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sqoiler · 4 years ago

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The Boston Market on the east side of Gotham is open all night in the winter. As an establishment boasting of family meals and comfort food, the managers decided some time ago that as a thank-you for the hard work certain people put into the city, they would stay open when it was cold and people up late might be wanting some warm food.

Anyway, Batman knows this and has known this, and he remembers how excited Dick was when the eastern Boston Market announced their new schedule, and so he’s not exactly surprised when Robin returns after half an hour patrolling by herself carrying Boston Market takeout, but it’s still a little startling.

“What’s this?” Batman asks when she settles down next to him. It’s a quiet night and this stakeout isn’t supposed to yield any action for a few more hours. He’s been stealing sips of gatorade from his bat-thermos, but as Robin digs out a pair of takeout boxes he realizes just how welcome some food would be.

“Mashed potatoes!” she says, handing him one box as well as a plastic spork. She pries open the lid of her own mashed potatoes and sticks her spork in the potatoes, setting it on her lap and sticking her head back in the bag. “Say, do you want some butter? Gravy?”

“Sure,” he says, a little bewildered, and she emerges with packets of butter and a cup of gravy and passes them over, keeping some butters for herself. When he’s done emptying one butter packet over his potatoes and half of the gravy, he puts the rest of the butters on the roof between them. She scoops them up and slides them into her belt.

“You never know when you might need some butter,” Robin says as if bestowing crucial advice, and Batman ducks his head to hide his smile, reaching for his first bite. The potatoes are still hot, and obviously not as good as Alfred’s, but Batman finds himself enjoying them anyway. Alfred only makes them for Thanksgiving, so Batman hasn’t had any mashed potatoes in nearly a year.

“I love mashed potatoes,” Robin says after she swallows her first mouthful. Batman isn’t sure what to say so he says nothing, instead taking another bite of his potatoes and watching her blow on her sporkful of mostly butter before taking another bite.

They’re crouched on a small ledge, halfway up a building, and Robin readjusts so she’s sitting down, her legs dangling over the edge, and she kicks them back and forth. Batman follows suit--not because he was cramping from squatting for so long, but because eating whilst in a squat is weird, okay, Batman doesn’t get cramps. He doesn’t kick his legs, though.

Robin hums happily as she digs in. Batman identifies the song as from the musical Wicked. He doesn’t say that he knows that.

He casts glances out at the alley below them, even though at Robin’s arrival he put down his binoculars (bat-noculars, Dick called them) and can’t see much from this high up. Nothing looks different, and Batman knows that even from this high up if anything was actually happening he would be able to tell. He looks at Robin, who has stopped humming. She’s looking at him, her mouth twisted in an unidentifiable line, eyes hidden behind her mask.

“You do...do you like them?” she asks, hesitant, and Batman takes another hurried bite of potato. He nearly burns his mouth.

“Yes,” he says after he swallows. “Thank you.”

The worried line turns into a bright smile, her braces flashing, and she turns back to her own potatoes. The portions are small--probably intended as side-dishes, but for a late night mid-patrol snack, they are perfect. Batman finishes his up in neat bites (it wouldn’t do to spill potato on the batsuit) and reaches for his bat-thermos, unscrewing it and drinking deeply. He offers some to Robin without thinking, and she wrinkles her nose.

“Yellow gatorade and mashed potatoes? No thank you,” she says, and instead she reaches for her own thermos, clipped to her belt, which Batman thinks has water in it.

He’s proved right when after a deep drink she offers it to him. “Water?”

He shakes his head, clips his thermos back to his belt. He extracts the Boston Market bag from under Robin’s leg and gathers the trash. After a few minutes, when the potatoes have settled, he’ll either go and throw it away or he’ll ask Robin to.

He’ll do it, he decides, watching Robin tuck her legs up and get on her stomach, getting out her binoculars to peer at the alley below. He needs to stretch his muscles and he trusts her to watch the alley for a few minutes while he’s gone.

He tells her his decision and she stares at him, mouth in a little O, and he leaves. There’s a dumpster a block away, and he does a quick lap after dropping off the bag. He returns to the ledge after ten minutes.

“Thank you for the potatoes,” he says. She grins, lifting her head slightly to tilt it towards him.

“Thank you for eating them,” she says. “I half thought you were gonna throw them at some perp.” Her voice drops into a growly mimic of his own. “I am Batman, I don’t eat on patrol. Eat potato, crime man!” She mimes throwing something at someone, and then an explosion. He used to deny sounding like that before he realized it was useless.

(He might sounds like that a little.)

“I don’t waste food,” he says instead, and she stifles a giggle before looking back down at the alley. Batman settles into a crouch and makes a note to invite her and her mother to the manor for Thanksgiving. She’d like Alfred’s mashed potatoes, he thinks, and he lifts up his binoculars to look down at the alley below them, smiling to himself.

---

“Have you eaten?” a voice asks, and Bruce half-turns his chair towards the door. Dick is standing there, looking concerned. Bruce can’t bring himself to care.

For a long moment, nobody says anything. Dick coughs into his fist.

“Right,” he says. “Well. Tim told me he was going to pick up some Boston Market on the way back. Do you want something? I’m getting chicken pot pie.”

Bruce tries to think of a response, and can’t find one.

“Bruce,” Dick says.

“What’s the point?” Bruce says. “She can��t eat anything.”

“She would want you to eat,” Dick says. “Come on, B.”

Bruce ignores the very true fact that she would certainly want him to eat, and definitely would want it to be Boston Market.

“No,” he says. Dick sighs sadly and leaves. Bruce assumes there will be another attempt later, but he doesn’t care. He swivels his chair around and stares at nothing.

No, he doesn’t want any fucking Boston Market. He doesn’t want to eat anything, let alone Boston Market. What’s the point of eating at Boston Market if Stephanie’s not there? What’s the point if Stephanie will never get to eat, ever again?

He closes his eyes and thinks that maybe he’ll cry, but tears don’t come. Nobody comes and bothers him for the rest of the day, but Bruce sees the Boston Market bag in the trashcan, anyway.

He picks up the entire trashcan, walks it to the dumpster, and throws it away, and then he bans his family from going back there. When Dick and Tim ask why, confused, he doesn’t answer. He can’t think of the words.

(ao3)

#i kinda want chicken pot pie....from boston market..............(cries)#food mention #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #my writing #brotp: slap #dick grayson

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un-cadavre-exquis · 4 years ago

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past and forever (arthur/eames)

originally posted to ao3.

Like all good things, it starts in Paris.

It’s late July and they’ve just finished a job; the extractor and architect have both flown off to god-knows-where, and Arthur and Eames (arthurandeames and eamesandarthur) are passing a bottle of vodka between themselves in celebration. Eames thinks vaguely that it might be around three in the morning, but he can’t be bothered to check.

They are sitting on the bedroom floor of Arthur’s ridiculously large flat, and of-fucking-course Arthur owns Parisian real estate in le premier arrondissement, and Arthur is at the moment drunkenly ranting about the superiority of cashmere to merino wool. Eames is struck, as he has been countless times before, with the realization that Arthur is exquisite. He says so, and Arthur frowns petulantly at him but blushes a little all the same.

“I could kill you with my left pinky,” Arthur mutters.

“Of that I have no doubt, Mr. Last-Name-Redacted,” Eames smirks. “Pass the bottle?” Arthur does, fingers lingering the barest fraction of a second too long against Eames’. And Eames thinks, too drunk to stop himself and not drunk enough to forget it in the morning, This is home.

Which perhaps does not bode well for Eames’ psychological well-being, seeing as he has witnessed Arthur kill a man twice his size with a plastic spork. Arthur is, well, Arthur. Half of dreamshare is terrified of him, the other half wants in his extremely well-tailored pants. Arthur, who once lived through his best friend throwing herself off a building and still managed to pull Dominic Cobb out of the deepest pits of despair, Arthur, who is dangerous and deadly and oh-so sharp around the edges. Arthur, who Eames is madly in love with.

(He blazes incandescent and hotter than all hell. So bright that it hurts to look at him sometimes. Red-hot, don’t get too close.)

The thing is, Eames has loved Arthur before dreamshare was anything more than a fleeting idea in the collective minds of the US army. Before he began to hide his youth under bespoke Tom Ford and permanent hair gel, before the Cobol clusterfuck, before the Fischer job. Eames has loved Arthur since the first time he laid eyes on him in a dimly lit bar in Paris, fresh out of some ultra-classified government program, jaded and caustic and looking like he wanted to light a fire and watch the entire world burn to ashes.

Which is to say, Eames has loved Arthur since he first knew how to love. And Arthur has just stopped talking and turns his head and the first strains of daylight filtering through the windows catch his face just so, and he is so beautiful; a modern day Adonis. Drunk and loose and happy, perhaps as happy as he has ever been and ever will be. Eames suddenly can’t breathe; his throat seizes at the ephemerality of this moment— come morning Arthur will yet again be buttoned-up and frowning and hiding his misery behind the barrel of a silenced Beretta 92FS.

And really, it’s okay that Arthur doesn’t love him back and never will. Eames came to terms with that long ago.

It’s October now, and Eames is so alone. Sure, he has Yusuf, who texts him a cat picture everyday, and Ariadne, who calls sometimes to check in on him, but he is so alone. He has not heard from Arthur since that time in Paris, when Eames woke up cold and hungover and in an empty bed. He learned two things during that job: one, that the Russians don’t fuck around when it comes to alcohol, and two, that it’s time for him to let go of Arthur. He’s growing a little too old for unrequited crushes.

(It’s anything but a crush, his love burns a hole straight through his chest and sends fire through his veins.)

So Eames trawls bars and clubs at night, burning through slim, dark-haired boys who absolutely do not look like a certain pointman-criminal-killer-thief. He fucks them and forgets them. None of them are beautifully deadly and none of them carry thirteen different concealed weapons at any given time and none of them are Arthur.

It’s December when Arthur, burning like a goddamn supernova, shows up at the door of the London flat Eames has been staying in for the past month with a brand new bullet hole (Medium caliber, Eames thinks) in his thigh and a deep cut (serrated knife) across his shoulder. He smells like cordite, sickly sweet, and something darker, blood and steel and rage. What can Eames do besides open the door wider to let him in and watch as Arthur wordlessly lowers himself onto Eames’ sofa?

Arthur stays. He stays after his wounds heal, after his scars begin to fade, after he starts to lose the tension in his shoulders and the fury in his eyes. They start to take jobs now, always together, arthurandeames and eamesandarthur once again. Barrel against temple, one, two, pull the trigger. They’re something of a package deal, Rio to London to Tokyo to Paris. The best of the best. You want someone to disappear? Hire Arthur and Eames. You want to steal something? Hire Arthur and Eames.

You want a secret? Well, they are the best at that.

But they spend their days with their veins weighed down by Somnacin and desperate dreams, always looking over their shoulders for angry marks or turncoat clients/extractors/architects.

“How do you feel about a vacation, darling?” Eames asks Arthur, a few months in.

So they stop taking jobs and start to move around, safehouse to safehouse, dropping aliases left and right, but always together.

(They avoid Germany like the plague, though, the polizei are still unreasonably upset over a very small incident that maybe involved a couple bombs. And a helicopter.

And possibly the Prime Minister’s Aston Martin.)

Beaches and forests and skyscrapers at night. And Arthur must know how Eames feels. He never says anything, just smiles that brilliant, beautiful smile and says frighteningly domestic things like could you pick up some milk today? Or we’re out of eggs, want me to buy some more?

It’s agonizing and wondrous and Eames has never been more content, but he can’t help the way he dreams of Arthur and watches him (the line of his throat and the cut of his suits) and still wishes for something more.

(It’s not enough, never enough. In the same room yet worlds apart at the same time.)

It’s July again, and they’re in Mombasa. Yusuf is out on a job, so they’re staying in his flat with his morbidly obese cat. Arthur found a shady off license somewhere in the city, no doubt through his truly impressive criminal connections, and brought back a bottle of vodka. At least Eames thinks it’s vodka; it’s a murky hue and tastes a little like Satan’s asshole.

“Just like old times,” is what Arthur says as he shoves the cat off his lap and cracks the bottle open.

They are on the road to well and truly sloshed when Arthur says, out of nowhere, feigning offhandedness, “You know I’m a little bit in love with you, right?”. Eames chokes on his sip of maybe-vodka, and says, “What?”.

Arthur just smiles (brokenly, he looks fucking shattered, and Eames would do anything to put his pieces back together) and says something along the lines of “I know you don’t feel the same, but I had to tell you. I just- I couldn’t-”. And Eames stops listening about then because, what? Something inside him aches when he processes what Arthur just said, and really, how can Arthur be so oblivious? Eames can only laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that.

Arthur’s face closes off, goes cold and empty; the fire is shielded behind icy eyes. “I see,” he says, and stands up to leave.

“Wait, no,” Eames catches his wrist, still laughing. “You don’t understand, darling. ‘I don’t feel the same way’? Are you- and I mean this in the best possible way- stupid?”

“What the hell do you mean,” Arthur says, feelingly, slumping onto the bed.

“Arthur. Darling. I’m in love with you. Arse over tits in love with you. Have been since, god, well, forever.” Eames says this soberly and very quietly, but it rings deafeningly in the silent room. Arthur’s mouth opens. Closes. The best pointman in the business, assassin and messiah and thief all at once; sharp, collected Arthur, speechless.

“We’re a couple of dumb bastards,” he manages eventually. “You- really…?” Eames doesn’t answer. He stands and steps towards where Arthur is sprawled across the bed. Sits on the edge of the bed. Presses his lips carefully to the corner of Arthur’s mouth, feather-light.

Arthur is the kind of motionless that only comes with years of training, but when Eames’ breath ghosts across his cheek, he reacts, lightning quick. He flips them over, straddles Eames’ waist, and slams their lips together. As far as first kisses go, it’s probably the best Eames has ever had (and ever will have). Hot and dirty and wet, tongues and teeth and teeth and tongues. But it’s undeniably sweet all the same.

And it feels like coming home; they melt into each other, as easy as breathing, like the last puzzle piece fitting into place. Arthurandeames and eamesandarthur.

(Forever, Eames thinks, this will last forever and in the end we’ll go up in flames and die holding hands.

Immortal until death takes us both.)

#YES I KNOW IT'S 2021 AND I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT INCEPTION #time is an illusion #inception #arthur x eames #fic

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writings-of-the-unkown · 5 years ago

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Senior Pranks Are Not For the Faint of Heart

This is for the summer writing contest on @cant-control-their-fear-imagines

Prompt- what’s in the bag? And why are you hiding it here?

Au- college

Pairing- Bobbi Morse x Reader(fem)

Y/N- your name

Y/N/N- your nickname

Warning: swears, nothing too horrible with blood, also this is very very gay.

1255 words

A/N: this is my first fanfic being posted but please let me know if you want a second part

When I started my freshman year at college, I did not think that it would end up like this.

I was walking around the quad when these two people sprinted by yelling at each other.

“Hunter give them back!!! I’m gonna kill you!!!” a blonde girl threatened.

“No way you demonic hell beast! They’re mine!!” the Brit challenged.

There were another two people chasing the first two. I didn’t pay that to mind as I continued my way through the rows of the clubs and activities.

Next morning, I was in my first class of the day which was discussion based. I was seated in one of the first rows and waiting for the class to begin. The professor walked in and launched the discussion. Halfway into the discussion, the same blonde from yesterday barged in.

“Sit down Miss Morse, you do know what time this class started don’t you?” Our teacher rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry Mr. C. It won’t happen again, sir” she stated while attempting to catch her breath.

Our professor ignored her and continued the discussion. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the mysterious blonde. The way strands of her hair clung to her face through her sweat, her cheeks flushed. God she was beautiful. No the word beautiful doesn’t do her justice. She was a goddess in a leather jacket. As I was trying not to stare, and ultimately failed at that, I noticed she had bruises on her collarbone. I didn’t have enough time to register them because class was dismissed. I packed up my stuff and left. As I was leaving I heard our professor call out to the goddess in question. I know I should give them privacy but I had to hear what was going on.

“Bobbi, what’s going on? You have never been late to any of your classes in the four years I’ve known you. You’re a good kid, I just wanna know what’s going on. You won’t be in trouble” Mr. C. reasoned.

I finally learned the goddess’s name. Bobbi Morse.

“Professor, I’m okay I swear. There’s only so much I can do. They want something I’ve got but I can’t let them get their hands on it” I could tell that she was trying not to cry. I just want to hold her and tell her it’ll all be okay. God, why am I so gay?

I start walking down the hallway to go get a coffee from the cart outside the classroom. Just as I was drowning in my thoughts, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around to be face to face with none other than Bobbi Morse. Holy shit.

“Hey, uh. You brought up some great points during the discussion today. I just wanted to let you know” Bobbi was blushing at the ground as she scuffled her feet on the floor. “I’ll, uh, see you around”. With that she ambled away.

I grabbed my coffee and headed back to my dorm.

The days classes came and went, but I was still hung up on a certain blonde. Ugh, I couldn’t get her off my mind. She was such a goddess. I had just started that night’s homework when there was a knock at the door. I didn’t have a roommate, I got lucky, maybe it was the people next door? I didn’t think I had my music that loud, but hey if you get upset by Hannah Montana then I don’t want you in my life. I barely turned the handle when the door was flung open, to reveal none other than the blonde who has been occupying my thoughts.

“Look I need you hang on to this. No one can know you have it, understand?” Bobbi said as she thrust the bag into my arms.

“Hold on a minute, what’s in the bag and why are you hiding it here? If I’m holding onto something for you, I at least need to know what I’m hoarding for you” I stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Look, Y/N. I’m putting you in enough trouble as is, but if you need me, call the number or see Mr. C. He’ll explain what I can’t” with that she flipped up the hood on her hoodie underneath her leather jacket, and took off down the hallway leaving me stunned in my doorway. God, I’m so gay.

I shut my door, before I could drawn anymore attention. I placed the bag in the closet, which I ironically hung my pride flag on the door, on a high shelf so it would be out of the way. I went back to studying and turned my music up even higher.

Weeks came and went, but I still had Bobbi’s bag. She hadn’t been in anymore of the discussions and she practically disappeared so I just went with it.

Finally, the night before Thanksgiving break, Bobbi showed up at my door covered in bruises and dried blood. I really hoped it wasn’t hers.

“Bobbi, what the hell happened!? Are you okay? That was a stupid question, of course you’re not okay. I-I…. ugh. What the hell happened, wait I already said that. God damn it”

“Baby, you’re rambling. Calm down-“

“Calm down. CALM DOWN?!? Bobbi you are covered in blood! You haven’t been to class in over a month!” I was beyond furious with her, “I was worried, in fact, I’m always worried about you” with that I had looked at the floor.

I helped Bobbi to my desk so I could help clean her wounds. I grabbed my first aid kit from the desk drawer and cleaned the area before I started to patch her up. She removed her shirt and I could see that it was definitely her blood and that her ribs had taken a beating.

“Bobbi, who did this to you? I need to know” I whispered.

“Y/N/N, sooner or later you’ll learn that our world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows” she inhaled sharply as I disinfected one of her open wounds.

“What’s in the bag, Bobbi?”

“Open it and find out” she spit out after she spat the blood out of her mouth.

I gently walked over to the closet, opened it and pulled out the duffel bag. I carried the bag over to my bed and opened it gingerly to find…plastic sporks?

“Are you kidding me? Sporks, you got beat up over sporks? Jesus Christ Bobbi” I had no idea where she was taking this.

“You know, you always overreact. Let me explain. I was trying to play a prank and Hunter wanted the credit for it, but there was no way I was letting that happen. I’m sorry Y/N/N. I took things too far and I know you probably won’t, but you wanna help me beat Hunter’s ass?” Bobbi reasoned.

“Of course, on one condition” a weight was lifted off her shoulders, then immediately dropped back on. “Who did this to you? Tell me who did this and I’ll help you beat his ass”.

“The other school that I was trying to play the prank on, a few of the jackass seniors cornered me and we got into a fight. I was able to fend off four of them but it was the last two that got me. I think they broke some of my ribs” she said as she spit more blood into the cup. “I guess they really have a special attachment to the sporks” she said sheepishly.

#bobbi morse x reader #fanfic

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forsw0rn · 5 years ago

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Camping for Beginners

Even in case you’re the maximum city of creatures, the urge to get out of the metropolis—to camp out, in fact—can capture your imagination at any time. If you discover yourself taking into consideration car tenting for the primary time, but additionally find the tools and the prep to be a touch daunting, don’t despair. We’re right here to help.

The final critical for novice campers is, of path, an skilled outdoorsy person that will help you. You can find the ones folks teaching classes at REI. And in case you’re lucky enough to have a pal with a campground reservation and a garage full of equipment to percentage, then without a doubt bounce beforehand to our on hand, printable tick list of camping necessities we’ve furnished on the tail cease of story. Checkout how to choose right tent?

But you could also do this tenting element completely on your own. You just need a few basic portions of tools after which determine wherein you’re going. When going vehicle tenting for the first time, start with an overnight campout and keep it simple:

To keep money, borrow or rent huge-price tag gear.

To maximize your consolation, usually bring appropriate clothes for bloodless and rain.

To fulfill your fresh-air-fueled starvation, convey lots of meals.

To hold your options open, camp close to home. (There’s no disgrace in bailing if troubles rise up.)

To make certain you get a very good first affect, delay your campout if the weather forecast is awful.

To make certain you depart an awesome impression for folks who come when you, make certain you comply with Leave No Trace principles.

Camping is like staying in a primitive cabin, minus the cabin itself. So, similarly for your tent, % as even though you’re going to live someplace wherein there’s little or no furniture, no strength, no stove or fridge, and the cupboards are bare. In a developed campground you'll have strolling water and a community bathroom some hundred yards away. A regular campsite has a table (if no longer, you’ll want to convey one), an area to park a vehicle and an area to pitch a tent.

You can keep your preliminary funding low in case you borrow or hire the priciest items—the tent and your snoozing bags and pads. That’s a higher strategy than paying bottom dollar for something that might not even ultimate for a single tenting journey. That stated, if you are ready to invest in your very very own camping equipment, right here are a few hints that will help you decide exactly what to shop for.

The tent

: If your price range can pass a touch larger, then move bigger with your tent: A 3-man or woman tent gives a comfortable couple a bit extra respiratory room, and a circle of relatives of 4 can greater without problems gain harmony in a 6-person tent. You also can check the tent’s peak top in case you want a tent that you may get up in (that may make getting dressed and moving round less difficult to do). Vestibules outside the doorways are high-quality for stowing muddy footwear and having doorways permit you to avoid hiking over drowsing tentmates for late-night time toilet breaks. For a deeper dive into tent elements, study

How to Choose a Camping Tent

Tip: Practice setting up your tent at domestic first. And don’t forget about a properly sized footprint—when you have a ground sheet it's too small, it may not fully protect your tent ground, and if you have one it really is too massive, it is able to capture rainwater and pool it beneath your tent.

The napping bag

: When deciding on your bag, temperature score is a good vicinity to begin. If you’re making plans on simplest going truthful-weather tenting, a summer season bag might be all you’ll need, but a three-season bag will come up with more leeway for unpredictable shoulder-season climate. Checkout detailed article on . If you’re constantly bloodless (or constantly hot), regulate as a consequence. And no need to go together with a amazing-cushty mummy bag like backpackers use, whilst a rectangular tenting bag will supply your frame greater room to roam. To examine extra, study How to Choose a Camping Bag.

The sleeping pad

: A right sound asleep pad is just like the mattress on a mattress, but it also has excessive-tech insulation to prevent you from losing body warmth on the bloodless ground. Big air mattresses, like what your guests sleep on at home, may appearance temptingly plush, however their loss of insulation will likely go away you feeling bloodless. Take a take a look at specs when evaluating snoozing pads—if one is thicker, longer or wider and has a higher insulation price (referred to as the R-fee) — it will be extra cozy and hotter. For greater info, study How to Choose a Sleeping Pad. Prefer to be off the ground? Bring a cot as well.

Tip: Set your tent, bag and pad up early, so that you don’t must do it within the dark.

Lighting: Campsites don’t have illumination, so that you must bring your own. A flashlight is OK, however a headlamp frees up your palms for camp responsibilities. A lantern is first-class for ambient light. (You can also build a campfire, but look ahead to fire restrictions.) Our articles How to Choose a Headlamp and How to Choose a Lantern will come up with a few purchasing tips. Stove: A classic -burner propane camp stove must do the trick. You won’t spend a fortune and you can cook breakfast and prepare your morning brew at the equal time. Bring at least more than one fuel canisters and a lighter, and hearth it up once at home to make sure you know how it works.

Cooler: You would possibly already have one and it will probably work simply great. Just be sure you have got sufficient capacity to your perishable food and a few bloodless ones, along side sufficient ice to keep ‘em that way. Some more moderen coolers with extra thick insulation (like those from YETI) make ice final pretty a chunk longer, though you’ll pay greater for them.

Pots, plates, cups and sporks: You gotta carry everything important for food prep and consumption. You can raid your house kitchen, just don’t carry the first-rate china. And, until you propose to take grimy dishes home, you’ll want a scrubber, biodegradable soap, a towel and a small washtub or (one for dirty, one for easy).

Tip: Pack all of your kitchen equipment in a massive clear plastic bin with a lid. It’s easy to keep away at home and the entirety may be ready next time you need to camp.

Camp Chairs

: These are non-obligatory if you can sit down at the camp picnic table, but downtime may be a little more exciting when you have a comfortable area to perch. (And a hammock is even higher, in particular for afternoon naps.)Tip: Mesh camp chairs permit water drain without difficulty and that they dry quick if unnoticed inside the rain or morning dew.

#tentador #camping #life #travel

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sleep-deprived-athlete · 6 years ago

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Did A Senior Prank Go Too Far?

This is for the summer writing contest on @cant-control-their-fear-imagines

Prompt- what’s in the bag? And why are you hiding it here?

Au- college

Pairing- Bobbi Morse x Reader(fem)

Y/N- your name

Y/N/N- your nickname

Warning: swears, nothing too horrible with blood, also this is very very gay.

1255 words

A/N: this is my first fanfic being posted but please let me know if you want a second part

When I started my freshman year at college, I did not think that it would end up like this.

I was walking around the quad when these two people sprinted by yelling at each other.

“Hunter give them back!!! I’m gonna kill you!!!” a blonde girl threatened.

“No way you demonic hell beast! They’re mine!!” the Brit challenged.

There were another two people chasing the first two. I didn’t pay that to mind as I continued my way through the rows of the clubs and activities.

“Sit down Miss Morse, you do know what time this class started don’t you?” Our teacher rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry Mr. C. It won’t happen again, sir” she stated while attempting to catch her breath.

I finally learned the goddess’s name. Bobbi Morse.

I grabbed my coffee and headed back to my dorm.

“Look I need you hang on to this. No one can know you have it, understand?” Bobbi said as she thrust the bag into my arms.

Weeks came and went, but I still had Bobbi’s bag. She hadn’t been in anymore of the discussions and she practically disappeared so I just went with it.

Finally, the night before Thanksgiving break, Bobbi showed up at my door covered in bruises and dried blood. I really hoped it wasn’t hers.

“Bobbi, what the hell happened!? Are you okay? That was a stupid question, of course you’re not okay. I-I…. ugh. What the hell happened, wait I already said that. God damn it”

“Baby, you’re rambling. Calm down-“

“Bobbi, who did this to you? I need to know” I whispered.

“Y/N/N, sooner or later you’ll learn that our world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows” she inhaled sharply as I disinfected one of her open wounds.

“What’s in the bag, Bobbi?”

“Open it and find out” she spit out after she spat the blood out of her mouth.

I gently walked over to the closet, opened it and pulled out the duffel bag. I carried the bag over to my bed and opened it gingerly to find...plastic sporks?

“Are you kidding me? Sporks, you got beat up over sporks? Jesus Christ Bobbi” I had no idea where she was taking this.

“Of course, on one condition” a weight was lifted off her shoulders, then immediately dropped back on. “Who did this to you? Tell me who did this and I’ll help you beat his ass”.

#im sorry if this sucks #please give me advice #fanfic #bobbi morse x reader #bobbi morse #agents of shield #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#cantcontroltheirfearswc #pride month

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innerpostmentality · 6 years ago

Text

Sometimes Beginnings Start With Goodbye III - The Puzzle

This is a TRR AU fan fic inspired by the Choices book series The Royal Romance All rights and many thanks are given to Pixelberry Studios for the use of their characters. This fic is written for my friend @tornbetween2loves it started as a birthday fic and has expanded. Please read these stories in order or they won’t make sense. The series links can be found in my Masterlist. There will be more parts to this series. Pairing: Bastien x Olivia Rating: M - Mature themes/ Erotica

Word count: close to 3000

Warnings: depictions of depression Tagging: @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet @kennaxval @stopforamoment @bobasheebaby @cora-nova @indiacater @hopefulmoonobject @drakewalkerwhipped @carabeth @darley1101 @furiousherringoperatortoad

Olivia strode into the intensive care waiting room her black velvet stiletto heels echoing on the granite floors just as the clock marked 11:30. She immediately focused on Bastien as he rose to greet her. Her heart constricted as she saw how tired and broken he was. Not a hair out of place, immaculately groomed in his traditional black on black but it was there in his eyes, a dullness. She wanted to cry. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, lifted one perfectly shaped brow and pierced him with her emerald gaze. “Have you eaten?” He gave her a small bow, “Your Grace, Lord Beaumont ordered us a pizza when he got here… Thank you for coming.” She was here a bit earlier than he actually had expected her. Runway ready as always, every hair in place, her ensemble a dark burgundy linen sheath dress with stiletto black pumps, a medium handbag he knew was designer without having to look, and a simple string of pink pearls. Her elegance undeniable as ever. He looked in her emerald eyes he’d always found disturbingly attractive though he would never admit it, and he saw something softer there than he’d ever noted before. Her voice brought him out of his contemplation. “So you haven’t actually eaten then.” It wasn’t a question. She walked over and gently shook the sprawled and snoozing Maxwell awake. Bastien noted that she was gentler than usual as she leaned over and called to him. “Max. Maxwell…” He blinked and smiled at her. “Max I’m going to take Bastien to get something to eat and get him out of here for a bit. I need you to stay here and call us if anything changes or any new information is given to you.” She watched him for a moment as he sat up straighter nodding.

“Let’s go for a walk and find something to eat, Bastien.” She slipped her arm through his and led him out of the waiting room and down the hall to the elevator. “Your Grace,” She cut him off. “Olivia.” “Olivia, I believe there is a cafeteria that stays open in the basement.” “Bastien I’m getting you out of this hospital. You aren’t doing any good here. You are wound tight as a spring.” She lifted her brow at him. “We’re going for a walk and something decent to eat.” He let her lead him out of the hospital and down the street a few blocks farther they found a bar still open. The neon sign was small but informed the night that Maenads was open. And the mouthwatering scent of grilled meat permeating the air insured the grill was still open. Bastien opened the door for her and she headed for a long booth in the back. The bar was actually busier than Bastien would expect this late on a week night. Many of the customers seemed to be hospital staff judging by the scrubs that seemed almost as common as more usual bar attire. And Bastien noted that most of them had food and the look of someone taking a work break rather than partying, so he thought the food would probably be reasonable, fast, and good. He slid into the booth on the opposite side from the Duchess as a young woman in a uniform that was designed to look like a Hollywood version of Greek nymph wear came up to the table and asked for their order. Olivia ordered an appetizer plate of spanakopita, dolmades, and falafel, Cider and tomato juice to drink, and plates of moussaka for them both after speaking with the server about when it was made and what went into it. She ordered without asking him then looked across to him after the server had taken the order to the kitchen. Her voice was gentle, “I know you don’t feel hungry. And you probably wouldn’t have ordered so much food. But you called me. And right now I need you to trust me.” She impulsively reached across and patted his hands where he was holding them together on the table. She looked in his steel gray eyes a long moment until he nodded at her. “Good. Now I need to freshen up a bit. I’ll be back.” He watched her slide out of the booth with the graceful ease of years of practice maneuvering out of vehicles and sitting in couture dresses so fitted they could have been painted on. He watched her walk to the lavatories so gloriously in command. He watched her as he’d always watched her with admiration that somewhere through the years had turned into something more. Olivia went into the ladies’ room and was glad that no one else was in there. Picking a stall that had the buildings stone wall as one of its sides she laid against the coolness of the stone breathing in as she counted slowly to ten then out. She only allowed herself ten repetitions of this calming ritual before she used the facilities and washed her hands. She examined herself critically insuring that she was in perfect order before going out to join Bastien. The appetizers had arrived and he was just staring into his tomato juice. “Bastien?” She slid into the booth opposite him. He looked up at his name and she sucked in her breath at the devastation she saw in his gray eyes. Her voice was soft and gentle, “Did Maxwell call? Have you heard anything?” He shook his head. “No, I… I’m sorry your Grace.” She looked at him a long minute. Then nodded. Flagged down one of the staff and told them their order needed to be packaged to go. Bastien looked up confused. She held one finger up at him. Then called Maxwell. “Maxwell I need you to stay there until at least Liam and Giselle arrive. I’m taking Bastien home.” Bastien started to protest and she pressed the finger she was holding up at him gently against his lips to silence him. “Call me if anything changes. Otherwise I want peace. Do Not disturb Bastien. And Maxwell… Thank you.” A few minutes later and they were walking out with a hefty bag of well packaged food and getting into a Lyft heading for Bastien’s house. Bastien was silent looking out the window. Olivia put her hand on his back. She expected him to tense up but he didn’t so she left her hand there. When they arrived she climbed out with the food and paid the driver before Bastien could. He climbed out and held the car door for her expecting her to get back in. She locked eyes with him and shut the car door. “I’m staying.” Bastien started to say something. Olivia lifted one brow her eyes never leaving his. He closed his mouth and offered her his arm and escorted her into his house. “Where do you want to eat? We are going to eat before this gets cold.” He led her into the dining room. “You don’t have to stay, your Grace. I appreciate you coming for me.” “Sit down Bastien.” She started pulling the food out of the bag and setting it out on the table for them. “Would, would you like something to drink?” He was nervous. Suddenly very aware of her, of their privacy, of the clean, crisp scent of her. Olivia pulled the bottles of cider and cans of tomato juice that had been packed with their food out and handed them to Bastien. “Could you open those for me please? This is rather like a picnic isn’t it? Complete with plastic fork, spoon things.” She examined the plastic utensil curiously. Bastien knew she was trying to distract him. And it was working. He never thought he would have the Duchess of Lythikos sitting at his dining room table. There had always been something about Olivia that attracted him. But his duties never allowed him the time to focus on her as he was tempted to do. There was a svelte grace she possessed that was captivating. He opened the bottles of cider and she smiled and took a sip. “Not bad.” She grinned. “Not the first crop so it’s just crisp not bitter. Here, try it.” She handed him the bottle she had sipped from and watched as he took a drink. “Well, what do you think?” The cool, tart sweetness actually reminded him of her and brought a hint of a smile to his face as he watched her. “Wonderful.” He took another sip as he admired her. She picked up one of the dolmades and nibbled it. Then nodded and swiped it through some Tzatziki sauce tasted it again. Then offered him a bite. “Do you like them better with the sauce or without?” His gray eyes studied her as she fed him. He had never really thought of her as a care giver and this side of her was a revelation to him. He was very aware of her touches. He wasn’t sure if it was conscious on her part. But he knew it comforted him at some primal level. She looked in his eyes and gently stroked his cheek then took her seat. “Let’s try the moussaka. It should be good.” He picked up the spork and tasted the food certain if he didn’t she would feed him. While he wasn’t opposed to her care he was feeling more inclined to eat now and watch her enjoy her food. Her green eyes were attentive to him. And she continued to casually touch him as they ate. “Bastien, may I ask you something?” “Of course, your… Olivia.” He caught himself, his voice was soft as he said her name. She hesitated a little before she met his eyes. “I’ve known you for years and yet actually know very little about you, Bastien. How is it that I know your birthday is November 11 but I don’t know what drink you prefer, or if you like cake?” “We socialize in different circles, … Olivia. When you are socializing; I am working.” He searched the emerald beauty of her eyes for a moment. “I’m surprised you know my birthday to be honest.” He looked down a little surprised to find he’d cleaned his plate. “As to your questions,” he smiled softly. “I like Zeos lager. And chocolate cake.” Smiling she nodded. “I would have guessed chocolate cake. But not the beer. I would have thought, martinis or something more like aged single malt whiskey, straight.” She looked over the remains of the food and handed him the last bit of spanakopita then stood up and started picking up the empty containers and putting them back in the bag. She asked him where the trash was and disposed of it then came back and took his hand. “Come on Bastien it’s bed time.” He looked up at her surprise registering in his grey eyes. Then he took her hand and stood up. He led her upstairs to a guest bedroom. Opening the door and turning on the light. He went in and pulled a set of sheets and a comforter out of the closet. She watched him a moment with a thoughtful look. “Have you got a spare tee shirt I can borrow? I can make the bed if you’ll get me a shirt to sleep in.” He nodded, “Of course.” A moment later he returned with a soft, fresh smelling shirt and helped her finish making the bed. When they were finished making the bed she went and hugged him. It took a moment before his arms wrapped gently around her. Then he found himself reluctant to let her go as her warmth seeped into him and her arms around him gave him comfort. But he did. Bowing over her hand, air kissing it. His voice soft and hoarse, “Thank you, Your Grace, Olivia.” He squeezed her hand and met her eyes one more time before leaving the room closing the door quietly behind him. Olivia looked at that door frowning for a long moment before she stripped out of her clothes slipping into his tee-shirt and hanging her clothes in the closet. She went to the bathroom and rinsed her mouth still not liking that Bastien was alone out there. But she wasn’t sure how much she could push. She climbed in the bed and looked at her phone. No messages. It was 1:30 in the morning. At 2:30 she was still not asleep so she got up and padded her way downstairs in search of a glass of water. He was at the kitchen table sobbing. She went to him and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment he turned and wrapped his arms around her weeping into her chest. Taking his hand she tugged him gently urging him to follow her. She led him upstairs to his room turning on the bedside lamp before she started undressing him. He didn’t know how she knew to come to him. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. But she was an angel of light in a world that was so dark she was salvation itself to him in that moment. So he watched though his tears as she carefully undid his tie and his shirt buttons and his belt slipping them off him. He watched as she turned the comforter and sheets back and pushed him gently to sit. And he sat and watched her take his shoes off and socks and pants then she laid him back in the bed covering him and went to the other side of the bed and climbed in next to him. She pulled him to her side wrapping her arms around him. And finally, carefully he wrapped his arms around her. Curled his body to her side and closed his eyes. Olivia closed her eyes holding him. Feeling the tension in him she stroked him soothingly, kissing the top of his head. Neither of them realized exactly when comfort turned to desire. When his large hand splayed across her stomach drifted to her breast beneath his tee shirt. When she lifted his chin to look in his eyes before she sealed her mouth to his, gently, slowly, teasing across his lips with her tongue, inviting him. Neither spoke fearing to break the spell of healing passion that was growing between them. Their eyes locked, acknowledging, granting permission. Their breaths shortened, syncing as they explored each other touching, savoring the taste of kisses realized only in dreams before these moments. Olivia reached down and pulled her thong off. Bastien kissed her hands reverently then locked eyes with her again as he placed her hand on his boxers over his erection. She lifted her shirt and brought his mouth to her breast before she slipped her hand in his boxers to stroke the velvet steel she found there. He moaned so low she felt it in her bones more than she heard it. Then he was slipping his boxers off. His eyes never leaving hers as he slipped a finger along her slick labia watching her reaction. He spread her folds with his fingers then rolled over her kissing her, moaning his need as he entered her, slipping carefully into her slick channel. She gasped as she stretched to accommodate him. Tears were running down his cheeks as he thrust into her looking in her eyes with such profound need her tears joined his. The intensity of their passion so honed, so synchronized they saw the instant their orgasms blossomed together. He tried to pull out knowing there was no protection but she locked her legs around his hips holding him in her deeply as she came with him her body so thirsty for all his love their eyes locked together as her body milked him of every drop of seed he could give her. He looked in her eyes in the grip of their passion and understood. At last that puzzle that had been before him was solved. How she healed him. Why she came for him. What it was in her voice. Why he had never married. They were in love. He didn’t know when it had happened. He suspected for him it had happened years ago. Now he was looking at it clearly in her eyes. And he finally had to speak. His voice was a deep soft caress as their breathing evened, bodies still joined. “Olivia, I love you.” She burst into tears and covered his mouth with her hand. “Please don’t tell me that Bastien. Not now.” He looked in her eyes and stroked her tears away. “Very well. But it is true.” “There’s too much going on. And you are too hurt right now. And I.. I can’t bare the thought that when Drake gets better you might regret… So just please, not now. I need to know, to be sure it’s not this thing going on. I’m such an idiot at times. Just come here and hold me. We have to get some sleep.” She saw his smile and his eyes were clear for the first time since she’d arrived. Bastien rolled over and turned off the bedside lamp then rolled back and pulled her to him spooning her tightly against his body and went to sleep. She felt him relax and heard the soft rhythm of his breathing, his arms wrapped around her. His body pressed close and she murmured the words her heart had kept for so long. “I love you too, Bastien.”

#choices trr #trr #trr fanfic #trr bastien #baslivia #trr au fanfic

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virmillion · 5 years ago

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Ibytm - T minus 43 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,994

If you were to ask Logan, straight faced, no pomp, no circumstance, why he’s waited so long to tell Virgil about his promotion, he would probably do one of two things. Tell you the truth, or walk away in silence. Whether that silence is ashamed is up to you.

He’s hidden the new position for a couple months now—working closely with Mr. Jolenta all the while—and he still hasn’t told Virgil about it. Never the right time, never the right place, maybe he forgets, maybe Virgil doesn’t ask. His only saving grace is how many extra hours he was already working before the promotion—Virgil seems to have hardly noticed his increased absence. Maybe not the best outlook on the situation.

So when Logan leaves work even later than usual, some three aught months after his talk with Miss Katie-Lee, and finds himself caught in a thunderstorm, he wonders whether it would be the worst idea in the world to take it as a sign. If he were the type of person to read into those things, maybe he would.

As it stands, he waves back to Roman, who turns right and away as he leaves for the day. Logan absently thanks his lucky stars (not for the first time) that the old intern never told the news to Virgil. It probably helps that Roman got his own boost—from intern to full timer—but Logan will take what he can get.

He sighs to himself when he sees the apartment building shining between the raindrops. An easily overcome distance never looked so good. Logan picks up the pace, bolting for the stairs as soon as he reaches the complex. It’s a wonder his soaked shoes don’t slip out from under him on the concrete steps. Kicking the main door shut behind him as he enters the main room, he zeroes in on the couch and allows exhaustion to take him over. The new position, while nice in terms of the raise, is more than a little taxing.

A couple hours later, Logan wakes up to his phone pinging with a new message. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and unlocks the screen. Your Boy wants you to look at the island, it reads. Roman’s name scrolls across the top of the display. Said you’ll know what it means.

Logan sends off a thanks to Roman and yawns, glancing at the floating counter in the kitchenette. A travel mug of coffee atop a torn sheet of lined paper covered in dark blue ink awaits.

Lifting the mug to his lips, he reads over the note out of the corner of his eye. Meet at the photoshoot park. V. He hesitates, taking another pull of coffee and wondering what a photoshoot park could be. Slowly but surely, an image floats into his mind of Virgil beside a pond, showing off a cardigan that Logan hasn’t seen in ages.

He’s out the front door before the minute hand on his watch can tick over.

Miraculously, the storm has passed, which does nothing to ease Logan’s nerves as he wonders what this all could be about. Maybe Virgil found out about the promotion and got pissed that Logan didn’t tell him sooner. Maybe Roman told him, and he’s mad about having to hear it secondhand. Maybe he started picking up on how much extra wiggle room they’d had in their wallets lately. Admittedly not very much, as most of it goes toward bills that Virgil pretends not to notice, but an extra candy bar in the cupboard is nothing to scoff at.

The whole way to the park, Logan swerves around shrinking puddles that gather in holes burrowed through the sidewalk. With the abating rain and the moon trying to peek through the thinning clouds, his spirits lift enough for his mind to make a decision it has no business making. He’s going to tell Virgil about the promotion tonight, and maybe ask him a certain question that’s been hovering unspoken in the air between them, heavier than he would’ve thought possible these last several months. His hand instinctively flies to the lump in his jacket pocket, the contents of which he’s been carrying around for something to the tune of a year now.

He slips his hand around it as he approaches the park entrance, doing his best to look natural. Remarkably difficult a task, given his train of thought right now, but still. Careful to stay on the least muddy parts of the dirt path—an incredibly low bar to clear, mind you—Logan follows the trail into the heart of the park, taking vague note of how empty it is. Granted, very few self-respecting parents would bring their kids to a park so late at night like this, but the lack of other people is still unnerving.

A wave of relief washes over him when he sees Virgil’s familiar silhouette hunched in front of the pond. With one leg curled up under his chin and the other resting on the ground, Logan might believe he were asleep, were it not for the way he drums his fingers on the red and white checkerboard blanket beneath him. Actually, if the fringed texture is anything to go by, that might just be a beach towel.

Spread across the mat is an assortment of tupperwares with various maroon-tinted lids, each lightly capped and boasting basic picnic food. You’ve got your usual suspects—hot dogs, potato and macaroni salads, orange slices—and then you’ve got what looks like a valiant attempt at pasta. Maybe. It’s definitely a yellowed white, but that’s about all the investigation Logan manages before he notices the plastic tea lights set up around the corner of the blanket. Moreover, he notices the thing absorbing most of their artificial light—his glasses case, resting against Virgil’s side. Would he—? No, he wouldn’t, not with a glasses case.

Would he?

“What’s all this?” Logan asks, feeling the damp grass squelch underfoot as he steps off the path.

Virgil hardly flinches at his approach, not even turning around to address his question. “Just something special I wanted to do for you, since you’ve been so busy lately.” So he did notice. “You gonna sit down, or just keep standing there like a creep-o?”

After planting a kiss on Virgil’s head, Logan tucks his legs beneath him as he takes a position on the other side of the blanket. The glasses case rests between them. He runs his hand over the blanket and nods to himself. Definitely a beach towel. “You really did all this just to give me a nice night? All of it?”

“All of it.” Virgil indicates the various tupperware with a general wave, not looking away from the pond. “I couldn’t find, like, a picnic basket or anything, and this towel ran me a solid nine bucks at Target, but I think I did a pretty darn decent job of making that fettuccine alfredo like you taught me. All by myself, too. Can’t believe you slept through all that prep noise.”

“I’m so proud,” Logan says, scooting closer to wrap an arm around Virgil’s shoulders. “What are the chances you thought to bring along utensils for this little outing of yours?”

“Pretty high, I would say.” Virgil produces yet another tupperware filled with plastic forks and knives and, knowing him, at least one spork. Priorities, people.

Logan follows Virgil’s gaze to the pond as he fumbles around for the nearest tupperware, content to watch the ripples skate across the surface in silence. Granted, they started those cooking lessons a while ago, but Virgil still managed to pull off some objectively impressive work tonight.

As the moon makes its slow trek across the sky, chasing away the last brave clouds into mist, Logan’s mind argues with his mouth over whether now is a good time to tell Virgil about the promotion. The best time probably would’ve been a couple months ago, but still. Just as he resolves to bring it up, Virgil decides his own voice should take priority. Perfectly fine by Logan.

“See that huge moon up there?”

“Yeah?”

“I still want you to bring it to me.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about that. I’m just working out a contract with my people selling me the stars. The moon isn’t cheap, you know.” Virgil nods, quirking his mouth to the side and glancing at the heavens above. No time like the present. “Hey, um, I actually did have something I wanted to talk to you about. Kind of regarding the stars, actually.”

“Well, heck. I had something I wanted to talk about, too. Not regarding the stars, though.” Virgil glances from Logan to the glasses case and back, and if Logan didn’t know better, he might think that was a blush creeping across Virgil’s face.

Maybe he doesn’t know better.

A moment’s pause, and they both say in sync, “You can go first. No, you. Really, it’s—you can—okay, I’ll—” Virgil stops first, pretending to zip his lips. The glasses case stares at Logan. He stares back. The stars, the park, the picnic, the secrecy? What else could it be?

He waits for Virgil to talk again, but his boyfriend merely fixes him with a pointed stare. Logan swallows around the lump in his throat. “So, um, you remember that meeting I had? Like, a few months ago?”

“Oh, right, that huge interview deal or whatever. You never told me how that went down.”

“So as it turns out, um, I got the promotion, and it put me even higher than they told me it might.”

“What! Babe, that’s fantastic news! When did you find out? When do you start?”

Logan sucks a sharp breath through his teeth and winces. “Um. The day of the meeting? Same day offer, next day start.”

Virgil goes stiff under Logan’s arm, but he doesn’t pull away. Not yet, at least. “That, um, that’s great. Really, really good. Why did you not tell me sooner?” Logan can’t bring himself to look at Virgil’s face. He doesn’t want to know if this comes off as bad as it feels. It probably does. It’s probably worse.

“I didn’t, um, I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. It meant more hours, a heavier workload, more things I have to oversee, not to mention that I’m being considered for training to become an actual, legitimate, genuine part of the aeronautic branch of the company.”

Virgil remains silent long after Logan forces the truth out all in one breath, not looking away from a growing ripple on the pond. It bumps up against a rock, rebounding across the surface before dithering to hide in the reedy grass. “I’m happy for you, really, I just—it’s just really sucky that you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“I know, I know, and that was a super bad move on my part. I just didn’t want you to worry, since astronaut work is obviously way more dangerous than basic intern stuff, not that I have to, y’know, tell you that.” Logan laughs uncomfortably. Virgil does not laugh back.

“Yeah, well, no shit, Sherlock.” Virgil finally moves out from under Logan’s arm and whips his head around to stare at him. Logan can’t tell whether he’s mad or hurt or both. Maybe both. Probably both. “You not wanting to hurt my feelings doesn’t make it suck any less that you didn’t tell me about something so big. Do you have even the smallest sense of how crappy this feels for me?”

“I just—no, I don’t. I don’t because you’ve never put me through anything like this, and it’s cruel and unacceptable on my end, and I wish I’d told you sooner, because you being mad at me is just about the worst I’ve ever felt, and that’s not even slightly on you, and I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough, but I am, and I just wanted you to know that. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I sprung it on you like this. Truly, I am. I care about you so, so much, more than any promotion or any picnic could say.”

Virgil hesitates, working a few muscles in his jaw. “Maybe not just any picnic.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Virgil scoots closer to Logan and shifts his gaze to the stars, looping Logan’s arm back over his shoulders. For fear of seeing tears there, Logan doesn’t meet his eyes. “It’s okay, just—it’s just a lot. I mean, I’m happy for you. Had to happen eventually, right, so you could work on getting off-planet? That’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“Yeah, I—it is. It really is.”

“Plus, it might be a little easier for you to get me my present if you can actually, physically go to space.”

“Your present?”

“The moon.”

“Right, right, the moon. How do I keep forgetting that?” An awkward silence falls, during which Logan finds his eyes drawn to the glasses case. There’s no way he’s misreading this, the situation is just way too obvious. Why else would Virgil go to all these lengths to set this up?

When Virgil moves to grab the glasses case, Logan nearly chokes on an inhale.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs.

“What?” Virgil hesitates, his hand freezing a few inches above the case. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just—just finish whatever you were about to do.” Logan is trying very hard to maintain a passive expression. He is failing miserably.

“Okay, weirdo.” Virgil shifts his body to hide the contents of the case as he pulls it into his lap and stares at whatever rests inside. Silence. And more silence. And more.

“So,” Logan says suddenly. His voice very much cracks. “Um, so earlier, you said you had something to talk about? Not regarding the stars, I mean.” His heart leaps out of his chest as that familiar pinkness spreads across Virgil’s cheeks.

“Right. Yes. Um.” Virgil hems and haws a good while longer, glancing between Logan and the glasses case. “Well, I mean, I guess this is kind of hard to say—not that there’s any easy way to put it, I guess, unless I wrote it on a piece of paper or something like if I had a script, but—”

“Just spit it out, love.”

Virgil swivels the case around to face Logan, who swears he can see a sparkle reflected inside from the tea lights. His heart is now firmly lodged in his throat. “I was reorganizing some stuff earlier, and I think I may have accidentally broken your backup glasses. Sorry about that.”

Logan can only stare in flabbergasted silence as Virgil places the case on his knee, and sure enough, his old prescription rests inside, snapped along the bridge. His heart finds a new forever home somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. “Are you kidding me?”

“I know, I messed up too, but I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

“ That’s what all this fuss was about?”

“I’m not sure I understand your confusion.” Virgil looks at Logan, then down at the case, and immediately straightens his back as his mouth drops into a surprised ‘O.’ “Oh. Oh. You thought—oh my god, you thought that I was gonna—”

“Yeah, yes, I did think that you were gonna. I really did.”

“Well, if I were to do, you know, that, I certainly wouldn’t be so tacky or nervous about it.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Logan’s hand falls to the familiar rounded cube in his pocket. “Great, so tell me how you would do it instead, then.”

“Well, y’know, I think I might do it a little something like this.” Virgil leans away from Logan, reaching for something in his back pocket. Logan’s heart is steadily making its way up his spine. He starts shaking his head, slowly at first, then faster, faster faster faster. Virgil produces a little velvet box. Oceans of goosebumps race from Logan’s shoulders to his trembling fingers. When he thought he knew what to expect, he sort of believed it, but seeing it actually happening? Forget it. Out of the question.

“Logan Marcus Walders,” Virgil says, shifting to one knee.

“Oh my god.”

“These last few years have easily been the best of my entire life.”

“Oh my god.”

“No other geeky little shortstop has ever caught my eye so quickly as you did.” His voice cracks on the word ever. Logan’s heart is hovering somewhere near the upper limits of the atmosphere right now.

“Oh my god.”

“Would you stop saying that and just let me get through this before I lose my nerve?” Virgil flips open the box and holds it closer to Logan, who is shaking his head faster than ever. He isn’t even certain he’s still breathing, and his heart has left the scene entirely. “You mean the absolute world to me and beyond, Logan, and there is absolutely no one on or above this planet that I’d rather explore it with. You promised me the moon at my price of the stars, but I would sacrifice all of that and more in an instant if you would do me the honor of marrying me.”

Logan shakes his head harder still, unable to form words as tears bead up at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t—”

“Fine, I’ll say it again, but this is the last time, okay?” Virgil licks his lips and gives a hollow laugh. The box trembles in his hands. “Logan Marcus Walders, notable soon-to-be space explorer, ambassador to the stars, will you marry me?”

“I don’t—I don’t know what to—”

“It’s a yes or no question,” Virgil whispers, his voice wobbling more than his hands holding a box holding a ring holding the promise of their future together.

“Yes,” Logan finally manages to choke out. “Yes, yes, a million times over, a million worlds away, yes.”

#labhwrites #mine #i'll bring you the moon #ibytm

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coolhopefulkidbouquetlove-blog · 6 years ago

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leaveharmony · 7 years ago

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Hogwarts Foeyay: A History

Because the box marked coping mechanisms / self care is empty save for a napkin with “hyperfixate on nonsense” scribbled on it, ‘cos @breadclubrising suggested once I redo it in post form, and because I've been meaning to anyway.

Why do I ship Shinsuke & Tana*, by T’Sora, age 5.

*(OBVIOUSLY I mean in kayfabe**)

**(although tbh the statements “No of course they’ve never had that kind of relationship in actuality” and “Yeah they were at it like rabbits” would cause in me the exact same lack of surprise. It’s my only wresting ship tbh but this canoe paddles itself)

The first time I saw Tana, I thought he was a heel. A perfect storm of complete ignorance of New Japan and blind love for Shinsuke resulted in my assumption that he was a beloved babyface, and therefore anyone fighting him was by default a heel; this ignoring the fact that I'd watched him use blatant heel tactics against Ibushi mere minutes before, and swat Red Shoes aside like an irritating mosquito, besides. I forget what specific match it was but it was definitely a multi-man tag. I know for certain Yujiro was in it, because the Tanahashi / Takahashi problem had me distracted for most of the match, with a further YOSHI-HASHI complication thrown in for good measure. YOSHI's was the first name I learned, which may go some way towards explaining my unwavering love for Tacos. If I recall rightly, I solved it with TaNahashi, Not in CHAOS, TaKahashi, CHAOS but spelled wrong. (or right, depending on how much fearless leader'd had to drink that day)

But I digress. Tana had the Intercontinental title, which was clearly Shinsuke's belt, and my first read on the situation was that he must be a jerk, and they probably hated each other. We all of us sometimes make mistakes. -_-

I think it was the pre-WK8 VTR that caused me to reassess this conclusion...I used to watch anything I could find in a frantic attempt to play catch-up and learn everything there was to learn.

(it ends with this, because blowing kisses at your rival is definitely a thing people do)

It of course included some scenes from what I affectionately call the ‘Wrestleprom invitation,’ which reads less like a mocking challenge to a mortal enemy and more like a flirtatious dare which would have started with “What are you wearing?” if it was a late-night phonecall.

Key moments: When Shinsuke, all fired up after his title defense & having laid out an invitation to the ring sees that Tana is on his way down the aisle, lets loose a radiant smile that could have powered a continent for about half a year:

When Tana comes out with his lips puckered in what he probably meant to be a skeptical or cautious way but just hilariously makes it look like he thinks a dip-kiss is a forgone conclusion to this encounter

This fucking exchange of expressions. This is like...a time-stop, right here. Everybody comes in footloose and fancy free until they stop avoiding eye contact; when they stop looking at beruto and start looking at each-other, this happens. Shinsuke's tone goes from cocky to soft, his face goes from arrogant to almost tender. Tana's apparently so thrown by the sudden shift in mood that he, the Ace of New Japan, can't handle the intensity of the look on Shinsuke's face and actually drops his gaze for a few seconds. Not, looking off to the side or looking at the crowd, the camera, the title...not an act of defiance or gesture of indifference, but something like a flicker of momentary vulnerability or uncertainty. Like it's painful or overwhelming for some reason and he involuntarily shows this, which is just...for someone as poised as Tana who probably started perfecting his facial expressions in the mirror at age 13, is almost startling.

When Tana recovers himself after being momentarily wrong-footed, and makes Shinsuke PAY for that half-second loss of control with a torturous wait for him to actually speak. Shinsuke, ham that he is, runs through about 18 different facial variations of "Oh please oh please oh please please please" even while he looks like he's trying not to laugh at the way Tana's toying with him.

Tana's opening gambit and Shinsuke's immediate reaction to it: “It's been a while.”

After that everything reverts back to normal, with Tana being a dork and Shinsuke being a dork right back, and it's a date.

In the same VTR, iirc the first thing Tana says is to call them “Rivals,” but something about the way he smiles when he says it made me laugh and think “Ohhhhhh - it's rivals with quotation marks.”

Of course it didn't take me long to run into what has become my favourite match: the G1 Climax 25 final.

Which had

Its share

Of moments

That may

Have contributed

To shipping them.

I know I talk about this every single time but the bit where Shinsuke raises Tana's hand only after Tana's taken two steps forward because he thinks they're going to hug and the subsequent grumpy look on his face when Shinsuke swerves him is forever hilarious to me.

Of course as I became more familiar with everything I learned they were once a tag team, and lost my entire shit about it. I've only found a few matches from that time (the most fun of which was the match from Mexico where they won one fall by pinning the guy together).

But there are a fair number of absolutely fucking quality pictures of their Mexican excursion which in the right viewing order absolutely makes them look like newlyweds on honeymoon.

Probably some of the dynamic stems from them + Shibata having been slated as the new “Three Musketeers,” only for Shibata to fuck off & leave them as two people shouldering a burden rather than three, in the middle of a difficult time and with the future anything but assured.

There's literally a whole book about them - which I can't yet actually read without some considerable effort over like, at least a year (it's in the to-read pile but so are four of Shinsuke's books and one of Tana's). Probably for reasons of Vince Owns His Soul Now Shinsuke didn't do a lot of hyping for it so it fell to Tana, who, roughly translated, offered this gem about their relationship: “If I'm the sun, Shinsuke is like the moon. Even if one of us is gone, there's no New Japan without Tanahashi and Nakamura.”

Verbally, most things come from Tana. Calling Shinsuke ‘a good-looking guy,’ talking about being ‘lonely’ without Shinsuke & hoping they'll ‘meet again someday,’ because ‘surely, this can’t be it,’ referring to the Intercontinental title as his ‘lifeline’ (and chasing it so hard, and shouting-out with Shinsuke's signature gesture when he won it, and refusing to tap out & lose it even up to the point of injury & referee stoppage). When talking about them, Tana almost always uses ‘ 二人’ which means two people but also means ‘couple’ - one of the few words I had actually retained from a first aborted attempt to learn the language, because of a line in a Gackt song which was....not platonic in tone or meaning. Or I’d think I was tinhatting. Tana definitely sees them as a matched & indivisible pair, though, regardless of context.

Shinsuke's cues are both more and less subtle, as he rarely says anything on the subject but often does things like this

And this

When interacting with or talking about his....rival.

“Rival”

This is how he chose to finally look at him during the press conference for G1 24, little sigh and all.

I suppose the really painful smoking gun is the part I hate most. If Tana's grumpy face after G1 25 suggested “What's a guy gotta do to get a Moment around here?!” than the answer was, “Lose his other half forever, maybe.” Because the last match is like being stabbed 47 times in the heart with a dull spork and then rolling around in hot sauce & vinegar. For lots of reasons! But extra-specially because of all their interactions. The crowd, first off, literally boos Goto for inserting himself into the Moment & delaying their face-off. Which is....charged, when it comes.

The best and worst thing Kenny has ever done was walk out into this sea of emotion and try to make it about him. I remember actually yelling curses at the screen as soon as I heard his voice (while still sobbing uncontrollably), because how fucking dare he, who the fuck does he think he is to imagine himself important or even significant in this moment if all moments? But it wasn't...about...Kenny. It was a quiet little stroke of genius, Kenny could have been anything or anyone, he was a non-entity and a means to an end; he was there for no other reason than to be an irritating twit yammering nonsense at the most important person in the building. Because as soon as he started, this happened.

A man being Once Again ditched by someone who ought to be holding up a share of the burden reacted not with hostility towards his departing rival, but in his defense. Shinsuke, as soon as Tana literally placed himself between them gets this brilliant “Well, holy shit.” look on his face.

And Tana, reading Kenny the riot act, finally gets his Moment.

Which I think I may have found pictures of from every angle in Korakuen by now

(I'd just like to shout-out in appreciation of the frozen rictus on Kenny's face, which is very articulately saying “This is the gayest shit I've ever seen, and I literally told a member of the press I was gonna marry my tag partner”)

When the dust settles, we're again left with futari, two people, a couple. Asked about the scene later, Tana would say that it was the last moments for CHAOS together, too, and he didn't want to distract from that so he pulled away quickly. “But....I couldn't help but look back one more time at Nakamura.” “"He didn't seem to notice,” the interviewer pointed out. “"No, he didn't notice,” laughed Tana. “I guess it's unrequited love forever.”

#Pretty Soldier Nakamura #Tanariffic #Rasslin'#OTP: In the Cards

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whalefairyfandom12 · 7 years ago

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Your Love’s a Fucking Drag (But I Need It So Bad)

Summary: Dan likes black and leather jackets, Phil likes reading in solitude and playing video games. But they have one thing in common as new roommates at uni: They are both completely straight. Just because they like to get each other off every once in a while doesn’t make it any different.

A/N: So I just checked the masterpost and apparently it’s almost been a year since my last chapter. Open apology to Rachel and anyone that still reads this for the massive delay--hopefully I won’t take another year next time haha. Also the Halloween parts are because I was going to post this in October/November until I lost power so enjoy some seasonally appropriate spooks.

Word Count: 3383

tw; language, smoking, smut

co-written with botanistlester

Masterpost

Chapter Ten

There were certain facts in life that were indisputable. Beyonce was queen, Jar Jar Binks was a stain on humanity, water was wet, and Dan Howell was hot. And because it was indisputable acknowledgment of the latter was normal, healthy even. It didn’t mean Phil was gay or anything, just that he had eyes and appreciated aesthetically pleasing things.

So noticing the strangely attractive combination of sexy and adorable that was Dan’s still damp hair was a perfectly heterosexual thing to do. Phil was just confident enough in his masculinity to notice.

Dan was surveying himself in the mirror, arms crossed. A black and white plaid shirt tapered around his waist over a pair of black skinny jeans. “How do I look?” he asked, turning to pose dramatically. It should’ve looked ridiculous--and it did, but Dan broke character, smiling widely enough for his dimple to show and fuck if he didn’t look good.

“Yeah. Really good.” Phil cleared his throat, mouth dry. “You’re leaving your hair curly?”

“I was thinking about embracing the hobbit hair on a more permanent basis.”

“Why?” The word emerged more incredulous than Phil had intended, but the unrelenting curliness of his roommate’s hair had always been one of his favorite subjects of complaint.

Dan made a contemplative sound, reaching for his jacket. “It never stays straight for one. I step outside and if there’s any humidity I look like a deformed hedgehog. And…” he trailed off, shrugging. “I guess it doesn’t look that bad when it’s shorter.” He slung his coat over his arm, popping open the door. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

Phil shook his head. “I don’t want to crash your date,” he said, supportive smile strained.

“What?” Dan blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “What are you talking about?”

“Your romantic evening with Cheryl?”

“We’re just going as friends,” Dan clarified. “We talked a few days ago and realized there was no point in letting something like what happened ruin a perfectly good friendship.” Personally, Phil wasn’t sure how cheating could be summed up as casually as ‘something like this,’ but he nodded anyway. “So you wouldn’t be crashing. I think Jo and Avery are coming too.”

Phil choked on his own spit, book tumbling to the floor. Dan was there in a flash, dusting the cover off and handing it over. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was just surprised.” Surprised was putting it lightly, considering one of the last times he’d seen Dan and Avery together they looked like they were going to punch each other. He sighed, making a face as his gaze returned to his English. He did have the whole weekend, and part of him wanted to be there in case anything happened. “Okay,” he said finally. “If you’re sure.”

Dan’s expression lit up. “Positive.”

Phil rolled off the sofa, shoving his feet into his trainers. He wasn’t anywhere as dressed up as Dan, but he figured Illuminati t-shirts were always in style. “One condition, you have to share your popcorn.”

Dan rolled his eyes, lips pressing together in a smile. “And here I thought you actually wanted to spend time with me.”

“I do, but it’s mostly about the food.” Phil ducked through the door, Dan following and locking it behind them. “Did you grab the key?”

Dan jangled the keys in his pocket. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

“One that usually does.”

The boy elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, spork.”

Phil elbowed him back, smiling. Dan’s nicknames devolved on the daily, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t at least a little endearing. “What movie are we watching?”

“It. I’m excited to see it, but in terms of movies coming out at the end of this year I think I’m more hyped for Star Wars,” Dan said. “I really hope they don’t show the trailer because I’ve been trying not to watch it. I want it to be full immersion.”

“For it to be a ‘star war’ does it have to involve multiple planets or does it just have to happen on a planet far far away?” Phil mused. “Like if someone on Tatooine was learning about World War II would that be a star war or an earth war?”

“I think it has to involve other planets?” Dan said, frowning. “So earth war? I still don’t understand why Kylo Ren built what was basically a clone of the first death star. I get he had a thing for Vadar but that was stupid even for him.”

“I think that’s just called bad writing,” Phil said wryly.

Dan laughed. “I think you’re right. There’s a special place in hell for plot holes. They’re not even a pet peeve anymore--they’re ruining my life.” He pulled out his phone, turning it on to reveal a picture they’d taken at Marzia’s last month. Dan’s arm was slung over his shoulder, free hand making his signature peace sign. Phil had pulled a face at the last minute, crossing his eyes and making a fish mouth. “We’re running a few minutes late,” he said.

“I don’t mind missing the previews.” Phil gave him a wary look. “Are you going to fall off your chair when there’s a jumpscare?”

Dan’s eyes widened in horror. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Jesus.”

“I’ll pretend to spill my Pepsi so no one sees.”

“Thank you Phil. What a true friend.”

“I try.”

“Seriously though,” Dan said, with another glance at his phone. “We were supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

“I’ll race you there,” Phil offered. “And by race I mean run three meters before collapsing on the ground from lack of exercise.”

Dan was grinning, already getting into position. “It’s on Lester.”

“Are you going to make me sleep with all the lights on again?” Phil asked.

Dan nodded. “Protect me dad. And also move over.”

Phil rolled his eyes, sliding further into the booth nonetheless. They were grabbing dinner post movie before heading back to campus, and he was crammed in between Jo and Dan in the middle of the bench. Cheryl and Avery were draped over each other across the table, and the rest of them had come to a mutual agreement not to disrupt them for the sake of everyone’s innocence.

“I didn’t think it was that scary,” Jo said, winding one of the straw wrappers around her finger. “More suspense than horror.”

“I might have some clown related nightmares,” Phil said. “But only for tonight, not the whole week unlike someone I know.” He turned towards Dan, nudging him with his foot. “I could always tie a red balloon to your bed when you’re least expecting it.”

Dan narrowed his eyes. “Only if you want to me to put knives in the cereal.”

“What? Why?”

“Because then,” he said empathetically, face centimeters away from Phil’s. “Maybe you’d learn your lesson Lester.”

“Save the domestic shit for the bedroom,” Avery interrupted loudly. He and Cheryl had finally remembered they were two separate entities and dismounted, though Phil noted with some amusement that their knees were still pressed together under the table.

“Only if you do,” Dan retorted.

Avery huffed amusedly. “Fair point.” Surprisingly, he and Dan had gotten along fine so far. He and Cheryl spent most of the evening off in their own world, and the few interactions had been civil enough.

“Hey Phil.”

Phil looked up at the sound of Cheryl’s voice, chewing on the end of his straw absentmindedly. “Yeah?”

“You’re coming to my party this weekend, right?”

He spat his water onto the placemat, Dan patting him on the back helpfully. “Sorry?”

“Dan already said he was coming,” Cheryl continued.

“I did?”

“--And you can be his plus one! It’ll be so much fun.”

Phil couldn’t help but remember what had happened the last time he’d attended a party Cheryl had promised would be fun. “I’m not really a party kind of person.”

“Please?”

He met Dan’s eyes, raising a questioning eyebrow. Dan inclined his head, shrugging as if to say if you’re in. Resigned, he looked back to Cheryl. Hopefully the alcohol would be stronger this time. “Okay.”

Thursday afternoon Phil came home to two boxes of flying saucers, enough Cadbury eggs, Aero bars, and Galaxy chocolate to feed his entire English class, and another box of what he was pretty sure were Maltesers sitting on the floor. Dan was sprawled across the carpet, phone in one hand and a Mars bar in the other.

“I’m glad you remembered to buy food for game night,” Phil said. “But I think you might’ve overdone it a little.”

Dan smiled innocently, holding aloft a bursting bag. Phil didn’t even want to know where he’d been hiding it. “Actually, that’s mine. This is for tonight.”

“I don’t understand how you we haven’t died from a heart attack yet.”

“Says the one who ate all the marshmallows last time we tried to bake.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Or the chocolate chips last time I wanted to bake cookies?”

Phil shook his head disapprovingly. “We really need to take care of the mouse problem. They keep eating all of our hard earned ingredients.”

“Yes, because I’m sure the mice have developed opposable thumbs advanced enough to open packaging.”

“It’s possible. Can I at least have a Cadbury egg?” Dan tossed him one wordlessly. “Thanks.” He settled next to the other boy, back resting against the sofa. “Do you want to watch the episode of Riverdale we missed?”

Dan held up a finger in the universal wait for it symbol, pulling his laptop out of his bag and opening it. The page was already queued to the episode, and the cursor hovered over play. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Phil adjusted his grip on Susan’s arms, eyes widening in amusement at his reflection. Because he wasn’t already broke enough, he had a slightly unhealthy hobby of investing in strangely wonderful crap that had very little actual use. The stress mushroom had been bad enough, but he thought maybe the inflatable gargoyle could be considered slightly worse. Or better, depending on your point of view.

“What the hell is that?”

Phil patted Susan’s head, beaming. He spun to face Dan, throwing his arms out in a dramatic pose. His inflatable Halloween costume had arrived this morning, but he was only just getting a chance to try it out. “What do you think? It’s for Cheryl’s party.”

“I think it should go back to Hell where it belongs,” Dan said. He reached out and poked Susan’s head, making a face. “Do I even want to know where you found this?”

“Her name is Susan, and you know how Amazon suggests things for you?” Phil shrugged, an impressive feat given his current position.

Dan shook his head. “I’m not even surprised anymore.”

“I think they had a pink version if you’re interested.”

“You know, I think I’m good.”

Phil bent over, giving him a headbutt from Susan. “Try laying on it. It’s really comfortable, actually.”

Dan gave him a look. “No thanks.”

Susan gave him another headbutt. “Come on.” His roommate gave a long suffering sigh, resting his head against the gargoyle’s shoulder. “Weirdly comfy, right?”

Dan sighed, pressing a hand against his forehead. “Yes Phil, I love having an air pump bore a hole into my pocket.”

“It’s okay Susan,” Phil said. He leaned further back and patted one of her horns reassuringly. “I still love you.” He jumped as something vibrated in his pocket, locating his phone. A picture of he and Maria at their senior prom flashed across his screen as he swiped to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey Phil! Are you still coming up this weekend?” Susan knocked into the refrigerator. Shit. Maria correctly took his silence as an answer. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Phil wondered if it would be too much to ask the floor to swallow him whole. “Maria I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I forgot.”

“So you’re not coming?”

He collapsed on his bed, cradling the phone against his ear. “I was invited to a party this weekend and I said I would go.”

She made a disbelieving sound. “You hate parties. Can’t you just cancel?”

“I would, it’s just…” he glanced towards Dan, who was graciously studying through his phone like it held the basecode of the universe. “I promised Dan I would go.”

There was a pause. Maria’s voice was icy when she spoke again. “Dan, huh? Well you promised me you would visit a month ago and I’m the one you’re dating. Or have you changed your mind?”

“Of course I haven’t changed my mind,” Phil said defensively. Okay, so maybe he’d been bad at remembering to call and he’d almost forgotten to wish her luck on her last exam but he’d been spending a lot of time with Dan lately, and maybe it wasn’t so strange Maria was questioning his feelings.“I love you, Maria. You’re the only person I want to be with.”

Her tone softened fractionally. “I love you too. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten upset. I really am glad you’re making friends. I guess I just miss you.”

Phil winced, shrinking under the guilt. He was really losing points in the boyfriend department. “I miss you too,” he said. “But next weekend I’m all yours. I promise.”

He could hear Maria’s smile through the phone. “I’m holding you to that. Have a good time at your party.”

“Thanks. Happy Halloween.”

“You too. Class is starting, but I’ll talk to you later.”

Phil ended the call and returned his phone to his pocket, waving a hand in front of Dan’s face. “You can stop pretending to play Angry Birds.”

“I never pretend about Angry Birds.” He held up his phone. “I almost beat my high score too.”

“Sorry to kill the streak.”

“Is everything okay? It sounded like it was getting pretty intense.”

Phil sighed, starting to roll over before remembering Susan and thinking better of it. “I completely forgot I was supposed to visit her this weekend.”

“I don’t mind if you’d rather do that,” Dan said. “She is your girlfriend, after all.”

“It’s okay, we rescheduled for next weekend.”

Dan stared at him for a moment, expression uncharacteristically unreadable. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.” Phil reached for the Susan’s kill switch, watching it the gargoyle deflate. “Remember? It’s going to be the most fun I’ve ever had.”

Phil was not having the fun he’d ever had. At least there hadn’t been any crying so in that aspect it was already better than last time, but he supposed that was a pretty low bar. In the end he’d left Susan at home, but he wasn’t sure if he stuck out more being the only person not in costume. He’d worn a Halloween themed jumper at least, and Dan was similarly dressed, but even Avery had made a lame attempt at a zombie costume.

“I feel slightly underdressed,” Dan said, echoing his thoughts. “Maybe we should’ve looked harder for the cat ears.”

“I don’t know,” Phil said. “I think my costume as ‘internet introvert that finally left the house’ is pretty scary.”

Dan laughed before screwing his features into a mask of terror, pressing a hand to his heart and backing against the wall. “Get it away from me! It’s hideous!”

Dan’s laugh was infectious, and for a moment Phil was able to forget the stares from everyone around him and the way his shoulder was plastered uncomfortably to the arm of the person beside him. “You should’ve gone as a rat to embrace your true self.”

“I take back everything I said earlier. You’re a terrible friend.”

Phil shot him a look of pure betrayal, or as close a one as he could muster anyway. “How fickle of you Daniel.”

Dan opened his mouth to respond when a third year shoved him into Phil as she pushed past. Her breath smelled like beer, laugh loud and intoxicated. Phil staggered under her and Dan’s combined weight, bracing himself against the wall and knocking into the man behind him. Dan managed to regain his balance, mouthing an apology. The music swelled as the song switched to an electronic remix of Call Your Girlfriend that was a little too loud to be comfortable. Phil wondered how bad it was that he’d only been here for half an hour and he was ready to leave.

Dan wrinkled his nose, plugging his ears. His lips were moving again, the sound inaudible. Phil made an ‘x’ and pointed to the door, inclining his head in question. Dan frowned, shaking his head. Phil sighed, leaning in. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, raising his voice.

Dan looked relieved. “I thought you’d never ask!” he shouted. It was all the warning Phil had before he turned and plunged headfirst into the crowd.

Despite his roommate’s height Phil lost track of him after a few seconds, and quickly found himself pathetically and hopelessly lost. Sweat was starting to gather at the base of his neck, and he stumbled to a halt, standing on his tiptoes and scanning the crowd. Still no Dan--not that he could see or hear him anyway over the blood rushing in his ears that was almost as loud as the music and infinitely more headache inducing, He took a step and tripped over the couple beside him, the boy’s elbow catching him in the throat and knocking the air out of his lungs.

Phil had gotten lost the first and only time he’d ever gone to America. He and his family had taken an afternoon trip to the mall, but he’d gotten distracted by the Pikachu plushies and when he looked again everyone had disappeared. He’d been seven then, but the feeling of abandoned terror was the same.

He forced in a shuddering gasp of air, pulse thudding under his fingertips. The room felt like it was getting hotter, or maybe it’s just him because he can’t breathe and he doesn’t know where the door is or even a bathroom and he can’t find Dan and everything is so loud and he thinks he might die here and--

“Phil!” Dan shoved through the crowd, coming to a halt with visible relief that quickly turned to concern. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, forcing himself to speak past the tightening of his throat. “Outside.” Dan’s expression softened in understanding, and he reached for his hand. The pressure was familiar, grounding and reassuring as Dan led him along the edges of the room to the door. The exit had never looked better, and Phil fumbled for the handle with his free hand, sweat slicked fingers slipping over the brass. Dan nudged him out of the way and pushed it open, ushering him outside.

He relaxed at the first breath of fresh air, sinking against the wall. He exhaled shakily, head resting against the brick to face the stars. From out here he could tune out the music, and he dropped Dan’s hand to wipe his palms against his jeans. “I’m sorry for making you leave,” he said. “I don’t mind if you want to stay.”

Dan smiled, something in the gesture subdued. Guilt twisted at the knowledge that it was probably because of him--because he couldn’t walk the fifteen meters to the door like a normal person without almost having a panic attack. “Trust me, I’m more than happy to leave. Do you feel any better?”

Phil nodded. “A little. Thanks for not leaving.”

“I would only consider it if you actually did put a red balloon in my room. I think we still have Chinese in the fridge,” Dan suggested lightly. “And there’s season two of Stranger Things to finish.”

Phil managed a weak smile. “That sounds great,” he said, conveying as much gratitude in those three words as he could. He wondered what he could’ve possibly done to deserve someone like Dan as his roommate, but whatever it was he was thankful. Somehow he always knew he what he needed, even if Phil himself hadn’t figured it out yet.

Without thinking he reached for Dan’s hand again, falling into step beside him as they headed home.

#ylafdbinisb #your love's a fucking drag (but I need it so bad)#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phan au #fanfic #fanfiction #phanfic au

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manchestereyes · 8 years ago

Text

We Had Some Good Times Didn’t We?

Summary: A final walk through the London flat stirs up some powerful memories for Dan and Phil--along with a certain excitement for what's to come.

Word Count: 1.1k

Genre: Pure Fluff

Warnings: none

Read on ao3

A/N: I told myself I wasn't going to write a moving fic, but clearly my feelings were too much to contain....and this sort of happened. I hope you enjoy!!

Home.

What a word. It held so much meaning for so many people. For some, it may be a tiny cottage in the middle of the woods. For others, a two-story at the end of a cul de sac, its driveway littered with tiny bicycles, perhaps holding a basketball hoop near the garage doors. For Phil, though…

Home had never been a specific place for Phil. He had moved too often in the last twelve years to really get attached to one area. The one thing that had remained constant throughout most of those moves, though…

Well, it was right next to him, nuzzling his feather soft head into Phil’s shoulder. “Still reminiscing?”

“Sorta. Also kinda just thinking.”

Dan hums, sending a soft tickling sensation all down Phil’s spine. “Oh, really? About what?”

“A lot of things, actually. We’ve built so many memories here, but at the same time, it’s not like Manchester holds any less. Or Japan. Or Hong Kong. Or even Singapore now. You know what one thing has remained constant in all those memories, though?”

“What?” Dan asks, but judging from the smile Phil can see from the corner of his eye, he knows exactly what Phil is about to say.

“You, you spork.” Phil interlaces their fingers and brings Dan’s knuckles up to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the ring sitting snugly on Dan’s third finger and thoroughly enjoying the flush crawling up his fiance’s cheeks. “For whatever reason, you’ve chosen to stick by my side, even when I’m being an asshole, and I can’t even tell you how grateful I am. Honestly, why someone would choose to be around me all the time is beyond me, but I’m really glad it’s you.”

“Oh, Phiiilll! You know you’ll always be my home too. Wherever I am in the world, it won’t feel right unless I’m by your side. I mean that.”

“Ugh Dan, you’re gross. Come on, let’s finish saying goodbye.” Phil eases himself off the couch, the one that had brought them so much spinal pain over the years, that they’re somehow still taking to the new flat despite all their friends’ warnings. Keeping their hands intertwined, he slowly makes his way through the lounge, brushing a hand over their now-empty mantle, feeling a slight emptiness at the utter barren wasteland that had formerly been their flat.

Five years. Five years they had spent there, with moments of domestic bliss and sharp tension littering every corner of Phil’s mind.

The TV, where they had binged countless hours of anime and American Horror Story, too often paying more attention to each other than the screen, Dan constantly begging Phil to go back to what they had missed, Phil grumbling but of course agreeing anyway because what wouldn’t he do for that gorgeous brown-eyed boy beside him?

The giant shelves, once chock-full of their museum-like collection of DVDs and the adorable trinkets and photographs whose permanence once gave Phil a sense of comfort and stability.

The fireplace that Dan had been so excited to use that first winter, and each one after that, so easily enamoured by the cosy aesthetic vibe it gave off, even if their shared body heat did more to warm them than that thing ever did.

The rarely used dining table and multicoloured chairs, meant for the rare times they had company but more often used as a dumping place for all their miscellaneous crap that they didn’t know what else to do with.

The kitchen. Oh god, the kitchen. How many kisses had they shared in here, how many giggles and guffaws at their occasionally abhorrent cooking skills? Phil sure wouldn’t miss the glass door that far too often blew his cover when sneaking late-night handfuls of cereal. All the baking videos they had filmed in there too...and the affection that they revealed to the camera growing stronger with each one.

And that hallway. He’s surprised the carpet hadn’t gained a permanent imprint of Dan’s face by now. Although it had often been a site of tears and broken hearts, especially in the early days, it had been Phil and Dan’s hallway, and for that reason alone, Phil wouldn’t change a thing.

Dan’s hand tightens in Phil’s once they finally enter Phil’s room, tears prickling behind his soft blue eyes despite himself. This room, once so full of intimate moments and Phil’s most precious belongings, has now been reduced to nothing but boxes, boxes everywhere--and that damn wicker bed Phil just couldn’t seem to get rid of. Phil spends a few minutes longer here, breathing in the empty air, hearing his breath echo back at him. When it suddenly turns shaky, though, Dan is right there with open arms and equally shining eyes, somehow the single gossamer thread that keeps Phil from falling apart completely. What would he do without this perfect human, who Phil truly thinks his heart might burst for?

After a long while of just breathing in Dan’s heavenly scent and enjoying the comfort of his strong hands rubbing smooth circles into his back, Phil finally peels himself away with a whisper of a beckon. This time, he’s the one to squeeze Dan’s hand as they step into Dan’s black bedroom for the final time.

How many times? How many times had he laid on that bed, feeling perfectly at peace with the world while he listened to Dan pour his heart into that piano? Sure, they’ll absolutely be getting more moments like that in the new flat, but it won’t be the same. Everything will be different--for the better, of course, but Phil can’t deny that he’ll have a hard time letting go of these memories.

Dan’s room, which was so effortlessly him, is now nothing more than boxes and a bed frame and a wardrobe they had shared so many laughs in constructing, laughs that they had put up for the world to enjoy--and boy, did they seem to enjoy it. Phil may never fully understand why they took such joy in such simple domesticity, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

Turning to the silent man beside him, Phil expects to see the glistening strands of tear tracks, but his face is somehow dry--and full of an emotion Phil can’t quite comprehend, somewhere between longing and a stark determination for what’s to come. Dan certainly was a complicated being, but Phil thoroughly reveled in discovering yet another piece to fit his puzzle.

And then Dan’s pulling Phil over to the bed, Phil expecting them both to lay down together, but Dan’s crouching down instead. Phil watches with a question in his eyes as Dan pulls out a stack of papers and holds them tightly to his chest. Phil’s confusion melts into a secret smile, though, as he knows exactly what those sheets contain. Dan joins him on the bare mattress, his eyes speaking exactly what’s on Phil’s mind.

He can’t wait to finally welcome that corgi into their beautiful new home.

#phan #phanfiction #phandom #phanfic #phan fluff #moving house #domestic #domestic phan #established relationship #comfort #claire writes

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