#the cutoff point is six minutes until the next class. if it takes her class that long to pick out books then there isnt time to read a story

[pinkfey]

i don’t think i’m built to work with teachers in the school district 😔

[bugmomwrites]

Animal Crossed Lovers (Tamaki Amajiki)

Alrighty so I haven't put any finished work on here in a hot minute, that’s my bad. ANYWHO my mom got me ACNH as an early birthday gift since my birthday (April 5th) just missed the supposed quarantine cutoff date for our area (7th). I may be be stuck inside while everything’s closed, but hey- at least the island of Escapism hardly rests 😉

(SW-3129-0651-5422)

Tamaki Amajiki x GN! Reader

Tamaki was never one to play video games, but he had to admit there was just something...soothing about Animal Crossing that melted much of his anxiety away. Nejire had initially preordered a copy for his birthday weeks ago, but her friend who worked at the local (s/n) (who he may or may not have been crushing on since their second year after they joined them at lunch one day) was able to pull a couple strings and get it on the fourth of March instead of the twentieth. Of course he had no idea, but he was so stunned when he opened it that it didn’t even occur to him that the game wasn’t even out yet until Mirio had reminded him. He didn’t question it though- his friend group was one wild card after another, so he guessed he shouldn’t have been too surprised.

He was thrilled, and just the fact that no one else had a copy yet made it feel all the more personal. Of course he knew in sixteen days it would be all anybody ever talked about, but for the time being it felt like the game, the little world he had created in the past few days with its gentle music and soft, wholesome theme, was his and his alone. The fact that it was a gift from his friends made it all the more special, and even if he had a hectic day at school he could turn on the console and water pretend flowers on a pretend island, and for those few moments, all was right with the world.

He was pulling weeds to sell to Timmy for bells when his screen pinged in the corner that made his blood run cold.

(Gamertag) is online

Playing: Animal Crossing New Horizons

That’s right, you had friended him on the switch after realizing all his friends had one, and now with a fourth person they could have a full team online. Mirio has suggested everyone exchange codes, and you had taken the liberty of showing him how to punch in the code and adding yourself while he sat there trying not to melt into his seat at how excited you got, or how nice you smelled up close. You had passed it back with a beaming grin, telling him you couldn’t wait to do co-ops. At the time he could only nod, speechless as the rest of his friends made idle chatter until the bell rung, and everyone scurried back to class.

He quickly realized he had left the terminal gate open when he was poking around the various features, learning about what each thing does in game. He tried sprinting to the airport to close the gates, and he made it to the dock before a big green banner flashed across his screen reading “you have a visitor!”

Out of the threshold popped your avatar, and for a moment he was grateful he could hide behind a screen. He wanted to be mad, upset even, that you had wandered onto his digital sanctuary, but couldn’t find it in himself because, then again, it was you.

The Nookphone in the top left corner buzzed to life, and he opened up the chat log with shaky hands. In a cutesy, pastel speech bubble was your message, and he wondered how something that was once so therapeutic to him could do a 180 and suddenly become the source of his anxiety.

G/T: Hello! Sorry to pop in unannounced, I hope you don’t mind^^

Tamaki felt his mouth go dry, reading it in your voice and after steadying his breathing, he painstakingly typed out a response.

Suneater: its ok.

G/T: It’s kinda hard to find others to play with when the game isn’t even released yet >~<

Suneater: Oh?

He should have known it was too good to be true. You were only visiting him because no one else was on yet. He sighed, trying to keep the dread from crawling back in before another note popped up.

G/T: The game doesn’t actually release until the first day of spring, but working at (s/n) has its perks. I saw the trailers and the hype and figured it would be the perfect game for you.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him upon reading that. So he wasn’t the last choice- rather, the game simply wasn’t out to the general public yet. But if that was the case, how did you also get a copy?

Suneater: thats nice of you

G/T: And then a little birdy told me you had a birthday coming up, so since I have a couple connections after I got my copy, I asked my manager if they’d set aside one more.

Suneater: you

Suneater: you were the one who helped get it early?

Boy did he feel stupid now. You worked at (s/n), (as you had literally just mentioned in your previous notes), Nejire got him a game that wasn’t out yet, you guys were all mutual friends- how did he not put two and two together?!

G/T: Yes lol that would be me^ you liking it so far? You picked a good name for the island too.

“Sunshine Island” may have seemed a little cliche to most people, but Tamaki had so many things in his life linked to it that by this point, it was just routine. Mirio was his sun in dark times. His nickname Suneater, even the sunflowers he had received from his parents for his birthday each year was tradition. He knew not everyone would see it the way he did, but to him, it was perfect, and he was definitely chuffed when he thought it up and punched it in for the first time.

To hear you loved it too sent a swell of pride through him, and he wondered if it was possible to love someone as much as he did just then.

Suneater: you really think so?

G/T: Absolutely

And with that, the two of you explored Sunshine Island together, he showed you his tent, the shops, and the little orchard of peaches he had arranged. You were impressed by the amount of detail and care that went into arranging everything, and asked if he’d be willing to help you with your island sometime, to which he obliged. 

You guys did some more walking, and he told you to feel free to shake theres and take a couple fruits with you. His native fruit was peaches, and in exchange you dropped a couple of your own fruits from your island on the ground for him to pick up so he could have more variety in his world.

G/T: There’s six different kinds, and each island is assigned one main type of fruit. the more you visit with friends, the more biodiversity you’ll get. Pretty cool right? I have some spare (F/N), and if you take and plant those, they'll grow and multiply!

His avatar hesitantly wandered over to the offering after yours stepped back a little to let him take them. Your generousity was surely appreciated, and even though you couldn't see it, he smiled softly before typing out a new message.

Suneater: Thank you. I’ll go plant those.

The game might have been synced up with real time, even getting darker after a certain hour- yet despite it being outside, neither one of you noticed just how much time had passed between all the bug catching, fishing, exploring and talking. When your screen loaded up a clock that read 2:54 AM, you blinked a few times, as if that would change the reading. But lo and behold, it was going for 3am on a school night, and you knew you both had to get to bed.

G/T: Ah beans its 3am, I gotta get to bed soon. Thanks for letting me hang out on your island, and sorry for keeping you awake >~<

Suneater: don't be sorry, i had a lot of fun. can we play together again sometime?

G/T: Of course! I can't wait to meet up again. Maybe we can visit my island next time? I should have those peaches planted by then, and you can teach me your ways, oh master landscaper.

Tamaki chuckled out loud at that, blushing, as he suddenly had a brilliant idea.

Suneater: That would be nice. Wait here a second.

He scurried off to a patch of flowers he had blooming, and with a shovel, picked up a few in your favorite color before making his way back over and dropping them in front of you.

Suneater: You can start by planting a few of these around your island. It is your favorite color, right?

Now it was your turn to blush as you picked up the (f/c) flowers he dropped in front of you, smiling like a goon at his burst of confidence. How he remembered your favorite color is beyond you, but hey- you weren’t complaining.

G/T: They’re perfect, thank you Tama!

Suneater: You're welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow?

G/N: You know it! Goodnight <3

And on that note you walked down to the airport, his avatar following close behind as if to see you off. It was a simple gesture, but appreciated nonetheless. Both of you powered down your switches for the night before plugging them in, and promptly hopping into your respective beds with racing hearts. It was the perfect end to your digital “date” and you couldn’t wait to log in again.

Thank you for reading! Feedback and reblogs are appreciated. Hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. The inbox is always open for future ideas, so don’t be afraid to drop in. 

Also gonna tag @katsukisprincess​ cause I mean...Animal Crossing and wholesome Tamaki fluff. ‘Nuff said.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

At the End of the Road

a standalone venture into the world of fine diner dining ...

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&&

Their first time at Waffles and Stuff, they had the heavy mantle of deadly 10-year-olds weighing on their shoulders, the diner dim with midnight shadows, the waitstaff mellow through pouring rain. Settled awkwardly at the counter, Scully felt around until her feet found purchase on the footrest while Mulder wrestled with sodden coat to hang dripping from the back of cracked vinyl swivel seat. Eventually, the foam finished giving way, shaping to backsides and thighs, warming to damp wool while the pair studied separate menus, quiet in debate over patty melt or salad, burger or chicken, coffee or hot chocolate.

Finally, the ancient waitress, small, quick, tight bun of hair, sweater hugging narrow shoulders, ended her conversation with the cook, coming over at just the moment Mulder decided what to order. How she knew, he’d never know, but know she did and stopping in front of him, “ready to order? Coffee? Tea? Space heater?”

Mulder, tired but still kicking, gave her a crooked smile, “you can’t warm space. It’s too big.”

“Given enough time, I could probably crochet it a blanket though. Maybe that would help.”

Her name was Catherine and he adored her instantly.

Scully, beside him, only absorbed half the conversation, mind caught between grilled chicken with lettuce and avocado and death by double cheeseburger, eyeing the deep-fried pickles for the interim moments between fry consumption and hot chocolate stupor. Hearing Mulder vaguely finish his order of waffles and eggs, she bit the bullet, ordering things the doctor in her screamed about at 3am when she couldn’t sleep from the heartburn singeing her esophagus.

The hot chocolate arrived first, whipped cream high, little bit of cinnamon classing up the plain, chipped mug; second came the pickles, mixing terribly with the drink and Scully loved it, the weird flavors, the grease, the ranch, the tang all smoothed out with warm milk and sugar. Mulder didn’t ask to have one, waiting quietly until she offered, holding out the small coin of fried delight, which he took, thanked her, didn’t ask for more but smiled when the flavors hit his tongue.

Scully’s feet were falling asleep but her belly was filling nicely, cheeseburger sitting precariously first on plate then in stomach, chasing away the gnawing hunger that had plagued them for the last three days, not satisfied with Payday bars and M&Ms, held barely at bay but not providing the shear beautiful thing that was deluxe cheeseburger and mound of vegetable oil crisp potatoes.

She caught Mulder staring at her at some point and when she raised her eyebrows at him, question sent non-verbally given her full mouth, he smiled his second time since they entered the restaurant and answered, small amount of egg caught in his front teeth, “I think you just moaned in satisfaction there, partner.”

Wondering if she should protest, turn red, sink in embarrassment, she instead gave it half a thought, then shrugged, talking through her mostly chewed mouthful, food in cheeks to speak without spitting bits, “damn good fry.”

Catherine refilled the hot chocolates for free, offered them pie, or cupcake in Scully’s case, given she was an ardent pie hater since the beginning of time, didn’t rush the check and circled a large smiley face on the bill, her ‘come again’ cheery against the thundering sky.

“Take as long as you like folks. I’ll be over here working my crossword and crocheting that blanket.”

Mulder snagged the bill, keeping it out of reach in his hand, “I like her and the Bureau will be tipping her double.”

Drifting towards a food coma, she propped her elbow on the counter and balanced her head on her hand, tilting enough to look him square, “if you give her triple, I bet she’ll let us nap here until morning.”

With a gaze that barely hinted at the next 70 years, he nudged her with his knee, receiving a lip twitch in return, the slightest eye twinkle she would never acknowledge having the power to do, before beginning the long slide to the floor, wiggling a little to straighten her pants, free damp cloth from the sticking places against her skin.

He saw that wiggle.

He would remember that wiggle.

Once soaking wet, 2:45am glowing on the dash, hair dripping, stomachs filled, in the car in a splashing dash, he gave her a glance, his diminutive partner already curled around the heater vent, safe in the passenger seat, “you’re going to fall asleep before we get to your apartment, I guarantee it.”

“It’s twelve minutes. I will not fall asleep in twelve minutes.”

Big fat liar.

He had to shake her arm for at least a minute before she even began thinking of forcing an eye open; ten minutes later, she was finally in her front door, Mulder holding her elbow the entire way, navigating her like a slack-jawed drunk up the steps. Setting her bag on the floor, he debating shoving her towards her bedroom so he could drop comatose on the couch but he fought gravity and overstuffed pillows to bid her g’night/g’morning.

He nearly crashed twice trying to make it to his own place with both eyes open.

Falling asleep on his couch, snuggled up tight under two wool blankets and a layer of flannel and fleece, Mulder listened the rain and thunder, wondering if they’d ever find the time to go back to the diner.

He wanted a full order of those pickle chips all to himself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Waffles and Stuff glowed in the night. Pitch black around them, savior in fluorescent and neon, it called to them after the longest drive known to man. They were just this side of the Bureau’s cutoff for driving to a crime scene, planes too expensive when a six-hour drive could take care of business.

It wouldn’t have been terrible save the flat tire, the stench of spilled gas from the can in the trunk and the persistent squeak, thud, thump from whatever under the car. Mulder didn’t want to look and Scully didn’t care to look so they suffered the rhythm while trying to keep the other from hangry overtones in their conversations with stolen M&Ms and Starbright mints from Scully’s secret forgotten stash in the side pocket of her suitcase.

They really should have stopped but the thought of Waffles and Stuff by 1:30am, navigator Scully estimated time of arrival, kept them driving past crap fast food for glorious Catherine and her bottomless supply of chocolate, hot or cold form, and the newest special, banana pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries, side of bacon, side of ham, one egg over easy, two wheat toast, grape jelly, one biscuit hold the gravy.

Actually, that was the Mulder special at the moment, of which he’d been extoling virtue since exit 4b or 610, whichever was further back and farther from destination.

Scully, on the other hand, had been drooling, physically and mentally, over the thought of mushroom swiss burger with lettuce, tomato and bacon, bun toasted, fries on the side, crisp side salad with exactly four cups of ranch dressing and croutons by the pound, mozzarella sticks, marinara dipping and for the love of God, some kind of strawberry milkshake.

In the three years since they’d began frequenting Stuff, their combinations had changed drastically in contrast to pricing, décor and staffing but the cook kept cooking, Catherine kept knitting and Mulder kept tipping his usual Bureau approved 30% tip. Finally, in reference to the glow from earlier, Mulder spotted it first and Scully, to this day, swears she heard a small whimper of want escape his lips, forcing his foot down further on the gas pedal.

Scully had just slightly more decorum to keep her sounds to herself.

“Well, hello, my weary travelers.” Catherine waved to the empty room, “your usual is open.”

Mulder gestured Scully forward to the only blue booth, the one that had been reupholstered at some point and by accident done in blue. He’d always meant to ask why blue but tonight, like every other time, the thought fizzled out before fully forming and he was perfectly fine with this. Once they were both in, coats shoved to the sides, dry, not needing a place to drip, Scully tucked one foot under her leg, swinging the dangling one lightly, the breeze of her movement ruffling Mulder’s pantleg every second or third pass by, “cheese?”

Before he could answer, Catherine called out from near the coffee machine, about to begin the hot chocolates, given the chill in the October air, “we’ve got a new item. Max thought it up about a week ago.”

Manly squee loud enough to make Catherine smile, “really? Please say it’s a fried chicken and waffles with a side of home fries and scrambled eggs with green peppers, tomatoes and just a hint of Tabasco sauce and maybe a spritz of lemon.”

Max stuck his head over the order counter, “give me a few weeks on that one but tonight’s is pancakes with crumbled sausage and bacon cooked right in, four egg omelet with jack cheddar, peppers and onions, two biscuits and sausage gravy, perfect for sharing.”

Mulder held up a hand, “I’ll take it. Burn the bacon first please.”

Looking at Scully next, “how about you, Miss Scully? What can I get for you this evening?”

After she told him her order, Catherine came by, drinks in hand, settling into the chair she bought with her, “all right. What’s happening in your world today?”

Their nights at Waffles and Stuff were part therapy, part inquisition, part intellectual debate, part necessary nonsense, Catherine helming it all, feeding them, waiting on them, listening to them and when necessary, pretending to have somewhere else to be when she saw them lock eyes, drop off the Earth, the quiet bubbling them together for what she hoped would be eternity.

Or until the sun came up.

Sometimes it was Scully who looked about to faceplant in her dessert; this time, however,  it was Mulder, yawning every thirty seconds like clockwork until Scully, the other foot dangling by now, nudged him gently on the shin, accidently on purpose running her foot closer to his knee than she ever suspected she’d do in daylight.

He didn’t wake up so much as give her a sleepy crook of smile that made her wonder if she really needed to drop him off or if she could just take him home, stash him in her spare room, make him breakfast sometime the following afternoon.

Reluctantly she paid the bill, left the tip, held the coat, guided the body, drove the car, escorted the warm puppy, called the good night, drove the car, opened the door, locked the door, shed the clothes, pulled the covers, hailed the Mulder, succumbed the sleep, dreamed the partner… woke up with a smile to find him banging on her door, donuts in hand and casefile ready.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

From spinning barstool to lone blue booth to corner haven, feet on seats, hands on ankles, smorgasbord between them, plates lined up, a fry for a carrot, a bite of burger for a slice of tomato, one chocolate shake, one strawberry, one mint, each with two straws and spoons for skimming whipped cream, two cherries to Scully, more mint to Mulder.

He stole sips of her water while she talked, she slid pickle coins her way while he nibbled crusts from her buttered toast. Their fingers lingered when reaching for the same crouton soaked in dressing, sliding past and through each other, hanging on with white knuckles one second, back to eating the next.

Hours later, instead of stumbling into the night, he slid quietly in beside her, thigh warm against thigh, hand flat on tender muscle, kneading lightly, waiting as unseen forces pulled her head to his shoulder, tired eyes closed against the world. Mulder set his head against hers, eyes meeting two pair behind the counter, the slightest upturned cheek and chin nod in their direction before closing his own eyes, not worrying about the day ahead, only the Scully beside him and the quiet around.

Catherine looked at her husband, leaning against the counter across from her, “we did good, Max.”

“We did very good.”