🪐glass🪐

[glassfame]

The snow day ❄️

Kyle Broflovski x Reader

The moment stretched between you and Kyle.

Neither of you seemed to know what to do next.

The confession hung in the air, awkward and terrifying and strangely nice all at once.

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck.

"So... that probably sounded really stupid."

"It didn't."

"It kind of did."

"It really didn't."

Kyle stared at the table.

"Okay, maybe only a little."

You laughed.

The tension immediately eased.

"Only a little."

"Wow. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Kyle rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

The smile lingered longer than usual.

You found yourself smiling too.

---

A loud crash echoed from upstairs.

Both of you jumped.

"What was that?" you asked.

Kyle sighed.

"Ike."

Another crash.

Then laughter.

"Definitely Ike."

You heard Sheila's voice from somewhere in the house.

"IKELAH! GET OFF THE DRESSER!"

More laughter.

Kyle buried his face in his hands.

"I love my brother."

The pause that followed was significant.

"But sometimes..."

Another crash.

"...sometimes I understand why people become hermits."

You nearly choked on your cookie.

Kyle grinned.

"See? You get it."

---

The afternoon passed surprisingly fast.

You worked on homework.

Talked about school.

Talked about movies.

Talked about random nonsense.

At one point, Kyle launched into a ten-minute rant about something Cartman had done earlier that week.

"He tried convincing Butters that clouds were government spies."

You blinked.

"What?"

"I know."

"What?"

"I KNOW."

"And Butters believed him?"

Kyle pointed dramatically.

"Exactly."

The two of you dissolved into laughter.

It was easy.

Being around Kyle always felt easy.

Even when he was arguing.

Even when he was ranting.

Even when he was being completely ridiculous.

Especially then.

---

By the time evening arrived, it was getting dark outside.

The snow was falling harder now.

Streetlights cast warm golden circles onto the white streets.

Kyle walked you to your front door.

Neither of you seemed eager for the conversation to end.

"So."

"So."

Kyle groaned.

"We really need to stop doing that."

"What?"

"The 'so' thing."

You laughed.

"Sorry."

The two of you stood on the porch for another moment.

Snowflakes drifted through the air between you.

Kyle shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Today was fun."

"Yeah."

"Even the snowball war."

"I think especially the snowball war."

Kyle snorted.

"Cartman got hit directly in the face."

"It was beautiful."

"It really was."

You both started laughing again.

---

Eventually the laughter faded.

A comfortable silence settled over you.

Kyle looked at you.

You looked back.

The porch light reflected in his green eyes.

For once, neither of you seemed interested in making a joke.

Or changing the subject.

Or pretending not to feel what you felt.

Kyle took a small step closer.

Not enough to be dramatic.

Just enough to matter.

"I meant what I said earlier."

Your heart skipped.

"What part?"

Kyle swallowed.

Then smiled nervously.

"The part about liking you."

Heat rushed to your face.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

He looked suddenly worried.

"You don't have to say anything back if you don't want to."

He was nervous.

Really nervous.

And somehow that made him even more adorable.

You smiled.

"I like you too."

Kyle froze.

For a second, he looked like his brain had completely stopped working.

"Wait."

"Wait?"

"Seriously?"

You laughed.

"Seriously."

A grin spread across his face.

A huge one.

The kind that was impossible to hide.

The kind that made you smile automatically.

"Wow."

"Wow?"

"Sorry."

Kyle shook his head.

"I just didn't expect that."

---

For a while, neither of you said much.

You simply stood there while snow drifted around you.

The world felt strangely quiet.

Peaceful.

No monsters.

No disasters.No Cartman screaming somewhere in the distance.Just the two of you.A rare miracle in South Park.Eventually Kyle laughed softly.

"You know Cartman's gonna be unbearable if he finds out."

"Oh, absolutely."

"He'll never shut up."

"Not for the rest of our lives."

Kyle groaned.

"Great."

"Maybe we should never tell him."

"I support that plan completely."

---

As Kyle finally started walking home, he stopped at the end of the driveway.

He turned around.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

A smile tugged at his lips.

"See you tomorrow?"

You smiled back.

"Definitely."

Kyle waved.

Then headed off through the falling snow.For the first time all day, the cold didn't seem to bother you.Because tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. ❄️💚

[glassfame]

Captain’s choice

Killian jones x reader

The sea was never truly quiet aboard the Jolly Roger. Even on calm nights, the ship creaked and sighed as though it carried secrets in its timbers.

You stood at the railing, watching moonlight dance across the water. Storybrooke's lights were long gone behind you, replaced by endless darkness and stars.

“You're brooding.”

The familiar voice made you smile despite yourself.

“I’m thinking,” you corrected.

Killian Jones stepped beside you, his leather coat swaying in the breeze. The silver hook at his side glinted under the moonlight.

“A dangerous pastime.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that every time.”

“Aye, and yet you continue to prove me right.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you had become comfortable over the months you'd spent together. It wasn't awkward anymore. It was warm.

Dangerous, perhaps.

Because the longer you spent with Killian, the harder it became to ignore the way your heart raced whenever he smiled.

Or the way he always seemed to find you in a crowded room.

Or how he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.

The problem was simple.

You were in love with him.

The problem after that was even simpler.

You had absolutely no idea whether he felt the same.

A sudden splash pulled you from your thoughts.

"What was that?"

Killian frowned.

Before either of you could investigate, the ship lurched violently.

You stumbled.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist before you could fall.

Your breath caught.

Killian's hand remained firmly against your back.

"Careful, love."

The nickname sent warmth rushing through you.

Then another crash echoed beneath the deck.

"Right," Killian muttered. "Perhaps romance can wait."

You blinked.

"Romance?"

His eyes widened slightly.

For once, the famous pirate seemed at a loss for words.

A grin tugged at your lips.

"Did Captain Hook just accidentally confess something?"

"That depends entirely on how much danger we're currently in."

You laughed.

The sound was cut short when a massive tentacle erupted from the sea.

"Okay," you said. "A lot of danger."

An hour later, the sea monster had been defeated, the ship survived, and both of you were exhausted.

You sat together on the deck beneath a sky full of stars.

Your shoulder brushed Killian's.

Neither of you moved away.

Eventually, he spoke.

"You know, when I first met you, I thought you were far too stubborn."

You gasped dramatically.

"The nerve."

"Aye." His lips twitched. "Then I learned you were brave. Kind. Far cleverer than most people give you credit for."

Heat rose to your cheeks.

Killian's expression softened.

"And somewhere along the way, I realized you became the first person I looked for whenever I entered a room."

Your heart stopped.

"Killian..."

"For centuries, I chased revenge," he continued quietly. "Then I chased redemption. I never expected to find something worth more than either."

His gaze met yours.

"You."

The world seemed to disappear.

No sea.

No stars.

No magic.

Only him.

"You make me want to be better," he said. "Not because you ask it of me. Because you believe I can be."

Your eyes stung with tears.

"You idiot," you whispered.

His eyebrows rose.

"An unusual response to a declaration of affection."

You laughed through your tears.

"I love you too."

For a moment, he simply stared.

As though he wasn't entirely certain he'd heard correctly.

Then the brightest smile you'd ever seen crossed his face.

"Say that again."

"I love you."

"Again."

You shoved his shoulder.

"Don't push your luck, pirate."

He caught your hand before you could pull away.

His fingers intertwined with yours.

"Too late."

Slowly, carefully, he leaned closer.

Giving you every chance to stop him.

You didn't.

His kiss was soft at first.

Tender.

Nothing like the fearsome pirate reputation he'd built over centuries.

It felt honest.

Real.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

"You know," he murmured, "for someone who claimed they were merely thinking earlier, you've been keeping quite a lot to yourself."

You smiled.

"So have you."

"A fair point, love."

Wrapped in each other's arms beneath the stars, neither of you felt any need to say anything more.

For the first time in a long while, the future didn't seem frightening.

As long as you faced it together. ❤️🏴‍☠️

[glassfame]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 50 likes!

[glassfame]

Neverlands favorite

Peter Pan x reader

The first thing Peter Pan noticed about you was that you weren't afraid of him.

Everyone else who arrived in Neverland eventually learned to fear him. The Lost Boys obeyed him. Villains respected him. Even heroes approached him cautiously.

But you?

You rolled your eyes when he tried to be intimidating.

"You're staring again," you said one afternoon, lounging on a fallen tree near camp.

Peter smirked from where he sat across from you.

"Maybe you're just interesting."

"Maybe you're creepy."

A laugh escaped him.

A genuine laugh.

Not the fake charming one he used when manipulating people.

The real one.

And somehow, that made your stomach flip.

You hated that.

Being trapped in Neverland wasn't exactly part of your life plan. Neither was developing feelings for the island's immortal ruler.

Especially because Peter Pan was dangerous.

You knew what he was capable of.

You'd seen the darkness hiding behind his smile.

Yet somehow, when it was just the two of you, things felt different.

Softer.

More real.

"You keep looking at me like that," Peter said quietly.

"Like what?"

"Like there's still something worth saving."

The teasing tone had vanished.

For a moment, he looked younger than he ever had before.

Just a lonely boy pretending he ruled the world.

Your chest tightened.

"Maybe there is."

Peter's gaze locked onto yours.

Neither of you moved.

The jungle sounds faded into the background.

For the first time, Peter looked nervous.

"You shouldn't say things like that."

"Why?"

"Because you make me want things."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard.

"What kind of things?"

Peter stood and slowly walked toward you.

The air seemed to disappear from your lungs.

He stopped inches away.

Close enough that you could see every detail of his face.

Close enough that you forgot every warning you'd ever heard about him.

"A future," he admitted.

The confession stunned you.

Peter Pan didn't dream about futures.

Peter Pan lived forever.

Alone.

"I never wanted one before."

Your heart pounded.

"Peter..."

His hand gently brushed against yours.

Such a simple touch.

Yet it felt more dangerous than any magic.

"That's the problem."

The vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

Because for all his power, Peter had never learned how to let someone matter.

And now he did.

"You make me weak."

You shook your head.

"No."

His eyebrows furrowed.

"You make you human."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Peter smiled.

Not the manipulative smile.

Not the cocky smile.

A real one.

Just for you.

Slowly, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You know," he murmured, "if anyone else said that, I'd probably turn them into a tree."

You laughed.

"Very romantic."

"I never claimed to be romantic."

"You literally rule an island."

"Exactly."

Before you could respond, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead.

Gentle.

Unexpected.

Almost shy.

When he pulled away, there was something bright in his eyes.

Hope.

The one thing Peter Pan had spent centuries pretending he didn't need.

"Stay with me," he said quietly.

Not an order.

Not a command.

A request.

The kind only you could ever make him ask.

And for the first time since arriving in Neverland, you smiled without fear.

"Okay."

For once, Peter Pan felt like a lost boy who had finally found his way home.

[glassfame]

Drummer’s favorite

Rodrick Heffley x Reader

You never expected to become friends with Rodrick Heffley.

Actually, "friends" wasn't even the right word. Most days, Rodrick acted like he barely noticed anyone. Between sleeping until noon, annoying his younger brother Greg, and spending every spare second with his band, Löded Diper, he didn't exactly seem interested in making connections.

Yet somehow, you found yourself sitting in the Heffleys' garage after school while Rodrick pounded away on his drum set.

"That was terrible," he announced after finishing a song.

You blinked. "I thought it sounded good."

"Yeah, well, that's because you don't know anything about music."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks."

Rodrick smirked. "You're welcome."

For some reason, that was just how things worked between you two.

One afternoon, you arrived to find Rodrick unusually frustrated. He was sitting on the floor, drumsticks in hand.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

"Our gig got canceled."

"The one you've been talking about for weeks?"

"Yep."

You sat beside him. "That sucks."

Rodrick stared at the wall for a moment.

"Yeah."

The silence felt strange. Usually he had a sarcastic comment ready for everything.

"You know," you said carefully, "you're actually pretty good."

Rodrick turned to look at you.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No."

"Because if you're making fun of me, that's my thing."

You laughed.

For a second, he just watched you.

Then he smiled.

A real smile.

Not the smug grin he used when pranking Greg. Not the cocky look he gave after telling a joke.

A genuine smile.

The sight caught you completely off guard.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"You smiled."

"Wow. Thanks for announcing it."

"I'm just saying, it looks nice."

Rodrick suddenly looked away.

And that was weird.

Because Rodrick Heffley never looked embarrassed.

A few days later, your phone buzzed.

**Rodrick:** *Band practice got canceled. Wanna hang out?*

You stared at the message.

Then another one appeared.

**Rodrick:** *Don't make this weird.*

You couldn't help smiling.

When you arrived at his house, he was waiting on the front porch.

"You took forever."

"It was five minutes."

"Exactly."

As you walked together, Rodrick kept talking about random things—music, school, weird people he knew.

At one point your hands brushed.

Neither of you pulled away immediately.

The conversation slowed.

Rodrick glanced at you.

You glanced back.

Then, surprisingly, he looked nervous.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked.

"Sure."

"You're kind of my favorite person."

You stopped walking.

"What?"

Rodrick groaned dramatically.

"See? This is why I wasn't gonna say it."

"No, I just—"

You smiled.

His expression softened.

"You're my favorite person too."

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Rodrick bumped his shoulder against yours.

"Cool."

"Cool?"

"Yeah."

"That's all you've got?"

He shrugged.

"Don't ruin the moment."

And somehow, with Rodrick, that was practically a love confession.

The two of you continued walking side by side, smiling like idiots and pretending not to notice.

[peruvian-princess-deactivated20]

reblog if you dont have a bra on

[glassfame]

Best friends brother

Billy Andrews x reader

The first thing Billy Andrews ever said to you was, “You’re standing in my way.”

You’d looked up from the basket of apples you were carrying to find him towering over you outside the general store, all broad shoulders and irritation.

“Well,” you replied sweetly, “you’re blocking the sun.”

Behind him, Prissy burst into laughter.

Billy rolled his eyes. “You spend too much time with my sister.”

“And yet she still likes me better.”

Prissy linked her arm through yours before Billy could answer. “Come along before he starts sulking.”

“I do not sulk,” Billy muttered.

“You absolutely do,” both you and Prissy said together.

That was the beginning of it.

—

Being best friends with Prissy Andrews meant spending a great deal of time around the Andrews family, which unfortunately included Billy.

At first, he only tolerated you because Prissy adored you. He teased constantly, always acting annoyed whenever you appeared at their house.

“Again?” he’d groan whenever you arrived.

And every single time, you’d answer, “You’re welcome.”

Still, beneath the sharp remarks and dramatic sighs, Billy was softer than he liked anyone to know.

You noticed it in little things.

The way he carried heavy baskets from the market without being asked.

The way he waited outside in the cold when Prissy was late leaving school.

The way he always made sure his younger siblings had enough to eat before taking food for himself.

And the way his expression changed whenever you smiled at him unexpectedly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

One snowy evening, you and Prissy stayed late sewing decorations for the church social. By the time you finished, the roads were nearly buried.

“You can stay the night,” Prissy insisted.

Before you could answer, Billy appeared in the doorway, already shrugging on his coat.

“I’ll walk her home.”

You blinked. “You hate walking me home.”

“I hate when you talk nonsense,” he corrected.

Prissy smirked knowingly behind him.

The walk was quiet at first. Snow crunched beneath your boots while wind curled around your scarf.

“You’re cold,” Billy noticed.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

Before you could protest, he removed his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

“Billy—”

“Don’t argue.”

His coat smelled like cedarwood and winter air.

You pulled it tighter around yourself. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’ll survive.”

You smiled softly. “How heroic of you.”

He glanced over at you, and for once there wasn’t any teasing in his expression.

“Someone has to keep you safe.”

Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard.

The snow had begun falling heavier by the time you reached the bridge near your home. You paused there, leaning against the railing.

“It’s pretty,” you murmured.

Billy stood beside you, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

“You spend too much time staring at things,” he said quietly.

“And you don’t spend enough.”

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he looked at you properly.

Not with annoyance.

Not with amusement.

Just… you.

The world suddenly felt very small.

Very quiet.

“You know,” he said slowly, “when Prissy first brought you around, I thought you were unbearable.”

You gasped dramatically. “How kind.”

“She talked about you constantly,” he continued. “I figured anyone she liked that much had to be irritating.”

“And now?”

Billy’s ears turned slightly pink from the cold.

“Now I think the house feels strange when you’re not there.”

Your breath caught.

He looked horrified immediately after saying it, like the confession escaped against his will.

“I mean—”

“I know what you meant.”

His gaze flickered to your lips before quickly away again.

The wind howled around you, but somehow the moment felt warm.

Then, very gently, Billy reached for your hand.

His fingers were rough and cold against yours, but he held on carefully, like he feared you might pull away.

You didn’t.

“You should go inside before you catch pneumonia,” he muttered.

You laughed softly. “Such romance.”

Billy groaned. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Too late.”

But when you squeezed his hand, he smiled.

And it was the softest thing you’d ever seen.

You’d looked up from the basket of apples you were carrying to find him towering over you outside the general store, all broad shoulders and irritation.

“Well,” you replied sweetly, “you’re blocking the sun.”

Behind him, Prissy burst into laughter.

Billy rolled his eyes. “You spend too much time with my sister.”

“And yet she still likes me better.”

Prissy linked her arm through yours before Billy could answer. “Come along before he starts sulking.”

“I do not sulk,” Billy muttered.

“You absolutely do,” both you and Prissy said together.

That was the beginning of it.

—

Being best friends with Prissy Andrews meant spending a great deal of time around the Andrews family, which unfortunately included Billy.

At first, he only tolerated you because Prissy adored you. He teased constantly, always acting annoyed whenever you appeared at their house.

“Again?” he’d groan whenever you arrived.

And every single time, you’d answer, “You’re welcome.”

Still, beneath the sharp remarks and dramatic sighs, Billy was softer than he liked anyone to know.

You noticed it in little things.

The way he carried heavy baskets from the market without being asked.

The way he waited outside in the cold when Prissy was late leaving school.

The way he always made sure his younger siblings had enough to eat before taking food for himself.

And the way his expression changed whenever you smiled at him unexpectedly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

One snowy evening, you and Prissy stayed late sewing decorations for the church social. By the time you finished, the roads were nearly buried.

“You can stay the night,” Prissy insisted.

Before you could answer, Billy appeared in the doorway, already shrugging on his coat.

“I’ll walk her home.”

You blinked. “You hate walking me home.”

“I hate when you talk nonsense,” he corrected.

Prissy smirked knowingly behind him.

The walk was quiet at first. Snow crunched beneath your boots while wind curled around your scarf.

“You’re cold,” Billy noticed.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

Before you could protest, he removed his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

“Billy—”

“Don’t argue.”

His coat smelled like cedarwood and winter air.

You pulled it tighter around yourself. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’ll survive.”

You smiled softly. “How heroic of you.”

He glanced over at you, and for once there wasn’t any teasing in his expression.

“Someone has to keep you safe.”

Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard.

The snow had begun falling heavier by the time you reached the bridge near your home. You paused there, leaning against the railing.

“It’s pretty,” you murmured.

Billy stood beside you, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

“You spend too much time staring at things,” he said quietly.

“And you don’t spend enough.”

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he looked at you properly.

Not with annoyance.

Not with amusement.

Just… you.

The world suddenly felt very small.

Very quiet.

“You know,” he said slowly, “when Prissy first brought you around, I thought you were unbearable.”

You gasped dramatically. “How kind.”

“She talked about you constantly,” he continued. “I figured anyone she liked that much had to be irritating.”

“And now?”

Billy’s ears turned slightly pink from the cold.

“Now I think the house feels strange when you’re not there.”

Your breath caught.

He looked horrified immediately after saying it, like the confession escaped against his will.

“I mean—”

“I know what you meant.”

His gaze flickered to your lips before quickly away again.

The wind howled around you, but somehow the moment felt warm.

Then, very gently, Billy reached for your hand.

His fingers were rough and cold against yours, but he held on carefully, like he feared you might pull away.

You didn’t.

“You should go inside before you catch pneumonia,” he muttered.

You laughed softly. “Such romance.”

Billy groaned. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Too late.”

But when you squeezed his hand, he smiled.

And it was the softest thing you’d ever seen.

[glassfame]

Spilled ink

The first thing Milo noticed was the coffee.

Not the engine noise rumbling through the *Ulysses*. Not the sharp smell of machine oil and seawater. Not even Commander Rourke standing in the doorway of the cramped boiler room with his arms folded like he owned gravity itself.

The coffee.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Rourke said, holding out a steaming tin mug.

Milo blinked. “I— what?”

“The coffee, kid. Take it before Sweet freezes over.”

From somewhere down the corridor, Audrey shouted, “Too late!”

Milo accepted the mug carefully, as if it might explode. “Oh. Thank you.”

Rourke leaned against the doorframe. “You’ve been down here six hours.”

“Eight, technically.”

“That’s worse.”

Milo pushed his glasses up and took a cautious sip. It was terrible. Completely awful. Bitter enough to strip paint.

It was also, somehow, the nicest thing anyone had done for him since the expedition started.

“Well,” Milo said weakly, “it’s certainly caffeinated.”

That got the ghost of a grin out of Rourke.

It startled Milo enough that he nearly dropped the mug.

Most people aboard the *Ulysses* treated Commander Rourke like a storm wearing a leather coat: useful to have around, dangerous to get close to. He was sharp-edged, intimidating, and carried himself with the confidence of a man who’d survived things nobody wanted to hear about.

But over the past week, Milo had started noticing inconsistencies.

Rourke always made sure the mechanics ate before he did.

He checked on the crew personally after rough dives.

And every time somebody mocked Milo’s rambling lectures, Rourke cut them off before the joke could really land.

At first, Milo assumed it was practical. Milo had the map; therefore Milo was valuable.

But practical didn’t explain the coffee.

“You’ve got ink on your face,” Rourke said.

“What?”

“Here.” Rourke gestured vaguely to his own cheek.

Milo scrubbed at the wrong side.

“The other— no, your *other* other side.”

“I only have two sides!”

Rourke snorted unexpectedly, then stepped forward before Milo could protest. His thumb brushed against Milo’s cheekbone, wiping away the smear of ink with surprising gentleness.

There was a very strange pause afterward.

Not bad strange.

Just… charged.

Milo became acutely aware that Rourke was standing very close.

“You really don’t notice anything around you when you’re thinking, do you?” Rourke asked quietly.

“I notice plenty of things.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do!”

“Name one thing in this room besides your books.”

Milo opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Rourke’s grin widened slightly.

“That’s what I thought.”

Milo narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”

“Maybe.” Rourke took his mug back and drank from it casually. “Nice to see you worked up over something besides dead languages.”

“They’re not dead, they’re historically underappreciated.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And for your information, Atlantean linguistics are extraordinarily sophisticated.”

“I never said they weren’t.”

“You implied it.”

“I implied you need sleep.”

“That’s completely different.”

Rourke laughed then — a real laugh this time, low and warm and completely unlike the hard-edged commander voice he used around the others.

Milo stared at him.

Rourke noticed immediately. “What?”

“You laugh.”

“…I should hope so.”

“No, I mean—” Milo waved a hand helplessly. “You actually laugh. I thought maybe you just glowered in varying degrees.”

“Careful, Milo. I’ve got a reputation.”

“Oh, right. Terribly intimidating. Very fearsome.”

“Exactly.”

Milo smiled into his coffee. “I’ll try not to spread rumors about your secret humanity.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The engines hummed steadily around them. Somewhere overhead, the submarine groaned against deep ocean pressure.

Rourke looked at Milo with an expression softer than the younger man had ever seen before.

“You know,” he said, “most people spend five minutes with me and decide they hate my guts.”

Milo adjusted his glasses. “Well… most people don’t bring me coffee.”

Rourke’s eyes crinkled faintly at the corners.

“Get some sleep when you’re done here, Milo.”

“You ordering me to?”

“Concerned for you.”

The answer came so easily, so honestly, that Milo forgot how to breathe for half a second.

Rourke straightened and headed for the doorway, then paused.

“Oh, and Milo?”

“Yes?”

“If anybody gives you trouble again over the translating thing—”

“I know, I know. Tell you.”

“No.” Rourke glanced back over his shoulder. “Tell *them* to try reading a two-thousand-year-old language themselves.”

Then he walked off down the corridor before Milo could recover enough to answer.

Milo stared after him for several long seconds.

Then he looked down at the awful coffee in his hands and smiled helplessly to himself.

[glassfame]

I’d love to write fanfic but don’t have any ideas!!! Let me know if there’s anything you want to see!!

What I will do

ATLA

The outsiders

The Atlantis the lost empire

Harry Potter(any characters)

Percy Jackson (any characters)

Rodrick heffley

Certain marvel characters ( ask for a character)

Umbrella Academy

Anne with an E

I will do any character x another character or a character x reader

Let me know if there’s anything character you want or if you want something not on the list!!

[it-was-a-7]

UD Spain is at it again:

that’s like actually insane.

[glassfame]

Who should I do next!?