little to his left, enjoying the point of contact as he always does. Link keeps up his side of the conversation, talking about this and that as he easily drives away the quiet in the empty hallway. His partner seems content with Rhett’s answering hums and the soft snort he gives at one of Link’s jokes.

  It’s a short distance to the office, but walking there leisurely with Link at his side feels good. Rhett lets the comfort of it wash over him. Suddenly he feels the tiredness behind his eyes, the pressure of work loosening its noose around his neck and he feels able to breathe deeply for the first time today. Link’s sole presence still does its magic on him it seems.

This time when Link stumbles on something unseen in the shadows Rhett is there beside him, catching his arm and steadying him before he spills his half full cup of coffee. Rhett’s teasing smile feels as familiar and old married couple like as Link’s answering eye roll does. Rhett doesn’t even think about how this used to bother him.

His cup of tea is no longer scalding hot as he sits down on their leather couch, downed in three big gulps and engulfing him with more warmth and drowsiness. Rhett feels ready to shut his eyes for a bit and let the world go on without him for a little while. 

Before he can heave himself up from the well-worn couch, get back to his desk with a deep sigh, and work the night away, Link steps in between the deep V of his long legs and stills Rhett’s movements. His cup of coffee is nowhere to be seen, growing cold and forgotten on a surface more likely than emptied of its contents.

Link looks at him with tired, soft eyes. Rhett can clearly see the fatigue on his friend’s face, feels the echo of it in himself, the remnants of a long day at the office set over the lines on his skin that came with hard work over the course of long years.

He already knows what the next words out of Link’s mouth will be, so Rhett listens to them with a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Time for a nap in the loft, old man. We can work some more after that.” Link holds his hand out to him but Rhett still has some trouble getting up gracefully. He definitely feels like an old man. As he follows Link up the steps Rhett tries to come up with the last time he could stand up without groaning and fails to come up with a clear memory. It’s no use asking Link, he knows, if he doesn’t want an entire evening of old fart jokes ahead at him.

  ****

Up in the loft Link doesn’t waste his time standing around anymore, he’s tired and just wants a nap until this day is done. Or at least for 30 minutes or so, since they probably shouldn’t waste their entire work night away for a good snore. With early morning meetings, a hectic film schedule in the afternoon, and several more meetings in the late afternoon, today has been a lot.

“It feels like this day has been going on forever. I’m done with it!” He says while taking off his jacket, for once not caring much where it lands as he drops it somewhere on the wooden floor. Link knows the loft is clean and well-kept, since it’s their private domain.

Flipping the light switch for the small bedside lamp, illuminating the small but cozy place, Link bends down on the wide daybed. He debates for a second the merits of just falling face down into the soft cushions, already sinking into their comforting softness before flipping over at the last moment so he can get his shoes off and make himself really comfortable. Distracting himself with setting an alarm, Link’s gaze gets drawn back to Rhett.

Rhett has kept his place near the entrance to their loft, the light from the downstairs office giving him some dramatic backlighting which Link surely could appreciate more if he wasn’t so damn tired. This feels warm and comfortable, his eyes falling shut on their own volition. He probably should have drank some more of that coffee, but Link figures a power nap is probably more effective for their productivity than caffeine-induced jitters.

“What you waiting for, Rhett? Gonna stand there the whole time, watching me napping?” Link chuckles. “That’s kinda weird, even for you, man.”

Rhett has been quiet and thoughtful, not talking much since Link picked him up in the kitchen. Opening just one eye is hard, harder than it should be at 6:30 in the evening at least. Still, Link fights through the fatigue swiftly dragging him down into the cushions and opens an eye to see Rhett still standing in the same spot, watching him with a pensive look on his face. He doesn’t look like he’s been listening, which might have offended Link. If he had the energy to even get offended at Rhett right now.

“You okay there, Rhett?” Link asks softly. It’s not his usual tone of voice, nor the one he uses while he’s entertaining people on and off the internet. This is the inflection he uses only when he’s talking to Rhett in private, just the two of them together. Link knows Rhett has the same distinction for him. If Rhett ever wants to speak to him again tonight, at least.

“You haven’t spoken a word to me yet. You mad at me? Do I have to worry, brother?”

There isn’t any real worry in his voice, but Link still feels a tiny string of insecurity creep through his chest as he speaks.

This wakes up Rhett from his absent state of mind, breaking the spell and spurring him into action. His slip-on shoes are toed off, the sweatshirt ditched in favor of the soft shirt he wears underneath. Rhett looks comfortable and positively disheveled as he approaches Link on the daybed. The moment he takes to obviously appreciate the sight of Link sprawled out before him secures the warmth in Link’s chest and locks away the more fragile feelings where they belong.

Rhett’s soft voice washes over him from above. “Just thinking about how good you look in here, man. I’m never mad at ya.”

As Link opens his eyes to squint at him with a disbelieving frown, Rhett concedes with a sigh. “Don’t be contrary man, I’m tired.”

Closing his eyes, Link lets the first half of Rhett’s statement roll through his mind, appreciating the compliment and takes a moment to enjoy the affection he feels for the big man. Like always, it feels good to be around Rhett. Earlier that evening he’d looked up from his laptop to notice Rhett wasn’t in the office with him anymore, the half-formed question Link had wanted to ask dying on his lips. Knowing Rhett would probably return to their workspace within a few moments, most likely with his refilled coffee cup, Link had thought about returning to his reading material. 

Instead he’d felt compelled to get up and find Rhett. Link was never one to think twice about his instincts, no matter how many times they failed him. His instincts that led him to stay close to Rhett had never failed him.

With his eyes still closed Link scoots over to the side to make room for Rhett. He’s almost sure he hears something like “Make room for the big man.” muttered, but he knows it’s a knee jerk reaction from Rhett by now. Ignoring it like always, Link just gets comfortable and lets Rhett slide right up to him, shoulder to shoulder.

There’s enough space for them to lay down comfortably, but instead they choose to share the space they like to occupy.

It takes a moment for Rhett to get comfortable as well. He arranges the pillows beneath his head and shuffles around until his entire side is pressed up against Link. There Rhett seems to settle and the deep sigh that escapes from him reverberates in a gentle way through Link, calming him even further. Just a couple of breaths away from sleep.

Rhett’s eyes are on him, Link can feel them taking in his face from a foot away. Instead of making him feel uncomfortable or weird, like he’d mock-scolded Rhett earlier, Link feels warm and safe. He only opens his eyes when he feels Rhett taking off his glasses with one awkwardly bend arm. It’s a familiar act. Link knows he’s been falling asleep with his glasses on since he got them. And every time he wakes up after a power nap at the office, his glasses are neatly folded beside him within easy reaching distance.

Link still relishes in the intimacy of the gesture.

The hand that gently clasps his own is a bit too sweaty to be really pleasant, but it’s familiar as well.

Even after years spent together, always close together and the more recent ones filled with warm moments like these, Link’s heart still gives a little flutter when Rhett looks at him with his guard down. He sees Rhett’s face a little blurry without his glasses on, but it doesn’t matter because the affection  is communicated so clearly Link could tell from a mile away that Rhett loves him. Just like he loves Rhett. Link hopes his own expression is just as open and explicit.

But just in case if there’s any doubt in Rhett’s mind, Link leans up a little and bends over to kiss him softly. They’re both tired and worn out after their day, content to share the closeness and the contact for now. There are no racing hearts, no wandering hands, not at this moment anyway. There’s always time for more later. They’re not going anywhere.

Right now Link presses a small kiss on Rhett’s bottom lip and slides back down into the cushions, flipping around onto his good shoulder. He trusts Rhett to turn off the light, not caring about it too much as he’s quickly back on track again to a good nap. The kiss Rhett presses into his neck, just below his hairline keeps him awake a little longer. Because of it Link hears the words Rhett whispers to him.

“I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Link smiles at the sentiment, feels it mirrored inside of him. It swirls around warmly, spilling from his own lips in softly mumbled words.

“Love you too, Rhett.”

Link figures Rhett understands him as he presses up against his back, breathes deeply in Link’s hair and presses another kiss there.

#mythical secret santa 2018 #type: fic #rating: G #rhink #submission #gift swap

[justinehudock]

When You Finish This Story, Just Remember: The Cat’s Name is Molly Sarlé

I wanted to make his first name Ammo, exactly like “what comes out of a gun” ammo. I really thought it sounded cool. As the child’s mother, that would make me The Gun—a nickname I knew would suit me to the ground, and that I could live up to, I knew—having a handle like that on him. Seeing as how, my little son, baby would-be Ammo, barreled through me as ammunition does its steely, swaddling “mother”. Dark and cold her interior may be, notwithstanding. It’s not important; a mother’s a mother’s a mother. 

But, my partner, and the other half of the sireage—they don’t like any term more intimate, isn’t that gross?—to would-be Ammo, hated the whole suggestion “'fiercely”. They said to me, “From Point A, all the way to Point O.” In fact, when I tossed up the idea, my partner responded, "I mean, holy shit, that should be illegal." And looked it up, too. To see if it was! Boy, they’d’ve been a real smug shit if it had been. 

It isn’t, obviously. Why should it be illegal to name a baby Ammo, especially a baby human, which’s got all those rights? Of course, it can’t be. Unlike license plates, we could have named him FUK, or B00B, or anything else that agreed with us. We could have given him your name, too, if we wanted, but we didn’t like it. No, Ammo’s no violation of the law, not just for the fact of having that name and the little sucker living with it, shooting through life and all of life’s unique barrels with that tacked to its bib. It’s just that a lot about the situation would hazard the illegal, apparently. I’ve been unfairly coerced to concede that — that there are a “number of issues” with it. Life as an Ammo’d be a “house of law waiting to collapse”, so my partner analogized, in the terrible, hammy way they have that I really — I almost can’t stomach it after a day at work. 

This is their own logic (I don’t buy a bit of it, for the record): you’d be like someone, I don’t have names, with a credit card number and chip frequency duplicator on hand; lying around the house. You may snort, the thing’s just a reader! or so my partner began, even doing the snort for effect, though it came out more like a snuffle. To be totally honest, I barely heard this speech, hardly even glanced up from my puzzle to watch their theatrics, which my partner was only doing to stomp all over my most favorite name. I was slurping up coffee like a pig to tune out whatever they were building to. But my partner went on, and I had only made a small cup.

It only recognizes numbers, too, they said. So you couldn’t even call it a good reader. I’ve got a young nephew on my brother’s side that can read back the alphabet in burps. And his younger sister, a niece of mine, can sing it back. Her elocution? Touchable like silk. With whole words thrown in, too! wonderful, delicious, like those dried bits of red in a fruit cake. But the credit card reader, it's just a mediumish, blackish box, sitting on the side table we use for desk stuff overflow, and sometimes the cat sleeps on it. You know the thing I’m talking about.

Like with Ammo, as a name, you can’t make a box illegal, if you’re just keeping it more like a fish, like we planned to, remember? Planned to feed it expired Coldstone Creamery gift cards and, for a snack, little slips of paper scrawled with different sections of pi? Not harnessing the box for its intended purpose, I mean. Never for anything immoral!

It’s the inevitability issue, though, with your friends’ credit cards, the visiting work guys’ credit cards, our moms’, their boyfriends’, more cards, plastic cards, thin plastic cards: they all start falling into the machine’s reader sleeve, mysteriously -- don’t look at me! Buttons get pushed, you’re being really Bond about it and only when they flush the toilet or wash their hands do you even start fiddling with the stupid slow piece of shit, so it’s all utterly inaudible. The whole maneuver is as silent as falling snow, I’m telling you. Quiet, I’m always quiet.

But, see, did you catch that? The cards would end up in the reader, despite your good intentions. All I’m saying is, illegality would always be on the sidelines, like, uh, the devil’s hands. Like using a permanent marker on flimsy-everyday writing paper, the mundane bleeds into disaster. The machine isn’t bad but bad things happen when it’s around. Was it Washington who said “anything that can go wrong will go wrong”? It was him, or some other guy with a wig. Any guy with a wig would know. And this, it’s just your basic black box, hardly more interesting than a shoe box, in my view. Any son of mine’d be a whole lot smarter, and more disposed to white-collar troublemaking, than that box, too. So, there’s the entire issue in a nutshell.

I really did want to name my little son Ammo, though. The craving shot through me in rounds: wake up, wham, Ammo. On the supermarket’s produce floor, squeezing Asian pears, sniffing Spanish oranges, picking Chilean peppers, kabloom! Ammo, mi amore. More bad than I wanted any idea original to my hormone-fermented brain, at that point; badder even than my incontrovertible but “really unfeminine” desire for a pregnancy body that resembled 2009 Chris Pratt’s. His thick physique that looked so warm, the perfect ward for growing a brawny Ammo, more evenly than all the other little boys in the world. But, me and my partner also knew our son should get the chance to see an airport sometime, as well as other, crowded public places important to anyone’s formative years. Dog parks, and fairgrounds. Ball places. That’s something my partner and I agreed on, that it was important to the rearing of any well-adjusted boy that he visit all kinds of environments, bustling ones and snoring ones, too, but to sniff around, learn the meaning of “horizons”, bang and bounce all the important germs so they don’t come sniffing around his immune system anymore. Tousle with the other kids and poke fun at the ones on leashes. But not choke them with their own collars, when their parents looked away. We’d tell him no-no-no.

Listen, though: if the boy ever got lost, and that can happen in crowds, you’d see how shouting his name—with alarm in your voice, because it’s not unalarming to lose a baby. It’s a parental thing.—wouldn’t please the immediate society too well. Wouldn’t please society in earshot, or the powers that be, too well at all. And we factored in letting him get lost a couple times as a child. It was important to us. No self-respecting adult I know was in constant parental purview as a kid. I know some people, and this is true, who, as children, were always near their parents in public spaces, and they’re in jail now. And, trust me, you don’t want to know the shocking sort of stuff they stole to get there. Adult prison! They don’t send you there for burgling righteous items, or for working under the thumb of right-minded Johns. There is no “wholesome” in organized crime. They share fewer than three letters, in fact. So, it’s all pretty disgusting. 

Yeah, the name idea was, as I said, eighty-sixed. My second and third choices, too, but I wasn't as attached to Bullet and Bomb anyhow. Once we crossed Ammo off the list, though, officially and everything and all that, black ink spilled & etcetera, etcetera, my partner picked up on my disappointment. They saw the little furrows—dents—developing in my disposition, like spooky UFO photos in a red room. I had begun to walk through the condo with my shoes on; and, when I made tea, I’d steep for four minutes, rather than the three that had always been my signature. My partner knew, now, just how much I wanted a little Ammo, barreling through the house, barreling through his school years, barreling through his SATs, barreling, barreling, barreling. Starting gymnastics, tumbling through that. Meeting the president, ultimately.

My partner, they aren’t the shiniest penny in the bank—they don’t hear euphemisms like you or I do, just regular sentences and snickering—but they are careful to notice these sorts of things. The little shifts of emotion in their other half. And that’s worth more in a partner than one hundred of the shiniest pennies! So, we decided on a compromise. Compromised on a decision. Turned back the odometer from a red-hot eighty-six to a chill, alright-everyone-take-it-easy forty-three, and the baby was given Ammo as a middle name. 

To keep the whole thing totally and definitely not a flag-raiser, we even made his first name Luigi. So Ammo’s tucked in there like any creatively bullshit, Italianate honorific. Sometimes people ask us about the spelling, and we tell them (and you’re just gonna scream over this) that it means “extra love” — because of the extra M. They believe it. So many people believed it, in fact, I started to doubt that it was a lie, after all. So I looked it up. 

Of course, you couldn’t fool the real Italians with that, because they know the pronunciation differences as a pretty basic requirement, but most people, they’re not Italians. And the ones who are, anyway, are so turned on by talking about their own families, and their own jobs as high school psychiatrists, and their own trouble finding this or that something-or-other from the old country, States-produced mozzarella that doesn’t taste like placenta—and oversalted, oh, Dio—or whatever, that they never say a thing about Ammo or his extra M. Never even heard a word we said to begin with. Fucking Italians. 

So we’ve got a little Luigi in the family. But everyone who loves him calls him “Ammo”. Except, you’ve got it now, when we’re in public. In public, he’s Luigi. To his acquaintances, and, it’s what he taps into the bowling alley’s keypad to track his climbing score. And what he told the butcher to call him, who saves the calf giblets we treat to our cat, Molly Sarlé. It all works pretty smoothly that way. Like “buffed marble,” my partner says (I got an attack of sneezes from that). But I have my Ammo. And, if he gets lost in any of those public spaces we’re always in, we have this system where we’ll shout “Middle name! Middle name!” to the nebula. And he’ll shout back, “It’s kind of illegal! It’s debatably illegal! It’s risky! It could induce a panic!” like our own family game of Marco/Polo. (You should hear him: Ammo’s cute baby voice, shouting those long, older-boy sentences so beautifully and articulately.) 

In that way, we find our way back to each other, with a big smile on my and my partner’s faces when we see our precious son in the crowd: his wonderful chubby cheeks shining like lead alloy; his bright eyes, gleaming and glowier than coppermines. God love that wonderful son of a gun.

[astrofireworks]

if you could assign your mutuals/non mutuals with fanfic AUs what would they be (ex soulmate au, flowershop au, etc)

thank you for the ask omg hOOOO boy here we go this is a long post

@jinwoostro

CONSIDER THIS LANNA CONSIDER THIS: 

soft lanna with gold, round glasses and a sunflower tattoo on the inside of her wrist

mostly she’s busy behind the coffee machine but sometimes she sits by the window of the cafe she runs when there aren’t any customers

but at five minutes past four o’clock every day she sees the door of the bookstore across the road swing open and a boy with silver-gold hair and the sweetest smile exit

wait if i do it like this this is gon be too fuckn long i’m gon

he pauses the moment before he enters the cafe and wonders if she might think him weird for getting coffee every day at the same time, but he goes with eunwoo’s advice anyway and swings the door open

and she’s sitting there, brown apron neatly tied around her waist and chin in her hands, looking at him like she’s wondering what a boy like him is doing in her cafe 

and he knows he should be feeling more self-conscious about the way she’s looking at him but her face is lit up by the afternoon glow of the sun off the pavement and he isn’t sure if his heart might last the visit

“i always come here for coffee and um, i always see you and uh, this book kind of reminded me of you and i think i’d like you to have it.” 

@vonseal

seal the history buff !!! 

it’s nice that the old newspaper archives are always empty, she thinks

this way she can read the microfilms in peace, details on the black and white strip of film appearing slightly blurry against the wall but painting clear scenes in her imagination

until he started coming down to the archives, bright smile and loud laugh and all, backpack hitched high on his back and pencil behind his ear

she doesn’t really mind - he’s cute and he always has a smile ready whenever they bump into each other and all in all, he isn’t that bad a companion to talk to 

it’s a cold and windy day outside when he sweeps into the archive room, bringing traces of a light drizzle in with his boots and the electric smell of an oncoming storm in his hair and a story about a dog he met on the way on the tip of his tongue

and he sees her, head pillowed in her arms on the table in the middle of the room and fast asleep

slowly, he shrugs off his jacket and swings it softly over her shoulders - there might not be any conversation today but at least this way, when she wakes up, she’ll be as warm as he feels on the inside 

@ongwu

let’s be real if aroha all went to school together mare would be the queen of the Popular Kids

he doesn’t really enjoy group projects; the time it takes to get to know his partner and to organise meeting times is time that could have gone into writing the report or brainstorming a way to tackle the requirements

also you can never really tell what your partner is going to be like or if they’d do any work, so it’s always a wild card he’s not entirely happy with, especially after the time he had to work with moonbin

he nudges his glasses further up his nose and looks quietly on as the teacher reads out names of the partners

and when his name is called in conjunction with hers, all eyes swing to him and back to her, brains no doubt calculating the probability of the class president and resident popular girl getting along and working well together 

she takes a seat next to him and he immediately turns to her, ready to discuss times during which he’s free to meet 

but he’s stunned into silence as he takes in the notes scribbled along the margin of her project brief, most of which correspond to his own ideas, and her free times neatly pencilled in at the bottom of the page

perhaps this group project might go smoothly after all

@puppycat-eyes

ok but dasha LOOK FLOWER SHOP AU

there are seasons when she sits in her flower shop, snipping tips off the stems of roses in relative peace

and it’s nice and quiet, most of the time, unless it’s when sanha screeches and accidentally knocks a thankfully plastic vase over 

and then there are seasons during which people scramble to get flowers for some reason or another and she’s on her feet nearly all day arranging nearly the same bouquets for those who forgot to get presents for their mothers or significant others

and so when he comes in, looking vaguely confused and panicked at the end of the day she delivers two curt questions without looking up: “significant other or parent? apology or thanks?” 

and he stands there, gaping like a fish, because while he definitely knows how to respond (“sister, apology for missing a recital!”) all he can see is her and her hands deftly picking flowers and pressing them into place and the way strands of hair has escaped her ponytail and frame her face in just the right way and the way she’s focussed on folding the tissue paper at the right angles 

and when sanha’s ringing him up he keeps sneaking glances at her until sanha snorts and charges him for an extra rose and tells him to give it to her and ask her on a date already 

@parkjinchu

best friends to lovers for sure mary you’re so soft sdjhlfajk

also so many of my mutuals are jinjin stans im laughing

when she suggests meeting at their usual spot, he doesn’t question it

it’s nearly sunset by the time he gets there, settling down on the rocks beside her - she has her sweater sleeves pulled over her palms, arms wrapped around her knees and gaze panning out over the waves

it’s peaceful like this, companionable silence settling over their shoulders like pink-gold spun clouds resting on the horizon

and it’s weird, he thinks, but there’s something about the way she looks when he glances over, with her hair spilled over her shoulders and coloured orange by the sun; he thinks he’s never met someone this soft, this close to his heart 

he glances away as she moves her head to look at him - one day, he’ll gather the courage to let her know how much she means to him but for now, he’ll enjoy the way his arm bumps against her and the way her eyes shine and the way his heart revolves around her

@jakganim

listen buddy you’re a space pirate i know you are stop hiding it!! 

they both aren’t sure why it was that they ran away the first time- he just turned up one day with the keys to one of his dad’s many spaceships and yelled to them to pack their damn bags, we gotta go right now

it’s five years on, but they still aren’t sure if he was being chased by the police or the mafia or if he was even being chased at all, but to get to see this? 

to get to see the entirety of space sprawled out before them, stars sprinkled into the fabric of the universe and planets lumbering their way into the void? to get to wander around and see the stars without the heavy mass of responsibilities?

it’s worth everything, they think, even with the occasional bank heists they have to pull off and having their names on the intergalactic most wanted list

it’s worth everything to have someone like him by their side, fingers drumming against the steering console and singing at the top of his lungs with a smile brighter than both the suns in their universe combined 

also they occasionally visit lanna’s cafe on earth because she’s cute and jordan likes coffee 

@nataliekaytbh @izwing

I know this was supposed to be an AU but consider this: internet friends AU turned roommates AU in which the three of us stop being physically separated by sea / land masses and actually live in the same house

iz hides the cereal boxes in all the top cupboards and i have to climb to get them while nat cackles in the background

nat makes pancakes in the morning but i don’t actually wake up until dinner time and iz has eaten all my pancakes

nat and i cry together during comebacks as iz looks on in exasperation

unless it’s seventeen, in which case i will silently pat iz on the back as she tracks jun across the screen with very fierce eyes 

nat and i also wallpaper the living room with bts posters when iz is out and iz tears our heads off when she gets home

we go out to get groceries then realise only after we arrive home that we forgot to buy the most important thing on the list

we sit in soft soft soft oversized hoodies and glasses and have hot tea on rainy days and listen to iz read harry potter out loud in an aggressive british whisper because that’s the only proper way to listen to harry potter

a good concept!!!!

#i have so many more tbh #arohawe as a hogwarts au where she and sanha are sorted into slytherin togehter #starbins as neighbours like in the taylor swift mv #heybinnie as a dragon tamer #jinwoosmile as the hey i booked the dance room too why are you here?? but also you're pretty cute so we can share i guess #i intended to write all of them but i've got no time rip #dammit #i've so many wips too rip #they're probs going to stay wips for a long time because school dammit #vivi answers stuff #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK THOUGH #vivi shoots

[georgiabread]

i’m not in the swing of things (yet)

summary: Sometimes Dan hates university and sometimes any reason to visit Phil is a good one. 

word count: 2.6k

trigger warnings: a mild panic attack

a/n: dan’s laundromat story probably wasn’t as angsty as this but 

The first thing that hits him when he plods into the laundromat is the smell. God, the smell. It’s artificial lime, pungent socks and sweat all blended into one odor to assault his nostrils. It almost activates his fight-or-flight response. But Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat is the only laundry place within a 2-mile radius of his university, and the skinny jeans and cowl-neck cardigan he’s wearing are all that’s left clean. So, while the taste buds on his tongue squirm at the soapy smell of detergent, Dan finds a place in line behind some bored 20-year-old and waits. And waits. And ignores the anxious thundercloud roiling in his stomach.

He shifts his basket of filthy clothes with his knee – the handles are burning into his palms, and that bitter fragrance of underwear has become a little too much for his nose. He’ll be standing here for an hour, at most. There’s at least ten people in this queue, and dozens more slouched upon bench chairs as their clothes tumble about in dryers. And they’re all students. Their buzz of conversation is white noise in his ears, making his fingers twitch and his eyes quiver. They’re intimidating as hell, because Dan only moved into his dorm a week ago and he’s barely 19. Yesterday he had his first proper conversation with one of his housemates – his first social interaction on campus.

Meet people, comes the nasal voice of his mother, banging around his brain. University is so much easier when you have someone to share it with.

And, yeah – that’s probably true. But with one glance at the students crammed into this shitty laundromat, Dan can’t spot any potential friends. He doesn’t feel the urge to strike up a pleasant chat. All he feels is the urge to throw up, really.

He’s a bit pissed. This is a laundromat, of all places, and those irritating fingers of anxiety still crawl into his stomach and churn his last meal like butter. The queue shortens, and with every step, Dan’s chest tightens. And then it hits him – he doesn’t even know how to use laundry machines. The ones back home were simple; his mum even taught him how to work the buttons. But these are modern and unfamiliar, and how could he know which setting to choose and where to pour the detergent and how long he’d have to wait and–?

Dan closes his eyes, drags a stumbling breath through his nose, exhales. It’s okay, he tells himself. You might screw up a million times and keep everyone waiting, but it’s okay. (It isn’t).

He can find a poster with instructions or something. He can ignore everyone else in the room, and their piercing eyes that probably aren’t judging him but definitely could be. It’s fine.

Dan takes another slow breath. The laundromat is loud, stirring the butterflies behind his ribcage, but he tries to drown it out. Two people leave the line; he’s getting closer. His heart staggers in his chest. Why is this such a dramatic affair? He’s just washing his clothes. This is normal. This is routine. Dan pulls his eyes across the other students again. They gaze blankly at their phones, flip the pages of a textbook they’re reading, laugh and talk in small groups. They are normal. So why isn’t he?

Suddenly there’s violent movement in the corner of his eye, and a guy with a black parka and a tattoo on his neck is yanking on the door of a dryer and – and taking out someone else’s clothes? Dan’s mouth hangs open as the prat shoves his own things inside, nicking the time for himself without paying, and an innocent person’s clothes are left in a pitiful heap on the floor.

When another creep wanders past and steals a single sock from the pile, Dan decides he’s had enough. He’s not leaving his belongings here like they’re free to browse, and he’s finding it hard to breathe and he has to get out.

Lugging his basket on his hip, Dan slips out of the queue and pretty much bolts from the laundromat, his stomach still a raging storm.

Outside isn’t any better. Manchester University’s ancient brickwork looms above him, a scornful reminder of his prison home for the next three years. Dan blinks, and remembers his first lecture – a room with a thousand pairs of eyes and a droning professor, and the seats at the back, mocking him. Like they knew that’s where he would always be. Far away. Hidden. Alone.

Unwanted tears sting his eyes. He’s waging wars with cotton balls in his throat. Hunched on a stretch of pavement, clutching a laundry basket as blood drains from his knuckles, on the verge of a sudden breakdown…Dan can’t fucking do this.

But he still needs somewhere to wash his clothes.

With an ugly snivel, Dan finds his phone in his back pocket and flicks to his messages.

TO: phill ^.^

i’m coming over to do my laundry

The moment the text is delivered, Dan feels stupid. Then guilt tugs his lips into a deep frown. What kind of adult has to go to his boyfriend’s house to do laundry? The house in question is, like, on the other side of the city. Phil must be having a great afternoon in his apartment, and now Dan’s gonna ruin it with his bucket of dirty washing and his incessant whining about the pressures of public services.

But he can’t think of anything better, so he calls a taxi and watches it trundle over to the laundromat 10 minutes later. The driver throws him a questioning look when Dan hops in, beady eyes stuck to him as if waiting for an explanation to crawl out of Dan’s pile of clothes. It doesn’t.

As the city passes by the window in a blur, Dan lets the guilt set in. He revels in it. Takes satisfaction in the way he abuses himself (You’re such a shitty boyfriend. So annoying. You can’t do the simplest of things without panicking. Everyone else can use a laundromat, you’re just a freak).

The taxi halts outside Phil’s apartment building a while later, and Dan steps out bruised and tattered – emotionally. He hasn’t checked his phone since he last sent that message. He can’t read what Phil has to say, probably disappointed that Dan is so reliant on him despite being in university. God.

Then there’s a fiddly entrance, an empty elevator and he’s facing off with the front door of Phil’s apartment. He wonders if he should walk away. Maybe Phil isn’t at home? Maybe Phil doesn’t want to see him? But logic reminds him of the two weeks they’ve been apart; he sniffles, blinks away stranded tears and knocks gently on the wood.

Phil is waiting with a grin behind the door. “So, you only keep me around for my household appliances, huh?” is the first thing he says, crinkles forming around his eyes.

“Sorry,” Dan says heavily, a pathetic attempt at laughter fizzling out. “It’s just – there was a laundromat. But I couldn’t be there. I can use your washing machine, right?”

Phil shuffles back to let him in, raising his eyebrows. “Uh, no you can’t. Not until my worth is measured by something more.”

Dan’s fingers stiffen around his basket, throat thick. “…Well, I-I can leave if you don’t–” His words fracture.

That’s when Phil catches on, jokey expression fading as he leans in and pecks Dan on the cheek. “I’m only joking, you numpty. Go sit down, I’ll put these on for you.”

Dan protests as Phil steals the washing basket from his hands, and stands defeated in the hall when his boyfriend prances off towards the laundry. “You’re making me feel bad,” he cries after him.

“You don’t need to!”

“Well…I do anyway.”

Dan wipes at the mess around his nose. Wandering towards the lounge, he hides in his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. It doesn’t tremble. His anxieties linger on his shoulders, taunting him, but he now that he’s with Phil, some tumble off and land with a smack on the floor. This is more of a home than uni could ever be.

He flops into the creases of Phil’s couch, eyes landing on Final Fantasy paused on the TV. He notes everything sprawled across the coffee table: an empty mug, a crumb-scattered plate, a few uninteresting documents (bills, maybe). And Phil’s York University hoodie crumpled on the corner.

Dan stares at the green piece of fabric. He narrows his eyes. He scrutinizes it. Then he shrugs it on, only because all his jumpers are in the wash, he’s cold and – okay, he hasn’t seen Phil in ages and he misses him and his smell and his everything, so he wears the goddamn hoodie.

“I made you some tea,” Phil says when he returns, nudging a warm mug into Dan’s hands. The washing machine is background noise to quiet affection.

Careful not to spill the drink (a drop of milk and three teaspoons of sugar, just how he likes it) Dan pushes his face in Phil’s shoulder and clings to his shirt with his free hand. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

Phil noses at his hair and hides a kiss amongst the curls, an unspoken you’re welcome. “Also, green looks good on you.”

“That’s a lie.” Dan’s cheeks are dyed pink. “Your clothes just smell nice.”

This is the first time Dan addresses the taboo subject of sharing clothes. He hesitates. His eyes focus on a stray thread, dangling from Phil’s sleeve. He squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger and tears it off. He feels like he’s broken a promise of some sort.

But Phil just giggles, leaning into him despite the zero space left between their bodies. “I guess you’ll have to keep washing yours here so they can pick up my scent.”

“Shut up. I don’t wanna keep bothering you with my laundry, anyway.”

“You’re not a bother.”

“Uh, yeah I am. What kind of adult can’t wash his clothes? And has to drive all the way to his boyfriend’s house to do it as some kind of security blanket?”

“Dan, if you feel more comfortable here, that’s…you know that’s fine. Besides, you pretty much live here.”

Dan knows Phil is staring at him, waiting for a sign that it’s all okay. It’s not, but Dan still meets his eyes, watches them soften ever so slightly. “Whatever you say.”

“Dan, I’m being serious.” And crap, he’s got him worried. “We’re bloody dating, of course I want you around.”

Dan digs his teeth into his bottom lip, glancing away. Phil sighs and tries a different tactic. “Okay, what happened before? You said something about a laundromat…”

“Yeah, um,” – Dan rubs his eyes, scuffs a bit of fringe out of his face – “It was horrific. Someone stole another person’s clothes. And then, like, there were people there and it smelt disgusting and I had to wait an hour in line. I just – didn’t want to be there. And I know it’s fucking stupid, having a panic attack in a laundromat, but–”

“Dan.” Phil’s fingers brush over the back of his hand. “You could’ve called me.”

There’s a shrug. “Yeah. It wasn’t, you know, dramatic or anything. I just had to leave.”

“Well, I’m glad you came here.” Phil presses his lips against his temple. “What about the whole week? Was uni good so far?”

And Dan snorts, even though this probably isn’t something he should laugh at. “Oh my God, Phil. It sucked. I hid in my room the whole time to avoid my housemates, and showed up late to my first lecture so of course I had one thousand fucking people looking at me as I went all the way to the back of the room. And my professors must be in love with piling intense pressure on their students on the first day. Seriously, I’m so fucking stupid. The workload is massive; I’ll never get it done.”

Phil blinks. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most intelligent people I know.”

“Not when it comes to fucking law.” Dan whines in the back of his throat, throwing his head against the couch. “Already a week in and I’m regretting everything.”

“It’s gonna get better, Dan. Everyone has a tough first week.”

“Do they? I don’t think everyone has a breakdown in the middle of a supermarket when they’re supposed to be buying cheese. Wait – fuck, I wasn’t gonna tell you that.” Dan trails off. He glares at the lukewarm contents of his mug until his eyes water. He grimaces at the aftertaste of his words, wide open and vulnerable.

He can hear the pity in Phil’s breath. Hands reach down to remove the tea and place it on the table before the boy hugs him and shelters him. Dan curls into Phil’s side.

“You should’ve called me,” Phil says. “I don’t care what I’m doing, I just want to be there when you’re sad. I hate it when you’re sad.”

Dan closes his eyes. Fuck, Phil. Then he opens them. “I tried calling my grandma, but she didn’t pick up.”

“Dan. Promise me, if no one else is available, that you’ll call me when you’re feeling shitty.”

“But I always feel guilty. What if you get sick of my problems?”

“Never. You have to promise.”

“I despise you.” Dan burrows into Phil’s chest. His next words he sews into the fibres of Phil’s shirt. “I promise.”

Phil kisses his hair and holds him like he’s porcelain. “Good. And yeah, uni sucks sometimes. I actually burst into tears in Tesco while I was buying tea towels. And during my first lecture, I tripped over trying to find a seat and half my stuff fell down a few rows. Everyone gasped. But it’s mostly really fun and as long as don’t procrastinate and take notes, assignments will be easy.”

“How do you even manage that on your first week? And you know procrastination is a chronic illness for me.”

“You’ll just have to come over to study and I’ll motivate you.”

A small disgruntled sound leaves Dan’s lips. “Why are you so nice to me? Idiot.”

“I prefer to call it supporting and caring for my boyfriend whom I love so much.”

“And the medal for the soppiest lad out there goes to Phil Lester, everybody.”

“I’ll wear it proudly.”

“In that case, I can’t be seen anywhere near you.”

Satisfied with Dan’s return to okay-ness, Phil giggles and seizes his controller. “Mind if we cuddle and I play Final Fantasy?”

“Nope.” Dan pops the p, tugging his sleeves over his hands and wriggling under Phil’s arm. “You suck at battles, though.”

“Hey. Not as hard as your mum sucked last night.”

“What the fuck.”

And Phil begins to shake with laughter, a boisterous thing that puts stars in his eyes and makes Dan feel a bit dizzy. A smile wriggles onto his face when the boy tips towards him, sprinkling I’m sorries through his giggles.

“I hate you,” Dan says.

Phil turns to him, gives him a look. Dan’s gaze trickles down his face until he gives in and touches their lips together, chaste and warm-scented. “But I also love you.”

“See? You can’t fool me, Howell.”

Phil resumes Final Fantasy and entwines their legs on the couch. A grin glued to his face, the tempest of anxiety dribbling away, Dan nestles into the quiet and comfort that is his boyfriend and dozes off to Sending a Dream into the Universe. Somewhere in the apartment, there is an ambience of clothes tumbling about in the washing machine, constant and calm and always there.

phanfics

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #phan fluff #phan angst #2010!dan #university #laundromats #lmao #i feel insecure about this one because other fic writers have posted laundromat fics which are far better but oh well

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: A Helping Hand From Beyond (5/?)

Summary: “You know, sometimes the deceased stay with us, waiting until they’re sure we’ve moved on before they can move on themselves. Giving us a helping hand from beyond, as it were.”

When Gloria Rush and Rum Gold meet one cold October morning, they quickly come to the realisation that they share a common goal – to help those they left behind in life to move on and find happiness again. Using what little means available to them, the two lost souls team up to ensure their widows’ future, and find their own peace.

Rumbelle, Rushbelle, Gloria/Nick, and an epic Gold&Gloria bromance.

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[NB: From a timeline perspective, this takes place around the same time as SGU begins, only Rush is not involved in the Stargate program, so he’s the same age as in SGU canon - mid-to-late-forties. Belle is a bit older than current OUAT canon because this takes place a good ten to twelve years after this universe’s Belle and Gold first met.]

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

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Five

By Chance

Nicholas goes to the library.

It isn’t really shaping up to be one of Rush’s best days. He’s got a crick in his neck from sleeping oddly, because apparently after two and a half years his body still can’t get used to the fact that he’s alone in bed and that he no longer needs to give Gloria all the space she needs to toss and turn and try and find a position that doesn’t cause her spine too much pain. He’s had very little sleep altogether from working too late into the night last night. And to top it all off, the coffee machine in the physics department is broken. The two maintenance guys are standing around it scratching their heads in astonishment at how it came to be so thoroughly broken, but it’s clear that nothing is going to get done any time soon. Now, had he had the second cup of coffee of the day (he always has the first before leaving the house, or else he’d never leave the house), then the first two points that are making his day a bad one would have been somewhat negated. As it is, Rush is in a foul mood as he makes his way through the campus to the library and the next decent coffee machine. He likes to think he’s not having such a bad day that he’ll resort to anything vaguely caffeinated in his attempt to stay awake and alive.

He doesn’t stop to question why the library of all places has the best coffee on campus - well, second best after his own department. He remembers his own college years well enough, and as he enters, the sight of students in their little study cubicles with blankets and pillows making their spaces into little havens of warmth and comfort as well as learning, tells him that the library has been occupied all night and the coffee machine has had plenty of use. He only hopes it still has beans in it after the assault it took last night.

For the first time this morning, luck is on his side, as he finds one of the librarians standing on a stepladder to refill the machine. He watches from a distance as she stretches on ridiculously high heels, expecting any moment for her to fall and break her neck, but her task is negotiated successfully and once she’s back on solid ground, Rush’s sleep-deprived brain recognises her as Belle Gold, one of his mature astrophysics students, and the very same person he ended up spilling tea all over a week ago.

“Good morning, Dr Rush,” she says brightly as she locks the bag of coffee beans away in the cupboard beside the machine. She’s far too perky for someone up and working so early in the morning – it’s not yet eight o’clock and classes don’t start for another hour – but somehow the quality in her is endearing rather than irritating.

“Hello, Ms Gold.” He gets a cup of coffee from the machine and when he turns back, Belle is still watching him with a smile over the top of her own mug. There’s a moment of silence that’s just half a second too long before she seeks to fill it again.

“What brings you to our side of the campus then?” Belle asks. Rush taps his paper cup.

“Our coffee machine’s broken.”

“I feel very honoured that you’d come all this way for our coffee,” she teases. Rush raises an eyebrow.

“I’m just very particular about coffee.” Well, he is sometimes.

“Hmmm.” Belle doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “Maybe you should try switching to tea.”

Rush almost spits out his mouthful of coffee at the suggestion and Belle giggles, a musical sound in the quiet of the library.

“I’m serious,” she said. “No need to rely on a machine for tea.”

Technically there’s no need to rely on a machine for coffee either, but Rush declines to point that out. There’s something about Belle’s brightness and openness that pushes aside his need to combat all attempts at social interaction with sarcasm.

“I’ve been doing the reading,” Belle says presently, changing the subject. “About the possibility of warp speed travel. It’s really interesting; there are so many things that I hadn’t considered about it, and about travelling faster than light. I particularly like the notion that if you’re travelling faster than light you can never see where you’re going because you get there before the light does. It does throw a new dimension on all these science fiction shows. I think the biggest problem if you were travelling at that speed would be course correction for something that was in your way and stationary. Would you bash into it or warp around it?”

Rush smiles at this earnest speech. He’s not usually one for such interactions with his students, usually because his students can’t be bothered to do the reading and very rarely have an original thought in their head that could lead to such a conversation. Perhaps increasing years have made him cynical, but Belle’s enthusiasm for his subject is refreshing.

“I think that’s something you’d have to experiment with,” he replies. It’s not something he’s ever thought about himself, but now that the seed has been planted in his mind, he can’t help but wonder.

“I’ve always thought that would be interesting,” Belle muses. “To look at the things in sci-fi films and TV shows and use physics and quantum mechanics to prove whether or not they would actually be possible.”

They spend another few minutes talking about warp drives, Star Trek, and the Miracle Exception, and Rush realises that his coffee has begun to go cold with him only having drunk a few mouthfuls of it. He gets himself a fresh cup and Belle grins.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t keep you any longer. You’ll have things to do, and so do I.” She looks over at the large stack of books waiting to be reshelved and the other librarian at the issue desk who keeps giving them a disapproving look over the top of her computer monitor. “But I’ll see you in class later, right? I’m looking forward to it.”

“So am I.” And Rush finds that for once, he is. He has always known himself first and foremost as an academic and as a teacher second, and although he does enjoy sharing the mysteries of the universe with his students, there are times when he’d really rather just hole up in his office and forget about the lot of them. This is not one of those times. He likes to see Belle in his lectures, her smile and her sticking out from the rest of his students. Maybe it’s her age, the fact that she’s got a good fifteen years on the rest of the class and is studying his subject because she really, really wants to, rather than because she needs a science elective in order to pass the semester. He wonders why she’s doing what she is, studying without any real objective in mind, just for the love of learning new things, and he wonders how she’s funding herself. He doesn’t think he’s ever wondered so much about any other student.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Dr Rush.”

Nicholas does something that he doesn’t think he’s ever done with any student before.

“Call me Nicholas.”

A small smile creeps over Belle’s face.

“In that case, you can call me Belle.”

Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t want to think of her as a student. He doesn’t think of her as a student. Since that morning when she bumped into him and spilt her tea, he’s thought of her as something a little bit… separate. Different. He holds her in a different regard to the others in the class. Maybe it’s because he really doesn’t want to face up to the fact that he has a crush on one of his students and it makes him feel like a pervert even though she’s far closer to his own age than anyone else his brain could have chosen to be attracted to.

“I’ll see you later, Belle.”

They go their separate ways and Rush meanders back to the physics building. The coffee machine is still not fixed, and the two technicians have now pulled it away from the wall and taken the back panel off, gazing in bemusement at the utter mess of wires inside and wondering who on earth could have so thoroughly rewired a coffee machine overnight. One of them blames divine intervention, although Rush is too much of a cynic to think that this is some sign from above telling him to quit drinking coffee. His mind wanders back to Belle as he unlocks his office, and he finally, finally admits what he’s been trying not to admit for a week. To use a quaint and slightly old-fashioned term, he fancies Belle Gold.

He hasn’t fancied anyone since he first laid eyes on Gloria over twenty years ago. He’d thought then that it was a done deal, that he’d found The One and there would be no-one else. But now, there’s Belle, and something in his brain and his heart is reminding him that even though Gloria has gone, he is still here.

Does he want it to go any further? Well, of course he does, but he’s wary. He’s never been one to make the first move. Gloria had been the one to initiate their relationship, although he’s quite proud of himself for proposing without any of her subtle hints (at least, he thinks he did; the hints might have been so subtle he only picked up and acted on them subconsciously). And after everything that’s happened in the last few years, he’s really not sure he trusts himself to do this again. When he thinks about the person he was before Gloria got sick and the person he is now…

He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind and closes his eyes, trying to focus on work.

You’ve got to keep living, someone told him, a few weeks after Gloria passed away and he really wasn’t doing so well. Rush knows that, theoretically. All the same, he still can’t quite bring himself to move on from the guilt that has driven him for these past three years.

X

Belle smiles to herself as she goes about her day, humming a little tune as she reshelves and indexes and reads up on warp theory when she can. Her colleagues in the library office have been giving her funny looks ever since her conversation with Nicholas this morning, and a small part of her wonders whether they’re right and she needs to stop this… It can hardly be called a flirtation; they’ve only ever talked about science and in an earnest way, with no strange innuendo or double entendres. After all, he’s her professor and she’s a student, which is a relationship that is traditionally frowned upon. But then, she’s a mature student, she’s forty years old, she’s a grandmother, for crying out loud (admittedly only through marriage, but she’s always been Henry’s Nana Belle from the moment he was born).

Belle sighs, this is turning into one of those ‘I’m not like other girls’ scenarios, so she’s probably best off dropping it. At the end of the day, she’s still a student and he’s still a teacher, and he probably just lumps her in with the rest of the students he teaches giving no thought to her relative maturity in comparison. She’s just another student, she can’t start thinking she’s someone special made of moonshine just because she’s older.

There were twenty years between her and Rum, after all. Age is just a number.  

Which is a shame, because ever since Neal had joked about her and Nicholas bumping into each other being the start of something, she can’t help but think that perhaps it’s the start of something too. He’s an attractive man, certainly, but there’s something else about him, in his quiet intensity and the obvious passion that he has for his subject and his students, although he’d probably try and deny the latter if confronted with the suggestion. He wants them all to do well and do their best for their own sake, not just his. He’s the first person she’s met in California that’s made something in the back of her mind begin to wonder if she’s ready to make that step and begin dating again.

Why did fate have to make him her professor and probably inaccessible?

#rushbelle fic #rushbelle #belle french #Dr Nicholas Rush #Fic: Helping Hand

[ustupidmudbloodcanunot-blog]

Thomas SangsterXReader

A/n: The second imagine that I’m doing. It’s based off something I wrote in real life, and it’s kinda short. Enjoy! Warnings: A sexy Brit too sexy for his own good (other than that, nothing). Also, if enough people don’t despise this, I may make something big out of it. Hmm… We’ll see.

Love at first sight. In my opinion, it isn’t always 100% accurate, but in some very rare cases, it could. For instance, you might fall hard off the cliff of cliché love and romance, and not even know it. Staring blankly at the guy of your dreams, and don’t even notice it yourself until he says something about it. However, if you’re like my partner in crime, then you clumsily trip and face plant into a pit of something more than love: endearment and passion. How do I know all this? Well, I’ve met a guy myself. ———————————- “Y/n! Y/n! Okay, hold on. Let me compose myself… Okay. Dylan wants to take me out to Richard’s café, AND watch Bruce Almighty!” Squealed my overly excited sibling. “Gee, that sounds wonderful,” I said, wondering when I would find a guy to take me to my favorite restaurant and gaze into my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Wow! I can’t believe it! He’s the best I could ask for! One time, we were on a date, and he was still kinda shy, and he-” “Spilled green tea all over your white dress and heels,” I interjected, knowing this story all too well. “Oh yeah…. I did tell you, didn’t I?” Asked my sister, more to herself than me. Sometimes I question Lydia. “Well, I have to get ready! Bye, bye!” Lydia spoke with souch enthusiasm that sometimes I look forward to saying goodbye. As we hung up, I continued to watch Steven Universe. Honestly, whoever thinks this is JUST a kid show is a brain dead git, who obviously has been living under a rock. ———————————- Guys weren’t always my thing, they still aren’t. I just couldn’t find the right dude I was actually attracted to. Lydia doesn’t think when she finds a man, like, at all. But, this guy, I approve. I’m glad to see my little sister happy. I never really was the social butterfly. That was Lydia. She was always the sweet girl everyone loved. I guess you could say I’m an introvert, but I do have friends. During highschool, Lydia was always the track star, or had a painting of hers in a gallery of some sort. I tended to find my way to the library, or the vending machine. Every now and then, I bring a book to Richard’s café. They have the absolute best coffee, and peanut butter cookies. ———————————- I arrived at Richard’s cafe around 2:30 after dropping off Lydia at the gym (22 years old, and still doesn’t have her license). I sat down in my usual corner, ordered a coffee, black. I notice a man who is most likely taller than me. Which is surprising, considering I’m 5'8". He has amazing hair, and a beanie on. Who’d ever think, 25 year olds could pull off such an accessory? I return to reading. As far as I knew, I didn’t have a chance with him. A few minutes later, he sits down at my table. “Whatcha readin?” It takes me a minute to process what he said because I’d rather read. His grammar was already atrocious in only two words (if you can even call them that). “It’s impolite to interrupt someone while they’re in their intellectual world that can only be reached in their imagination,” I said, the sass practically pooling at my feet, adding a stain to the inhumanly clean floor. “Dude, I didn’t realize… Sguahh sorry brah,” then he walked away. I went back to my book.

After a few hours, I got a call from Lydia. She was crying and asking for me to pick her up. I quickly drove to the gym and stormed inside demanding for Lydia. She was in the bathroom, I followed the sounds of whimpering and opened the stall door. “I was just pumping iron, and my period was like, ‘Oh hey there, haven’t seen you in a month. How ya be- UTERUS PUNCH!’” She said continuing to wail. “God, Lyd!” I say, running my hand through my y/h/c hair. “I thought Dylan broke up with you or something. Okay, I’ll be right back,” I rushed out of the bathroom to get the stuff, and before I could look up, I run into someone. I fall hard, and my butt hits the cold tile floors. “Bloody, I’m terribly sorry!” the stranger lends a hand out. I take it and stand up. “Oh no, it’s,” I look up to see an unbelievably gorgeous face, “It’s quite alright.” His smile made my heart skip a beat momentarily. We exchange names. In his gorgeous accent, he tells me his; Thomas. In tell him mine, y/n, and his smile only grows. In this moment, I remember my previous task. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” I say. “You don’t have to be sorry if you’d agree to lunch with me.” Thomas says, smiling cheekily, a little red hidden in his cheeks. I agree, and hand him my number.

Even after the whole fiasco with Lydia, I’m in the car and can'keep my mind off him. Good Lord, was that man good looking.

A/n: Okay, I’m aware that this may not be amazing. But deal with it, and thanks for reading!