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talesofstyles · 3 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

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therenlover · 3 years

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Finn

Han Solo

Assorted/Random

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne - FGO

Cu Chulainn/Cu Alter - FGO

Warren Lipka - American Animals 💙

Enjolras - Les Miserables

Grantaire - Les Miserables

Gabriel - Supernatural

Imagines - REQUESTS CLOSED

Songs From Musicals Y/N Would Sing To The Evans

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

How The Evans (+ Quicksilver) Would React To Yoplait’s New Gushers Yogurt

Characters: Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Rory Monahan, Kai Anderson, Peter Maximoff

Rating: T

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Headcanons - REQUESTS CLOSED

Modern! AU Armitage Hux Boyfriend Headcanons

Zemo With A Well Dress S/O Headcanons

Zemo Getting Jealous Headcanons

Oneshots - REQUESTS CLOSED

Marvel/X-Men

Helmut Zemo

One Last Night In Madripoor

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4200~

Still Some Catching Up To Do

Synopsis: As a member of the criminal underworld, people walk out of your life all the time. Some are killed, others kill themselves, most get caught and only a couple get out of the life unscathed, disappearing into the world never to be seen again. Very few walk back in. So when your supposedly incarcerated ex-lover, the Winter Soldier, and the Falcon waltzed through your door and made you murder your boss, needless to say, you were surprised and more than a little bit pissed.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 6800~

Nine Years Starved

Synopsis: It had been a little over nine years since Helmut Zemo lost his family, his country, and his sanity. Nine years since his last kiss. Nine years since he felt like a human man. Finally, he was ready to start over again, but first, he had to pay his penance back where it all began; Novi Grad. That’s when, by the grace of the fates, he met you.

Rating: G

Word Count: 7000~

Daddy Dearest

Synopsis: Not everyone gets lucky enough to go from being a broke college student in New York to being the sugar baby to literal royalty, but not everyone is you. Most people would be worried about messing things up or losing him to someone else, but you knew he would never find another baby just like you. Besides, you knew exactly what to do to keep him wrapped around your little finger. He may have been the daddy, but you pulled the reins.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 8000~

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Synopsis: As a wanted man, Helmut Zemo spends most of his time jumping from place to place in the hopes of avoiding a trip back to prison. Unfortunately, that means he can’t always be home in your arms. When he is, though, in the rare moments of calm, you’re reminded of just how worth it it’s been to wait, even if that wait was only shortened by the arrival of your enemies.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 35,700~

Two Bodies In The Rain

Synopsis: It was raining the day you finally had to admit your feelings to Helmut. You hated to tell him the way you did, under the grey skies as your blood pooled below you, but at least you knew, in the end, he had seen the real you, even just once. That was enough.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5600~

Rest

Synopsis: Living life on the lam with your escaped super-villain lover means things rarely slow down enough for a real rest. When the exhaustion starts to take its toll on you, though, he knows exactly what to do to ease the pain. He may not be a good man, but he’s a good husband when it counts.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3200~

American Horror Story

Jimmy Darling

Red Nights In Jupiter

Synopsis: At the end of another long day, you fall into bed with Jimmy Darling. The men you served throughout the day don’t matter then, nor do the coins in the mason jar by the door, or the women scheduled to attend Jimmy’s next Tupperware party. No, in that quiet darkness it’s just you and the man you love, bone-tired and happy to be home. Who could ask for more?

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3000~

James Patrick March

Heartsick

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 3700~

In Sickness And In Health

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5500~

Fallout 4

Currently Empty

Star Wars

Currently Empty

Assorted/Random

Currently Empty

Long Form Works/Series

Young Artist!Zemo AU

Chapter One: The Boy With The Easel

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Rating: T

Word Count: 7000~

Till Forever Falls Apart (A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Chapter One: Welcome Home

Synopsis: As if getting thrown through the multiverse, trapped in an attic (albeit a cool one), mind-controlled to manipulate his grieving sister, and subsequently dragged out of Westview “for his own safety” by the FBI wasn’t enough, Peter Maximoff has now been shipped off to New York to live with a glorified baby sitter like some tragic orphan in a comic book until they find a way to get him back home. Things are not always as they seem, though, and this change might just be for the better.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2400~

Chapter Two: The Doctor Is In

Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?

Rating: T

Word Count: 2800~

Chapter Three: It’s Always Been You

Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.

Rating: T

Word Count: 8600~

Chapter Four: Before You Go

Synopsis: Peter, after days of contemplation, has realized that part of him loves Y/N no matter what she is or what she’s been through. Unfortunately, he can’t find her anywhere. When she finally returns home with the intention of leaving again, Peter realizes it’s his last chance to tell her how he really feels. Will he succeed, or will he fail to be fast enough once again?

Rating: T

Word Count: 4000~

Chapter Four And A Half: Gimme Swayze

Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Rating: T

Word Count; 2600~

Cakes For The Evans: A Blogging And Baking Adventure!

Kai Anderson’s Disaster Cake

Hey you! If you’ve made it this far down the list, thanks for supporting me as an author! I’ll be linking my AO3 here. I post everything there shortly before I post it here, and there are some older fics there you might enjoy along the way! It’s also easier to drop comments over there and I keep them open for non-members, so give me a shout if you liked what I wrote!

I love you all, you make me so happy, and without you support I would never be motivated to write! Cheers!

486 notes · View notes

imagine-lcorp · 3 years

Text

Between Two Lungs (One Shot)

A/N: Hello dears, so here it is the infamous fic I’ve been writing. I really hope this fullfils my dream of crushing your hearts once again and that you have a fun time agonizing over this final choice. Because yes, I’ve made this a multiending fic...As always, remember to tell me what you think, is it something you want me to keep doing for other fics? Also, how did you feel after this? pls let me know. Also i made this PLAYLIST if you want to add some feeling to this while reading... Enjoy!

Lena Luthor x R/Hanahaki AU//Word Count: 3,464

-------------------------------------------------

It is possible to die of a broken heart.

You look it up somewhere in the internet. It's similar to a heart attack, caused by a very strong and emotionally stressful event. The death of a loved one, a breakup, a betrayal. It's treatable and rarely fatal. Following the recommendations of your doctor, you can make a full recovery within weeks. Still, it is possible to die of it.

You don't have a broken heart. You wish you had one. Because love, the one only you feel, is growing inside of you and it is much worse than that.

Thankfully, compared to others your condition it's not as painful as it could be.

You have heard about people with roses inside them, how their thorns puncture their pharynges with every breath they take. Others don't get flowers. They get apple or cherry trees with their fruits pouring juice inside their lungs and out of their mouths. Some others have pines and spruces, with cones constricting their organs and rib-cages until they bones break.

So you look at the small white petal that lays in your hand and think that, in your case, it is something almost magnanimous.

Plumerias have no thorns and, even though some can be a bit thick, their branches are soft enough to bend around your heart and lungs without much trouble. Their petals, small and delicate, rise easily up your throat without lacerating it in a coughing fit.

Maybe, you want to think in a very optimist way, if you can keep that love from growing further, you won't have to suffer through it.

Maybe.

So you prescribe for your own heart solitude and abstinence.

The first one is the easiest.

You tell your friends you are sick and need some time to recover. Most of them get worried as they don't know yet what illness has fallen upon you in these troublesome times.

"You know, If you wanted, I could get you a full medical examination." Alex offers with a raised eyebrow, giving you the look of the always concerned big sister.

"Thanks, but it's alright." You assure them with a smile. "I was thinking about spending some time at home anyway."

After a lot of questions you manage to dodge in the end, they decide there's no reason to doubt your intentions. So they leave you to your own devices.

Homemade remedies, or herbicides depending on who you ask, seem to help as you spend your days at home. Drinking some salt water with lemon in the morning, or a couple of vinegar tablespoons in a cup of tea before going to bed. They don't taste that bad once you get used to the flavor and these help you ease the new bitterness that you taste in the back of your throat.

The second is a bit harder.

You have to stop yourself from dreaming her, thinking her, missing her.

She has texted you a few times already, wanting to know how you're doing and offering her help if you don't feel like you're doing okay on your own. You handle it as best as you can. You text back, consistently enough and with measured time and words, so you don't raise any red flags. When you don't seem to answer she calls, but just thinking about hearing her voice makes your chest hurt a little.

You never answer. She doesn't try to call again. You spit your first handful of flowers after that.

It's all fine, you lie to yourself, at least until the pain reaches your insides and white petals come out of you mouth dappled in red.

"You need to tell her." Kara says softly as she pats your back after another coughing fit.

You cover your mouth with your hand, making sure there are no signs of blood or petals as you tight it into a fist. "Tell who what?"

"Tell Lena about the flowers." She sighs when she fells you freeze under her touch. "Sorry. Alex told me if I could get a clear shot at your lungs maybe we could figure out how to help. I didn't expect it to be... well, flowers."

It shouldn't come as a surprise to you but you are still amazed at how easy it is to forget Kara has x-ray vision when she's not wearing her suit. With or without it, she's still the same caring and protective person you have always known. It also explains why she has been so adamant about having lunch together, at least once a week, after your failed attempt at convincing her you were doing well after a month alone. You couldn't expect less from your best friend, you remind yourself as you catch your breath.

"How do you know it's her?" The taste is bitter as you swallow the rest of blood and petals in your mouth.

"It's plumerias, isn't it?" She rubs your back again as you regain you posture. "They are her favorites."

There are a couple of red tainted petals in your palm when you open your hand. "Yeah, they are."

Kara looks at you and you see something in her you don't think you have ever seen before in the Girl of Steel. But you recognize it, because you feel the same way. Hopeless. Helpless. Powerless.

"(Y/N)." She says like she's already grieving. "It's spreading fast."

The easiest way to get ride of the disease is by removing its seed from your heart, the doctor says. No more than an hour in the operating room and your respiratory system would be as good as new. Common symptoms after the surgery can include aches between your shoulder blades, ribs, back of the neck or chest, weakness and hoarseness in your voice, and, in general, some memory loss and the inability to experiment intense or deep affection towards another person. Most of these stop shortly after you recover, except for the last one.

More experimental methods have been developed with the help of biotherapy. Experts in Japan are said to have reduced the spread of the flowers with other plants like kudzu or barberry, while someone in Europe has been using thrips to eat the plant and control its growth. It's like using maggots to eat your wounds, the doctor explains more enthusiastic than you feel.

You could, of course, try the simplest of things and confess your love.

It only takes to be loved in return for you to heal before any permanent damage is done. The seed that grows in your heart will almost instantly wither, the cough will purge the last of the flowers out of your lungs, and your recovery will last only a couple of weeks. You will breathe again.

But, if your love goes unrequited, you'll reach your fatal end in a matter of days. Doctors will give you a double dose of morphine or induce a coma trying to ease your pain. Flowers, fruits and cones bloom, branches and thorns grow. You convulse and gasp until your last breath when the biggest flowers come out of your mouth. All until your thorax is transformed, beautifully and violently, into a garden of flesh and blood.

Anyone who has seen it happen will tell you, how shocking it is to witness such a thing.

Whatever the case, this only serves to confirm what you already know. You can't be optimistic anymore.

You're dying and you will die, soon with flowers in your lungs or after many years with a loveless heart. Because this life and death of yours, you think, cannot be, shall not be, decided by a coin in the air.

And yet.

"It's flowers...in my lungs." You can almost tell which direction the flower stalks take inside your chest as the words form in your mouth.

"Oh." Lena says as she starts to fidget with her hands.

The anger, that had been growing inside her after weeks of vague replies and evasions, vanishes in her eyes the moment she understands what you're going through.

"Have you...talked to the other person?"

"No, not really. Not yet." You try not to lose your composure as you feel the flowers threatening to rise up your throat.

"Will you?" She asks.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity pull your already heavy heart down. "It's plumerias."

"Plumerias?" You can see the moment it dawns on Lena, and the look she gives you makes you wish again you could die of a broken heart instead.

"Miss Luthor, I'm sorry but the board meeting will start shortly."

Jess opens the door a second later and it gives you time to look at the other side and place your hand in your chest. As if that could possibly stop your heart and lungs from collapsing.

"Thank you, Jess. I'll be there." Lena dismisses her with a nod and looks again at you.

She doesn't say anything else and you feel a coughing fit building in your lungs. Stronger than you have ever felt it.

"(Y/N)!" She leaves her chair, running towards you.

You cover your mouth as your chest feels like a boxer is using it as a punching bag. I doesn't feel like it will end quick and when it finally does the only thing that remains is pain.

You thank the chair that holds you in place as you catch your breath.

"I'm fine. It's fine." You don't want her to see it, but she manages to catch a glimpse of the bloody petals that cover your palm once you recover.

"No, it's not, (Y/N). You're dying and I-"

"It's not your fault." You cut her off, shaking your head and taking a little napkin from you pocket to clean yourself as best as you can.

The death, the break, the betrayal. You feel it all as worry and pity finally merge in her eyes. There's also guilt when she looks at you. It is there along with everything else she doesn't feel for you. So you don't want an apology, especially not from her, especially not like this.

"You're my friend and I just- I wanted you to know. I got my surgery already programmed."

"Surgery?" You watch her draw back a bit in surprise.

"I'll be fine." You lie again.

"(Y/N), I-"

"Miss Luthor, the board-"

"I know!" Lena snaps and, when she realizes the magnitude of her reaction, she retracts, taking a deep breath for herself before answering. "Sorry, yes. Do you think you could hold it for a minute?"

"You should go." You say with a small voice before any of them can say more. "The meeting, sounds important."

"(Y/N)..." The way she pronounces your name makes you want to be over with this already. You just can't stand it anymore.

"We'll talk later." You say. "We got time."

She wants to argue, you know, but you won't, can't, do it. Still, you pull a little smile for her.

"We'll talk later." She replies with a nod.

There will be time for another conversation. There will be time. There will be time. There will be time. You repeat it like a mantra to help you carry yourself out of her office.

Everything else after that passes like a blur.

You know you reach the front door of the building, with the voice of the receptionist behind your back offering to call for help. You stumble on the sidewalk trying to hold onto light poles and signposts to keep yourself from falling. You clutch your hand in your chest as the pain reaches its peak. Flowers come pouring out of your mouth and you gasp for air as you finally fall.

You're delirious by the time you land on the hospital bed.

Many faces come and go then, doctors, nurses, friends, ghosts, both the living and the death. The only constants are your dying gasps and the painful beating of your heart until the morphine does its work. It helps you see, with certain clarity the only face that can make a difference.

"You listen to me, alright? I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier." You open your heavy lids at the sound of her voice, and you see those emerald eyes for what could be the last time. "I love you, (Y/N), please, I love you."

You hear her words, or you don't, or it is simply to late to care anymore. The coin is in the air and there's no more time.

***

☞ You let yourself drift into darkness as the plumerias are pulled to a better light. The garden is gone and what is left behind is only an empty carcass. You cannot stand the emptiness and your heart does what it should have done from the beginning. It breaks and breaks and breaks...

***

☞ Your mind tries to grasp her words but you find your heart too weak to keep a hold of them. So you let them pass through like a shadow. No need for them anymore as the anesthesia and the scalpel give you a break from all this suffering. There will be no flowers and it is, truly, not as bad as it could be...

***

☞ Her words suddenly hit you in their full meaning and your mind does its best to keep and save them into your heart. Even through branches and petals, it has the effect of an echo chamber, repeating those words like a healing prayer. I love you. I love you. I love you...

#Between Two Lungs #One shot #lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x you #lena x reader #lena x you

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years

Text

Diary of the Writing Raven

Part 3 of the 1000+ follower milestone! A continuation of Raven lore (check out part 1 and part 2 for more context)!

Today, we will peak into the raven’s diary. Shhh, don’t tell anyone. The bulk of the entries are hidden under the cut--because a bird has to keep their secrets under lock and key!

***Warning: Spoilers for the main story campaign, particularly chapter 3 and chapter 4!***

Day 1

I am here. At Night Raven College.

There is a strange man. He calls himself my Uncle. He says that he is so very, very kind...and that he will give me a nest, a place to call home.

Uncle has given me this diary with which to record my thoughts. I will put it to good use.

I am thankful.

Day 32:

Uncle says I cannot stay in the attic writing.

He says I cannot stay in my cage forever.

Uncle says I must go out into the world.

He says it often.

I am scared.

Day 45

Uncle has given me robes.

He smeared things on my face.

There will be a ceremony of sorts, and I must attend.

...I am still scared.

Day 46

The ceremony is over.

I got lost on the way to the Mirror Chamber.

A weirdo chased me.

But...a nice person helped. Then he guided me to the ceremony.

He had very pretty eyes.

His name is Mon-sure Schemer? Mister Jade Leech. I hope I can see him again.

Day 49

I am so fortunate! I have stumbled upon Mister Jade again--this time in the hallway.

There was another Mister Jade with him. His name is actually Mister Floyd. They are brothers--twins, in fact! Eel mermen, too.

They look alike, but their personalities are quite different. It is a curious thing.

Mister Floyd is a little scary. He talks funny, and he is moody--but he promises he does not bite. He has taken to calling me “Black Pearly”.

They say they work at this “Mostro Lounge”, and that I should visit.

I am excited!

P.S. Mister Jade says I do not need to call them misters. I will be doing that!

Day 50

The Mostro Lounge is lovely! It has these glowing jellyfish lights, and seashell decorations. There is cool jazz, and a calming underwater ambiance.

Jade seats me and gives me recommendations. I don’t know what a lot of things on the menu are--Uncle has been feeding me mostly grain and small scraps of meat, trying to get me accustomed to human food.

Jade brings me a thing called Flounder’s Blue. He says it will be easier to hold down than solid food.

Flounder’s Blue comes in a short and stout glass. The liquid itself is actually yellow, with streaks of a blue drip swiped on the inside of the glass, and a blue...circle (?) stuck in, protruding out like a fin.

It tastes...sugary. I do not yet have the words in my vocabulary to properly describe it.

Jade tells me the circle is a “wafer”, the blue is a “syrup”, and the liquid is a “pineapple and cherry juice”.

I am learning many new things today.

Jade is so smart!

Day 54

I almost flopped at giving a presentation to Professor Trein’s class.

Floyd says it’s because I talk strangely, that I stutter and pause too much.

“Why can the Black Pearly write so much, but talk so little?” he asks. “You should tell Jade to tutor you, he’s pretty good with words!”

I have to agree with him. Jade taught me many new words in the Mostro Lounge before. I was embarrassed, but I asked him for help.

He was happy to oblige.

We will meet a few times each week to work on my speaking skills.

Day 59

I tripped and fell in P.E.--I am still no good at running.

Jade was sweet and helped patch me up.

I cried a little.

Okay, a lot.

He stayed with me until I stopped.

Day 71

I have gotten into the habit of visiting the Mostro Lounge every weekend.

The owner, Azul, is friends with the twins. He lets me sit at a table in the corner to do my work and practice speaking.

Jade sits with me and exchanges words.

He has me read stories I have penned aloud.

Sometimes he puts a plate of snacks or a drink in front of me and asks me to taste them, then describe the flavor to him. Other times, he points to people or things in the lounge and asks me to give my thoughts.

Once, he pointed at himself. I told him that he was very patient, that he was someone I trusted.

“Fufu. That is good to hear,” he says.

I also told him that his smile was beautiful.

Day 75

Today, I saw Jade’s true form.

We were swimming today in P.E., but I had to sit out. Ravens cannot swim.

Floyd and Jade were eager to get into the water. Their skin turns blue, and they sprout fins and long eel tails.

...I am not entirely certain why they lack clothing though? It must not be customary for merfolk.

They are having fun in the water.

I am glad.

Day 83

An angry Savanaclaw student came to me in the hallway after Alchemy.

He started to say something about the Leeches and deals, but Floyd told him to stop bothering me. In that moment...Floyd looked like a monster, all teeth and sharp edges.

Jade pulled me away and invited me to go hiking with him.

It sounds fun, but I am concerned about the Savanaclaw student.

Jade says to not fret.

So I listen.

Day 84

There is so much to see in the mountains!

Trees! Streams of water! Rocks! Dirt! Animals! Plants! The sky!

I want to experience everything at once. I am so excitable that I trip over my own two feet a few times--but it’s okay. Jade is always there to help me up.

His favorite thing about nature is mushrooms. He tells me all about them, and the places they like to hide.

I like listening to him talk. His voice is so deep and melodious--and his eyes sparkle when he is excited.

It’s very cute.

Day 86

Jade shows me the mushrooms he is cultivating, and his terrariums.

They are fascinating--each mushroom has its own personality, and each terrarium is like a miniature world.

A thought has wormed its way into my head as of late:

I wonder what it would be like to be a part of his world.

Day 90

It rained.

I shared an umbrella with Jade.

It was a little strange to be squished right next to him.

My heart would not stop pounding, and my cheeks were on fire.

Day 112

The days are growing colder, and shorter.

I wish that time did not fly so fast.

I want to spend more of it with Jade.

I need to return the jacket he lent me.

Day 120

Uncle is worried.

He says I spend too much time with “morally dubious” people.

He questions my ability to judge character.

He does not believe me when I tell him that Jade is a good person.

Uncle warns me to be careful.

I am being careful.

Day 132

Winter has set in.

Jade is kind enough to provide blankets and warm beverages for our study sessions.

At this point, I do not have many issues speaking, but...I do not want to stop. I want to learn more and more. I want to learn more about him.

I enjoy being by his side.

I hope he feels the same.

Day 139

We said our good-byes for the holiday break.

Uncle is taking me with him to a tropical island, and Jade is staying in Octavinelle.

I tell him I will miss him, even if it is just for a few weeks. He looks a bit sad, but he sends me off with a head pat and a smile.

Uncle offers to order me a tropical drink as we board the cruise ship. He tells me not to think of Leeches--those vile, blood-suckers, he calls them.

I say no thank you, but I dream of Flounder’s Blue.

Day 153

The new year has come.

It feels nice to be back on campus, to see Jade again.

We exchanged stories.

Not much happened on my end--I mostly sat indoors and wrote what I could to pass the time. Uncle was often up late into the night, partying and sipping on pina coladas.

Jade says that he helped a few friends and stopped a snake from tearing apart Scarabia. He even shows me a video.

How heroic of him!

I know that I can always count on Jade.

Day 166

I went shopping with Jade.

Floyd was in one of his infamous moods, and Azul is busy with school work--and Jade could not possibly restock ingredients for the Mostro Lounge all by himself.

It was quite busy in town--it made me nervous. I’ve never done well in big crowds of strangers.

Jade said I could hold his hand, if that made me feel any better.

It did.

And it reminded me of the day we first met.

Day 170

I’m still thinking about holding his hand.

Whenever I do, my heart quickens and my forehead begins to bead with sweat.

What is wrong with me?

Have I fallen ill?

Day 185

The students speak excitedly about this holiday known as “Valentime’s Day.” It is a time when you give gifts to the people you care for a lot. A common one is a sweet known as chocolate.

Jade laughed when I told him about it. He said it is actually “Valentine’s Day”, not “Valentime’s Day”. Silly me!

I asked him how many valentines he was expecting.

“None. Oh, woe is me. I appear to be rather unpopular among my peers, fufu.”

How could someone as amazing as him not get any valentines? It boggles my mind.

Day 186

I’ve decided.

I will give him a valentine.

Day 193

I’ve stopped writing stories and devoted most of my free time to researching recipes and designing chocolates.

I think he will like little mushroom-shaped ones. I’ll need to test the flavors out to see what works the best.

I hope the chocolates will bring a smile to his face.

I like his smiles.

Day 195

Oh no, diary.

I’ve realized.

I think I like him.

Day 197

The chocolates came out so well!

I’ve wrapped them up in a box and secured it with blue ribbon. There is an old nursery rhyme...

If you love me, love me true,

Send me a ribbon, a ribbon of blue.

Even if I cannot say those accursed three words...I hope that my feelings are able to come across. The curse cannot punish me for that, yes?

Day 198

I was a fool. I have been tricked. I was being used.

I heard them. I heard everything.

In the Mostro Lounge today...the octopus was speaking to them, the twins with the pretty eyes.

“This is not like you. You are working too slow,” the octopus said to the man I considered my friend.

“I apologize. She was...putting up much resistance. It can be rather difficult to form a connection with such a jittery bird.”

“That is your job,” the octopus sighed. “We need the raven on our side when we approach the headmaster about expanding the Mostro Lounge.”

I understand now--I understand it very well.

Those smiles, that kindness--they were smoke and mirrors.

To begin with, I was always destined to be a prop in someone else’s story. A convenience. Something to be used, then discarded once I am no longer useful.

I have overstepped my boundaries as a storyteller. I...should have remained on the sidelines, where I belong.

I...I know what I must do. I will not allow myself to be tricked a third time. Not by that old storyteller, and not by a slimy eel.

I will steel myself. I will build a wall—and none shall scale it. I will lock myself in a tower, or perhaps even a bird cage, and throw away the key.

To the man with the pretty eyes and the charming smile, farewell.

I’m glad that this raven was, at the very least, able to be a useful footnote in the pages of your story.

Day 201

He feeds me pretty lies and sweet nothings, day in and day out.

He tells me everything I want to hear--that it is a misunderstanding, a mistake. That things are different now. That he cares.

Uncle was right. Leeches are vile blood suckers.

Day 210

I reject his advances every chance I get.

I know they are all with ill intent to begin with.

Even so...no matter what I say or do, he always manages to get the upper hand in the conversation, the interaction.

I hate him.

I hate Jade Leech.

I hate how he is able to take my words away and render me speechless. Words are my only strength, my power as a storyteller. Without them, I am vulnerable.

I don’t want to be the same weak and naive little bird I once was.

Day 213

It is unfair.

Maybe I am too kind, or too weak, or too gullible, but...I want to believe him.

I must put such thoughts behind me and move on.

Day 226

Uncle tells me that someone has sent a letter and a small package.

Into the trash the package goes--right where it belongs.

But the letter--that, I cannot bring myself to throw away.

It bears his handwriting, the very same gentle curves and slopes that taught me new words and phrases many an evening.

It is silly of me to be this sentimental--and over an eel, of all creatures!

So I stow the letter, unopened, in a drawer. It will remain there as a permanent reminder of my follies.

It is better this way.

I cannot be hurt.

I will not be used.

The curse will not kill me.

I can write stories, forever and ever.

This is...for the best. Isn’t it?

#Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #Azul Ashengrotto #Dire Crowley #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #angst #STOP READING MY DIARY #Tale of the Cursed Raven #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley

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soulwillower · 4 years

Text

buttercup • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: Would you mind writing a Richie Tozier X reader soulmate AU where Richie is VERY self conscious and he finds out that the reader is his soulmate and the reader is well known and very pretty, so he’s just like djjdjfgjjcbvnfnf but once they actually meet she really likes him? :0 thanks if you consider!

warning: swearing, angst, richie being edgy and also a bit unstable (king shit), neuroatypical richie!!!, fluff, soulmate au!! <33 also sorry this may be rough, i havent edited it at all

[reader + losers are in college]

lmk what u guys think of this one,... idk LOL

4.1k words

♡

richie was about to be sick. yes, he really, really was going to vomit in approximately ten seconds and he didn’t know what he was going to do. the room, full of barely-adults chugging jungle juice was sweaty and bustling and the walls were closing in on him quick. those people who weren't in the main rooms were doing sniff in the bathrooms and blocking his pathway to heaven (the toilet) so he quickly stumbles towards the sliding-glass door.

he passes a guy who claps his shoulder and says in a deep voice, "you good, bro?"

no, no. he's not good, bro. thanks for asking, though.

as he finally breaks free of the plastic, out of the crusty balloon that was holding his body hostage, he takes a deep breath and sprawls himself on the back deck, staring up at the clouds in the nighttime sky. maybe he should go home and mull this over, before he crams it down his own throat and chokes to death, alone and broken on the back deck of a 22 year old business major's rental house.

he laughs to himself - an image which he's sure would be a full on maniacal scene to an onlooker - as he lights a cigarette with very shaky fingers. even if he chooses to give this situation some thought, he will end up being forced regardless because this is, quite literally, richard tozier's destiny.

y/n y/l/n is richie's destiny, and it makes him feel like complete shit.

you see - his whole life, richie knew about the fucking soulmate tattoos. of course he did, everybody did - it was, like, one of the first things you learn, ever. he knows that there's basically a soulmate for every person and often times the soulmate marks were different, the ways of finding your soulmate were wide and far.

for most of richie's life - actually, almost all of it up until the last month - he'd had a big, fat 0 tattooed on his arm and below it a humiliating phrase that was quite the epitome of richie himself.

yet it never changed, which led him, his friends, and his parents to determine that he'd gotten a time-counter soulmate mark, which he likes to pride himself on believing he did not give a single fuck about.

the number is supposed to count the amount of time that you've spent with your soulmate, and there's usually a sentence or phrase that's associated with your soulmate's first thoughts of you below it. and yeah, of course the first thing the lucky guy or gal thought of richie is 'wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.' pretty fucking on-brand, if richie says so himself.

so yeah, he never really paid attention to his soulmate mark - partly because the thought of emotionally opening up to someone enough for them to know his whole and true self was repulsive and terrifying enough to make him physically ill, enough for him to develop a crazy sense of humor as a less-than proficient coping mechanism for the insecurity and fear that lives in his mind rent-free, 24/7 365. but mostly he didn't pay attention to the mark because, you know, he thought it was lame.

that is, until it changed from the 0.

it happened on the first day of classes fall semester of this, his freshman year of college.

which, honestly, was a huge fucking bummer, because he literally came into contact with almost 800 new people that first day through classes, dorms, walking around campus, and the dining hall. and yet, as he got back to his dorm and smoked a bowl with bill, he'd noticed that his arm had said 00:51:26.

bill had been so excited he'd almost lifted richie through the roof, because 'holy sh-shit, rich, y-you did it!'

it was hard to believe someone was out there for him, though. and yeah, he didn't give a fuck about it, but he also kind of did.

richie, now thinking back on that day, groans a bit. if he'd just known, if he had just fucking looked at the thigh of the girl in front of him with the soft-looking grin and the alluring scent of orange creamsicle shampoo, who'd smiled a bit when he borrowed a pen - if he'd just known then that y/n was meant to spend the rest of her life with him, he could've... well, he's not really sure what he could have done.

he thinks to that moment in time, as he was blowing smoke out the dorm window with bill and giggling as he ate an entire bag of cheez-its, and how much he wanted to know who it was back then.

but tonight, it had become a nightmare when the information practically fell into his lap. he's at this house party in late september, and about five minutes ago it was just boring enough to warrant sitting on the rug in the living room and just fun enough to actually stay.

“-yeah, she said the first time you guys met was in microeconomics, right?” ben says, and richie huffs in agreement as he picks at the skin on his nails. ben was talking about her again, and richie's heart was beating stupidly hard. y/n, one of his closest friends that he'd made outside of the losers, never failed to make his heart run a goddamn marathon.

“-she told me the first thing she noticed was that you were wearing socks with sandals. and she thought that your socks were really ugly.” he finishes with a laugh and richie’s head snaps up at that. he feels chills spill over back as if he’d been doused with ice water and he gapes at ben. “wait, what?” richie shudders, the words escaping his lips quietly enough that his friends mistake it for a forceful exhale brought on by offense at the word 'ugly.'

“well she was right to think that.” stan says from behind his solo cup, carefree, as if richie’s life wasn’t crashing to an alarming and unbelievable halt. eddie giggles faintly somewhere from the floor where the losers are sitting, but richie’s mind is reeling too much for him to react to or even comprehend anything.

“rich, i th-thought i got you to st-stop wearing socks and sandals so long ago.” bill adds, laughing into his hand. but richie’s barely registering any other fucking information because he’s staring at ben, who is finally noticing his friend’s perplexed face. “you good, rich?” ben asks carefully.

“wh-er, wait. what exactly did she say?” richie asks, really not wanting to know the answer and yet wanting to know more than life itself. it can't be her. he’s getting odd looks from everyone now, but he's starting to breathe quickly and he thinks he might vomit. he kind of regrets never showing anybody but big bill his soulmate mark, because he's suffocating right now in embarrassment and bill is a little too drunk to assume what richie's assuming right now.

“wait, y/n y/l/n, right? from my dorm. she’s here tonight, she told me- oh, y/n!” stan calls, looking directly over richie’s shoulder. it happens so fast. y/n, in the flesh, walks past at just that moment, breaking out into a breath-taking, world-halting smile. richie's chest hurts worse than it ever has before as she waves and bustles over to plop herself next to richie. and holy shit, she's wearing shorts because even though it's cold out, the house is warm and richie can see dark ink on her thigh. a soulmate tattoo. he can't draw his eyes away even though his brain is screaming to knock it off because there's going to be something there he doesn't want to accept, but he then does it anyways.

he almost hyperventilates as he reads the words emblazoned on her thigh,

27:36:08 and right below it: "holy hell her hair smells like orange creamsicle"

he almost sobs right then and there as she greets him with a soft hand on his shoulder, completely unaware of their fate and richie has to stand up abruptly because he can literally feel the numbers changing on his arm as the seconds go by with y/n at his side.

and now, mere minutes later he's out here, laying in self pity as anxiety claws at every inch of his body and fear tingles on him like the slight presence of snowflakes falling on his skin - briefly he wonders if, as an older man, he'll wonder how he never got cold wearing nothing, vulnerable as he welcomes in that falling snow.

he would be totally daft not to wonder how he ended up with a soulmate like her, someone not only so fucking attractive but so kind and undeserving of a monstrosity of a human like him. she is, in every place he isn't, a complete and utter success of a person; he's a hurricane where she's whitecaps in the sea, he's loud and abrupt while she is kind and outgoing. maybe they do work well together, hell - they spend enough time on study dates outside of class for him to know that he does really like her. but richie also knows his standoffish, happy-go-lucky and untamed personality paired with his unwillingness to make himself appear vulnerable to most people will probably have a very large impact on... whatever it is that happens with y/n.

because that's really the point, isn't it?

she is stuck with him. bucky beaver, the trashmouth, mr. i-can't-keep-my-trap-shut-for-three-seconds. y/n, the most incredible person in this world, is the kind of person that was designed for richie to admire from afar, as he is so willing to suffer through. because as much as it hurts to watch her and to love her without loving her, it is a thousand times safer for both of them than the inevitable look of disappointment that will befall y/n’s angelic features when she discovers who her burden of a soulmate is.

the thought makes richie choke out a weak sob, sitting up and digging the heel of his palms into his sockets, trying to scrub out the image of himself from his brain. awful, awful, bad.

he takes a long drag from his cigarette and for a brief moment he wonders if, just maybe, she’ll love him back eventually. the thought makes him feel like crying all over again.

huge nose, big teeth, awkwardly skinny and too tall. maybe he's got nice hair, but he sometimes wakes up too late and can only brush his teeth and swipe on deodorant before he's sprinting out his dorm with his pickle socks and stan's old sandals, trudging to class and getting in the way of y/n's future.

but he is her future, after all - how can that be right?

he doesn't have enough time to take another drag from his cig as he hears the glass door open, the noise from the party bursting through the gap in the foundation of the house and sending him back to five minutes, ago, inside. he cranes his neck and can't bring himself to be surprised when he sees her, backlit from the party inside and figure in his mind standing like the only being in the world.

she thinks he looks devastatingly beautiful tonight. she loves the awkwardness in his bones, the way he carries himself with confidence although she's not sure he always really has it. he's wearing some dumb socks again as usual, though they're mostly covered by his black pants and red high-tops this time. it makes her smile softly.

she wants to know him, really know him, as more than just a classmate, a crush, a boy who's friends with stan uris from the floor above her own room. she wants to feel his large hands on her in more than just fleeting greetings, knucks to the shoulder or jaw. she wants the sharp taste of nicotine and mint from those life savers he was always sucking on in her own mouth as he holds her tightly against him, she wants to know everything about him and be with him, even if they aren't somehow destined to be forever. which, she thinks with an array of wild animals tumbling around her chest, they might be.

after all, someone at this party is her soulmate, and she's almost 99.8% sure it's richie. it gives her the most beautiful butterflies she's ever had, even when he stares at her from the deck with glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"what’s up, buttercup?” is all she says, in her mind because he's stunned her to near-silence once again by just existing, and in his mind because she is the most perfect being.

he doesn't respond despite being completely charmed by her, because he's breathing in the nicotine and its making his fingers twitch and even though he's sober by now, he thinks he may be tweaking a bit, mostly from the overwhelming set of information that just smacked into his face when y/n walked over into that room.

he watches as suddenly she's dropping herself so she's sat next to him, her legs swinging off the edge of the deck. she eyes his cigarette. "that's so unhealthy, rich." she says softly, teasing but with a lacing of truth behind it that really makes richie itch to never smoke ever again in his life. but he's a stubborn ass, so he instead takes a deeper drag, maintaining eye contact. he can feel one tear slip from his eye and he feels so fucking melodramatic as he does so, but he's at the lowest he's been in a while, so he gives himself a bit of credit.

she reaches out and pulls the cigarette directly from between his lips, sending him a pointed look as she presses it out on the finished wood of the deck. he wipes the tear away when she's not looking. and as she turns back he smirks, unsure what else to do, as he blows the smoke out of his mouth towards her face.

"hi, toots." he says in what he hopes is a normal tone, despite his blotchy and tear-trailed face. she blinks her eyes owlishly at him but just shrugs, "you left a little prematurely back there. what, do i smell that bad?" she jokes. no, he thinks, you smell like orange creamsicles.

it's bittersweet, the irony in her statement. because he knows that she probably knows what she smells like every day, as it's literally tattooed right on the meat of her leg, on display for her and whoever else lucky enough to find themselves being acquainted with the skin of her upper thigh. the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

maybe if he were feeling a little less in-the-dumps, a little less like a complete and utter disappointment and failure that ruined this sweet girl's life, he would have ribbed her back a bit. you know, grind her gears in typical tozier fashion.

but he's exhausted and so distraught that he can't bring himself to even look at her. "i'm not in the mood" he grumbles, his heart pounding. she frowns, tilting her head.

"okay, what's wrong, richie?" she asks, and it's in that caring voice that she uses that isn't pitying but simply solicitous in nature. her calming force on him is obvious and immediate and his teeth stop rattling around in his head

he wants to scream because she's burning warm and perfect while he's frigid cold inside his body; a wasteland full of broken slinkies and half-formulated 'your mom' jokes that are melded to the crust of him with the tar that's been sucked straight from those damn ciggies. for crying out loud, if he were to so much as touch her, she'd get corrupted.

she notices as he scoots a bit away from her, and her heart hurts. he's so upset, clearly, and yet it hurts her that he can't trust himself or her enough to open up; no fault of his own surely, but heartbreaking all the same. "i care about you, and i really want to be here for you." she says it like there's going to be more, but the words kind of die in her throat as she realizes the extend of her words.

holy shit, she thinks, i'd go to the ends of the earth for him. if richie asked me to, i think i'd probably kill the queen.

"i stubbed my toe, and it really hurts." he says then, and the absurdity of his excuse makes her laugh out loud, head tilting back towards the moon as the bubbly giggles tumble from her lips. she looks at him after and his face is a twisted mix of affection and utter pain, a combination that hurts her to her core but lights a fuel in her that makes her want to help him.

"it's true." he mutters, motioning to his shoe limply, and she looks at his foot, the tip of his converse scribbled in sharpie with the word 'half-brain' and then a bunch of hearts.

"i like your socks." she says absentmindedly, grinning at him as she says it, voice teasing. but the reaction she was hoping for was nowhere to be seen as richie suddenly heaves a hiccup-sob, one so upsetting and quiet that she thinks she misheard it.

but he's keeling over and clutching his face with his hands, shaking his head, and her heart breaks. "richie, honey please tell me what's going on. or i can just sit here, if you'd rather-"

her sentence is cut off with richies own rushed words, expelled from his mouth so quickly that it's almost as if they were trying to escape while his lips tried to hold them in.

"-you're going to have to spend the rest of your life trying to force yourself to love me, and that terrifies me.”

as he says it, his stomach twists itself inwards at his admission and he thinks he's going to be sick. he doesn't deserve you, you're going to resent him for it. she's silent for a few moments, and he doesn't dare look anywhere near her as tears trail down his solemn cheekbones and drop onto the black corduroy that wraps around his jittering legs.

"richie, please, what are you trying to say?" she says quietly, sounding scared, nervous, upset... richie did that. it's his fault. he tilts his head back, his brain buzzing in guilt. "fuck," he says, and it comes out broken, "you... i- you're my soulmate." he says, looking down to where his chest rises and falls almost unnaturally, a consequence of muscle memory being tampered with by the lethally college combination of nicotine, alcohol and marijuana on an empty stomach.

earlier he was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide he would lose control of his tongue and then the words would come out without him wanting them to, but he knows he's basically sober by now, as sober as y/n is next to him - he's just neurotic, but he doesn't want her to know that, because oh god, what if she hated him for it?

she wouldn't, right? isn't she supposed to find a way to love him?

this was a really stupid idea, but in his mind it was one that had to be done. shutting his eyes, he tugs the sleeve of his left arm upwards, taking a shaky breath. again, it's silent as she reads the words written there. wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.

she stares at the words, and the number above it, then she looks at her own thigh, where the exact same number counts on in time with his.

he wastes no time, though: "-don't worry, doll. i've got it figured out, we can just- maybe we can get yours covered and you don't have to think about it anymore. fi-find someone better, like, oh, bill - he'd treat you nice i think. just- we don't have to think about it, i'm sorry." he says in one breath, not looking at her at all.

"richie, how can i be yours if you're not mine?" she says thickly because she's fighting off tears wondering how someone so incredible and full of life could feel so undeserving.

"you can't want me, you can't." he insists, not looking at her as she gapes at him because if he were to look at her expression he may lose it. it's quiet again in their own little world here, the air silent and numbing as y/n takes a breath.

"oh my god, wait richie how are we this stupid?" she asks, perking up and lightly slapping his arm. he looks at her in shock as she begins to laugh, "we've been alone together so many times. how did we not notice?" she asks, and he chuckles a bit, shrugging.

"maybe we're not the sharpest crayons in the drawer, toots. all i'm sayin' is that i figured it out first." he says cheekily, and secretly both of them are shocked to see how quickly they fell together, as if the knowledge that they were made for each other made all their insecurities fall away.

her face softens again. "you know, i saw my timer counting tonight and i was hoping more than anything that you'd be here. that we'd be-" she adds softly, a hand landing lightly on richie's thigh, sending licks of flames up his body. she takes a breath and restarts. "do you know how fucking bad i wanted it to be you?"

and just like that, y/n unintentionally provides a luscious mix of words and tricks that fill him with barely enough confidence to let him bet when he knows he should fold.

what's life without a little risk?

he meets her eyes for the first time in a few minutes and hers are large and hopeful as they wait patiently for him to give her something. but he still can't speak without running his mouth, so instead he cups her cheeks. her lips part slowly and he stares in awe at her raw beauty, unable to hold it in longer.

he presses his lips to her quickly and to her it feels like he is trying to prove something. it makes her heart soar as he comes alive against her, pressing as enthusiastically as she is into him. he tastes, as she'd guessed, like nicotine but mostly like a mint and it makes her grin as he pulls back.

"is this okay?" he's asking then, his thumb soothing over her cheek sweetly and giving her the same butterflies she gets when he smiles; the very same butterflies that release when he says anything to her, when he comes to her dorm for a study date with two red bulls in his hand, and when she realized their tattoos beat the same.

"yeah, of course." she whispers against his lips, the feeling of his teasing lightly making her sniffle. she presses their lips together again, this time warmer, more comfortably and his hands move to her hips and tug her closer, her hands winding to his neck as his own hands explore her body, caressing her sides gently. he pulls back and holds her softly.

"your hair smells nice." he says sheepishly, and she grins so widely she thinks she may split in two. her heart flutters as she looks into his eyes, finding nothing but love. "orange creamsicle, huh?" she asks with pink cheeks, and he laughs lightly, nodding his head. "best smell ever, babe."

"you make me happy." she says it onto his lips again, and the shiver that runs down his spine is a feeling he wouldn't mind feeling forever. his heart soars because he believes her, he trusts her. she wouldn't lie to him.

"we're so dramatic, aren't we?" richie jokes, his walls sliding back up a bit, but as y/n cuddles into his chest, head against his beating heart as she presses kisses to his neck, he realizes she accepts him.

"yeah, well. we're made for each other, aren't we rich?" she asks gently as his hand falls to brush over her thigh, right over the words. "that's right, toots." he says softly, looking down at her hairline softly, still in disbelief that it worked out for him. she turns to look at him, cheeks dusted a bit as she leans up to press a kiss on his lips.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier has adhd #losers x reader #bill denbrough x reader #stanley uris x reader #mike hanlon x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #ben hanscom x reader #beverly marsh x reader #losers club x reader

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izzyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Sleepality - Inky Freckles

SHIPS: Sleepality, background Virmile and Thomgan, and mentioned Dukeceit (though neither of them show up)

WARNINGS: Remus sends one text message with an implied threat (not towards the recipient), very very background sympathetic deceit and remus (they aren't acc in any scenes), mild swearing

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread

Masterpost

Patton chewed distractedly on the end of his pen, tapping his foot on his bedroom floor as his eyes remained on his clock, watching as the seconds and the minutes ticked by.

Five minutes. Ten seconds.

Five minutes and ten seconds until the moment he turned sixteen.

January 15th, 1:46 am on the dot: the exact date and time of Patton’s birth. Precisely sixteen years after that moment, his soul would open up, and the bond between him and his soulmate would be formed, like an invisible string from one soul to the other. Any ink spilled on Patton’s skin would show up on his soulmate’s, too, and vice versa. Of course, nothing would happen if Patton’s soulmate wasn’t also sixteen yet, but it was still a big moment in his young life.

(If he even had a soulmate, that was. Most people didn’t, but Patton wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t hopeful.)

Four minutes. Thirty-six seconds.

Patton got up from his desk, pacing around the room a few times before sitting down on his bed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his knees to his chest. Despite the coolness of his room, and the goose-bumps on his arms, he was dressed in a worn blue t-shirt and pyjama shorts, revealing as much skin as possible, just in case. His father, Roman, had gifted him a new pack of pens – the ones made specially to be safe for skin – and he’d picked out the glittery light blue one, his favourite colour, ready to write.

Three minutes. Twelve seconds.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Patton mumbled.

Three minutes. Seven seconds.

He yawned loudly, stretching and almost dropping his pen. It was late – much later than he usually stayed up. Patton was a well-behaved kid; he went to bed when his father told him to, never stayed out past curfew. He was usually fast asleep by 11pm at latest, so this was rather unusual for him.

Tonight was one of a kind, after all.

Two minutes. Fifty-one seconds.

The tick of the clock was maddeningly slow, every second seeming to take hours. Patton couldn’t wait for when he didn’t have to keep watching.

He reached over to his bedside table, taking his phone and switching it on.

There was one new message, from his uncle Remus, sent a few minutes ago.

UNCLE REMUS

tell your soulmate if he ever hurts you ill rip off his dick and shove it down his throat

Patton sighed, switching off his phone and placing it back down beside him. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was so certain that he had a soulmate – he claimed it was because he was psychic, though his husband, Janus, had chided him and told him not to get Patton’s hopes up.

It was hard not to be hopeful. Impossible.

One minute. Forty-nine seconds.

Patton chewed nervously on his lip, looking over his freckled arms and wondering what exactly he’d write to his soulmate.

Would a simple ‘hello’ suffice?

There was no point in writing a whole paragraph, especially when it was statistically unlikely that Patton even had a soulmate – and even if he did, perhaps they were younger, and their connection wouldn’t start until his soulmate turned sixteen, too.

One minute. Zero seconds.

A minute. A minute. A minute. Just a minute until Patton (maybe) talked to his soulmate for the first time. That was so little time – though it felt like so much.

Patton couldn’t help but burst into delighted laughter, and he was sure that if anybody was watching him, they’d think he was insane. The hope bubbled up inside him, like a cup overflowing with water, unable to be suppressed.

Fifty seconds.

He moved forward, and then lay down on his back, spreading his arms out like a starfish.

Patton tried to keep the hope down, tried to keep it from spilling over even more. Or maybe that was nausea, swirling in his stomach, but it almost felt too good to be that. Too happy. Too excited. Both, maybe.

Forty seconds.

Patton twirled the pen in his hand.

It slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.

He bent down – wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling right off his bed – picking it back up and then sitting up again. He moved so his back was pressed against the wall, and tilted his head up to look at the pattern at the ceiling, counting each swirl.

He glanced back at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his eyes remained on the clock, watching it tick.

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Zero. Zero. Zero.

Patton sat up straight, squeezing the pen tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.

He pulled off the cap, dropping it on the bed beside him and holding the tip just above his wrist. His hand shook (nervousness or excitement? Both) as he pondered what to write for another moment.

He pressed the pen to his skin.

Hello?

Hopefully that was good enough.

Patton waited a few seconds, almost a whole minute, and then sighed, leaning back so his head hit the wall and closing his eyes. He was disappointed, but he knew that it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let himself get so hopeful. Maybe he didn’t have a soulmate – that was alright, his uncles weren’t soulmates and yet they were wonderfully happy together.

(But his brother, Emile, did have a soulmate, and there was something amazing about the way he and Virgil could practically read each other’s minds, communicating effortlessly without saying a word. Patton wanted that. He really, desperately wanted that, more than anything else in the world.)

He wouldn’t cry.

He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t.

His lower lip trembled.

All of a sudden, Patton felt a funny sensation on his wrist, like someone else was writing on it – the non-existent pen so light on his skin he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost.

Patton’s eyes shot open, and he immediately lifted his wrist to stare at it, wide-eyed.

His breath stuttered at the words now written in black ink just below his greeting.

holy shit

Before Patton could truly process what was going on, before he could regain his breath, the sensation resumed, and more words began to appear below those first ones.

guess im ur soulmate lol

Patton couldn’t help but giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.

He picked his pen back up, ignoring the slight stain he’d left on his bedsheets. He’d spilt enough juice and milk on his bed to care about one little stain, especially right now, when he had a much more important thing to focus on.

Oh my gosh!!!!!!

Soulmate!!!

Im Patton!

Patton Picani!!!

thats a lot of exclamation marks babe

Nervousness tinged the edges of Patton’s bubble of excitement, enough that he almost didn’t notice the use of the word ‘babe’, which made his heart skip a beat.

sorry

not a bad thing

its cute

Patton bit his lip, wiggling excitedly as his heartrate increased. He watched as the words continued coming. They were messy, but Patton was sure the handwriting was the prettiest he’d ever seen, though he could admit that he might’ve been a little biased. He would read a million books written in this handwriting.

im Remy

Sanders

my bdays acc the 16th lol

tomorrow

i turn 17

Its my birthday today!!!!

Only after Patton wrote that did he realise how obvious it was – of course it was his birthday – but he didn’t particularly care. The ticking of the clock had faded into background noise, and it was hard to believe it had ever annoyed him so much, though it was impossible for him to think of anything negative right now. He was floating on cloud nine.

happy birthday

were running out of arm space

id have to strip to get leg room

wanna gimme ur number?

Okay!!!

They quickly exchanged phone numbers, and Patton immediately grabbed his phone, creating a new contact labelled ‘Remy’ followed by seven colourful hearts – a rainbow of love. But before he could text Remy, Remy texted him first.

REMY:

what time is it for u

Patton glanced at the clock.

PATTON:

Almost 2am

REMY:

same

Realisation struck Patton, and his eyes widened with guilt and concern. He bit his lip, and quickly resumed typing.

PATTON:

Oh my gosh im so sorry!!!! Did I wake you up?

REMY:

nah babe dw bout it

i was already up

i always sleep late

PATTON:

That sounds unhealthy :(

Get some rest!!!

REMY:

u sound like my dads lol

PATTON:

What are they like?

REMY:

my dads?

its just the three of us

their names are logan and thomas and theyre the sappiest motherfuckers on earth

gotta love em tho

theyre gonna be real thrilled when they find out bout u

bet theyll love you right away

wbu

whats ur fam like

PATTON:

Oh! Well ive got my dad

His name’s Roman

He works in theatre!!! Hes so cool

And I’ve got my older brother Emile hes 22 and hes a therapist

He uses cartoons to help people!!

Hes also got a soulmate his name is Virgil and hes a florist

They got married last year and the wedding was so much fun!!! So many pretty flowers!!!

And I’ve got my uncle Remus hes my dads twin hes a writer and his husband Janus is a lawyer theyre also both so cool!!!

And that’s everyone!!

REMY:

if theyre all as sweet as u sugar then im sure ur all v popular

PATTON:

Well we do have dinner with our neighbours a lot!!!

Mrs Smith gives me lots of candy

Its often stale but I eat it anyway cos shes just so sweet!

Sweeter than her candy lol

Patton’s door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, his phone slipping from his fingers and landing right in his lap. His father, Roman, stepped inside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wincing at the bright light that hung from the ceiling.

“You still up, Pat?” He asked sleepily.

He squinted, his eyes landing on the still-on phone in Patton’s lap.

“Who are you te- by the glittering horn of a unicorn! Is that writing on your arm?” He sat down, taking Patton’s arm and looking over the words. He then glanced back up at his son, his eyes shining excitedly. “You have a soulmate,” He breathed.

“I do!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in place. “His name is Remy and he turns seventeen tomorrow and he’s just so cool!”

Roman beamed. “Wow, I’m so incredibly happy for you, Pat!” He said. Then, he chuckled, his smile turning a little teasing. “But... it’s late, and you really should be sleeping. And I’m betting that Remy should be, too.”

Patton pouted a little. “But it’s a Friday! I don’t have any school tomorrow.”

“But the family’s coming over tomorrow at 10 for your birthday, and I know you. You’re gonna be all grumbly in the morning, instead of our happy-pappy Patton, and that’ll be even worse the less sleep you get.”

Patton drooped, like a little wilting flower, but couldn’t deny that his father was right.

“Okay...” He frowned, picking up his phone, switching off the screen without looking at it, and holding it against his chest. “Can I at least say night to Remy, first?”

Roman smiled. “Sure.”

He leant forward, squeezing Patton’s arm supportively, before pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead. Roman gave him one last smile, affectionately ruffling his hair, before pulling back and standing up. He brushed the non-existent dirt from his pyjamas.

“Goodnight, Pat,” He said. “And happy birthday.”

In the excitement that was talking to Remy, Patton had almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and he blinked in surprise as Roman left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Patton then took a deep breath, before switching his phone back on to see whatever messages he’d missed.

REMY:

u rlly r an angel huh

PATTON:

Awwwww!!

Your making me blush

REMY:

thats the goal babe

PATTON:

Such a flirt!!

REMY:

im gonna be ten times more flirty when i get to see ur pretty face in person

PATTON:

How do you know Im pretty?

You havent even seen me yet

REMY:

i can just tell

im awesome like that

i bet ur the cutest person in the whole damn world

the whole damn universe

but while were on the subject of seeing each other

were waiting to meet naturally right?

PATTON:

Yeah!

Its good luck

REMY:

yea

PATTON:

Welp!!!

Dad says I gotta go to sleep now!!

Night <3<3<3

REMY:

night xoxox

Patton switched off his phone, placing it on his bedside table and getting off the bed. He wobbled slightly as he stood up, suddenly realising how tired he really was, and quickly walked up to his fairy lights, switching them on before switching off the main light. He then climbed back into bed, settling in the soft nest of pastel pillows and blankets, and his last thought before he fell asleep was of his soulmate.

He barely knew Remy, but he already couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

***

The sound of the alarm from Remy’s phone rang through the room, waking him up suddenly. His immediate reaction was to groan, shutting it off quickly and then returning to the warm comfort of his mattress and pillows and blanket. It was the weekend, he had no plans, so if his dads wanted him up, they could come in and get him up themselves. Remy wanted to sleep.

Then, the memories of the night before flooded back to him, and he shot up in bed, pulling out his arm and staring at it wide-eyed.

The words Patton had written last night had now been washed away – likely to leave room for new words and new conversations – whilst Remy’s words still remained, though now a little smudged and faded. The only sign that Patton’s words had ever been there in the first place was the new word on his wrist, just below his palm, in baby blue, like the ones before.

Morning <3

Remy grinned, jumping out of bed much more enthusiastically than he usually did, grabbing the black pen on his bedside table and rushing to the bathroom, thankfully not bumping into either of his dads on the way there.

He washed his arms as quickly as he could, leaving them a little sore and red, though he didn’t care, and uncapped his pen with his teeth, leaving the lid in his mouth.

mornin

!!!!!

Do you always get up this late?

Remy laughed. The handwriting was a little larger and a little neater than his, and each i was dotted with a heart, which made him even more convinced that his soulmate was probably the cutest person on earth.

what time is it

10:30

later usually

what time did u get up

8:30

oof

i could never

What do you do for school then?

suffer

Remy took the pen lid out of his mouth, pocketing it and twirling the uncapped pen between his fingers, watching as more light blue words appeared on his arm. The sensation was feather-light, barely there, but impossible to ignore.

Aww no!!

I don’t want you to suffer :(

dw babe ive got coffee

life saver

id die without it

100%

Well make sure you don’t drink too much!!!!

Its bad for you!!

dw my dad always tells me that

he keeps an eye on it

Which one?

logan

Okay

There was a brief pause, and Remy almost continued writing, but he got the feeling that Patton wasn’t done, so he just waited patiently, tapping his foot against the tiled bathroom floor.

Do you mind if I doodle on my arms?

I usually do when Im bored but I thought Id ask

I wont if you don’t want me to tho

go ahead

what do u doodle?

I usually just connect my freckles

Like little constellations!!!!

It was impossible to keep the grin on Remy’s face from widening – Patton's enthusiasm was adorable and infectious – and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other as he pressed his pen to his skin and continued writing.

u got a lot of freckles?

Yup!

Theyre everywhere

everywhere?

Yeah!

one day

im gonna kiss every single one of your freckles

(Perhaps that was a little bold for only their second conversation, but Remy was a natural flirt, and Patton was his soulmate, after all. He’d back down at any sign of discomfort, but so far Patton had seemed receptive.)

every single one

Thats a lot of kisses

not enough

but itll be a good start

A little, swirly scribble appeared just beside the words Remy had written – the universal key-smash equivalent for soulmates writing on their skin. Just the thought that he was already able to fluster Patton so easily made Remy very, very happy. He grinned.

Gtg! Presents time!

Ill talk to you later <3<3<3

later xoxo

Remy fished the pen lid back out of his pocket, capping the pen and pocketing it. He then strolled back out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen.

His fathers were both sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking. Their legs were pressed together under the table, and it was clear they’d just been flirting. Both Logan and Thomas looked up when Remy entered the room, surprised.

“What kind of natural disaster got you up before midday?” Thomas joked.

Remy waved his arm, showing off the writing, and Logan choked on his coffee. Thomas patted his back a few times worriedly, and Remy waited impatiently for the conversation to resume, tapping his foot against the floor.

“Is that what I think it is?” Logan asked incredulously, once he was breathing again.

Remy nodded. “Yup. Can I make coffee?”

Thomas nodded slowly, but it was clear he was much more focused on the previous topic at hand.

“You have a soulmate?” He asked. “Oh my gosh! What’s their name? Aren’t you gonna tell us about them?”

“Well, his name’s Patton,” Remy began, heading towards the coffee machine and immediately getting to work to make himself a large mug. “It’s his birthday today – it was actually, like, 2am, or something – and he’s real cute. I think you’ll both like him.”

Thomas exchanged a look with his husband – the former much more openly thrilled, whilst the latter looked more confused, though undeniably pleased. He then stood up, opening his arms immediately.

“I think this calls for a family hug,” Thomas grinned.

Logan sighed, but put his own coffee mug back down, getting up obediently.

Remy groaned. “Really? Before my coffee? Do I have to?”

“Yup! Right now,” Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Logan’s waist and resting his chin on his head, keeping his other arm outstretched, awaiting their son. “This is a big moment! It calls for a family hug. C’mere.”

“There is no point refusing, Remy,” Logan said dryly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“Of course. That is why we got married, after all.”

Remy groaned again. “Are you two really flirting, right now? Gross.”

“Well, if you want us to stop flirting, you’re gonna have to join the hug.”

Remy sighed exaggeratedly, dragging his feet as he walked up to his dads, reluctantly joining the family hug. Then, he pulled back as quickly as he could get away with, making a face and turning back to the coffee machine. He quickly made himself a large mug – with excessive amounts of milk and sugar, something his father would usually criticise, though he seemed to turn a blind eye for today.

Remy then sat down at the table, beside Thomas, sipping eagerly at his coffee and leaning back in his chair.

His fathers didn’t take their eyes off of his arm, clearly reading the words, and after about a minute, Remy rolled his eyes, placing the coffee on his table and crossing his arms.

“What are you looking at?”

“Attitude, Remy,” Thomas sighed. “Be nice. And we’re looking at your arm because we’re excited! You have a soulmate, that’s a really big deal! We should celebrate.”

Remy perked up. “Celebrate?”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tonight we could have dinner at the Italian place that you like.”

“Ooh, the one with that fancy pasta?”

“Weren’t we planning on going there tomorrow?” Thomas asked his husband.

Remy blinked, surprised. “We were?”

Thomas blinked, and then gave his husband a slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

Logan sighed. “Well, I think we can put that off for tomorrow, then. Today... you may invite a few friends over.” Remy opened his mouth, but Logan quickly continued, interrupting him before he could speak. “Three friends, maximum. No parties.”

Remy pouted. “Only three? Lame.”

“If you complain, we’ll bring it down to two.”

“Three sounds great!”

***

Patton picked up his phone, holding it to his ear as he paced casually around his room.

“Emile!” He greeted. “How are you?”

“Happy birthday, Pat!” Emile greeted cheerfully, and Patton could practically hear the usual smile on his face. “And I’m doing great. Virgil invited his brother to dinner yesterday, so that was fun, and I had a real breakthrough with one of my clients, too. You?”

“I’m good! Hey, do you think this counts as Remy and my anniversary? I mean, I know we haven’t actually really met, yet, but it’s been a year since we first spoke, and we are soulmates. Does that count? Would it be weird to count it?”

Emile hummed. “I think that if you want it to count, it counts.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Patton sighed.

Emile laughed. “That’s just how it works, I’m afraid. How is Remy anyway? It’s his birthday tomorrow, right?”

Patton perked up at the opportunity to talk about his soulmate. “Remy’s great! He got a new job at the Starbucks near his house; he’s pretty excited about it. And yup, it’s his birthday tomorrow! He turns eighteen. It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it? That our birthdays are so close?”

“It’s actually a lot more common for soulmates to have these similarities than you’d think,” Emile said. “Close birthdays, close locations, things like that. I mean, Virgil and I were both born in the same hospital.”

“Really? Oh, that’s cool!” Patton smiled.

He sat down on his bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, and moving so his back was against the wall, half-sitting on one of his pillows.

“Yup! I’ve researched a lot about these things,” Emile said. “And- oh, Virgil, there you are!”

Patton heard rustling on the other end of the line, like Emile was temporarily putting his phone down, probably to greet and kiss his husband. He waited patiently, humming a song from the Steven Universe movie and drumming his fingers against his leg. His eyes scanned the various words written across his arms. Shiny black and glittery light blue. There were doodles, too – lines connecting the dots of his freckles, done by himself, and little stars and moons and hearts by Remy.

Then the rustling resumed, more movement, and Patton stopped humming.

“Morning, Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Patton smiled. “Virgil! How’s work going?”

“Not bad. I helped a guy arrange a hate-bouquet for his ex-boyfriend yesterday, so that was fun.”

“Sounds interesting!”

Virgil hummed in agreement, and it sounded like he was nodding. “I’m gonna hand the phone back to Emile, now. Happy birthday, kid.”

“Thanks!”

There was another moment of rustling, and then Emile returned.

“Okay, Virgil and I have to get to work,” Emile said. “We’re stopping by later for dinner, dad already knows. And, before you ask, no I will not tell you what your gift is, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

Patton pouted. “Aww, okay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Patton hung up the phone, before switching over to the texting app, and opening up his conversation with Remy.

PATTON

Hey im running out of space

So im gonna clean my arm

Can you too?

Remy responded almost immediately, as he usually did.

REMY

sure

one sec

Patton smiled, getting up and pocketing his phone. He headed over to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing away the words on his arms (he could leave the ones still remaining on his legs and torso, for now), and watching as Remy’s words disappeared at about the same time.

He then returned to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and fetching and uncapping his favourite pen.

The moment the tip of his pen touched his skin, a small black dot appeared just below it, like Remy was doing the exact same on his side – unintentionally trying to write in unison. All of a sudden, a wave of peace and happiness washed over Patton, but the emotions didn’t come from within himself. No, they came from an outside source, from somewhere else. Not from him.

From Remy.

At first, Patton was confused, disoriented, and then his heart skipped a beat, and he lifted his pen from his wrist.

The feeling stopped.

He then returned the pen to his wrist, creating another dot of light blue ink. For a moment, nothing happened, the feeling didn’t return, but then a small black speck appeared just beside his.

This time, the happiness was joined by an almost cautious excitement, tinged with something else.

What was it?

Love?

Love.

It felt like Patton was loving himself, except the love came from elsewhere, it came from Remy. Like a warm, comfortable blanket of love, wrapping around him and keeping him safe.

Patton beamed, wide and toothy and delighted, leaning back against the pillows and practically wiggling with excitement, careful to keep his pen tip on his wrist. A similar, thrilled feeling came back at him, and Patton quickly realised that whatever feelings he was getting from Remy, Remy was probably getting some very similar feelings in return from him.

damn babe

either something v weird is happening to me or thats ur feelings im feeling

I can feel it too!!!

Oh my gosh!

good i was worried i might be drunk

Have you been drinking?

nah thats why i was worried lmao

would be v weird to be drunk with no booze

Well that sure would be unusual!

The feelings from Remy weren’t constant, they only surfaced when both Patton and Remy were writing at once – flashes of emotions that were practically addicting. He wanted to keep feeling those feelings forever.

this is v weird

on and off

think itll get more constant the more we talk?

like we wont need to be both writing at the same time to feel it or smth?

Yeah!

I think so

Thats what happened with Em and Virge at least

cool

cant wait

There was a brief pause, and then Remy’s writing resumed.

can we doodle?

might make the empathy connection thingy better

Sure!

Patton giggled, unable to help himself, before pressing the tip of his pen to one of his freckles and drawing a thin line from it to another. Then another and another and another. Over and around the written words. He wasn’t making any specific shape or pattern in particular, just connecting the numerous dots. As he did this, Patton felt new shapes and doodles appearing on his legs, though he couldn’t see them through his trousers. Hearts and stars and moons and pawprints, most likely. The last one was new – Patton’s favourite.

He could feel Remy’s peace and contentment and love (love, love), like it was flowing through the air and seeping through his skin, filling him with happiness. Sometimes, it even increased for a brief moment, usually just after Patton’s happiness bubbled over into delighted giggles. It was a cycle – happiness creating happiness creating happiness.

Patton loved Remy. Remy loved Patton.

Love. Love. Love.

***

“Hey, Remy!”

Remy glanced up from his phone, straightening up as noticed and watched his best friend, Toby, approaching him. His foot tapped impatiently against the pavement, and his sunglasses were on to shield his eyes from bright midday sun.

“Gurl, what was taking you so long?” Remy complained, stuffing his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms, practically pouting. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, hours.”

Toby gave him a dry look. “I’m ten minutes late.”

“And that’s, like, ten hours in gay-and-in-a-hurry time.”

“In a hurry? What the hell are we even doing? Your text was very vague.”

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday in a-”

“Which one?”

“Thomas. Bitch, stop interrupting me.”

Toby laughed, and Remy glared at him. He held his hands up defensively in mock surrender, and then gestured for Remy to continue.

“Anyway, it’s my dad’s birthday on Sunday and I’m supposed to get him a gift. I dunno what, though, so you’re gonna help me.”

“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.”

Remy shushed him. “Gurl, I am not letting you get out of helping me. So, we’re going to-”

He suddenly froze, going silent. Remy’s brow then creased, too, and after a moment of stillness he began to rapidly pat his arms and legs, like he was looking for something, though he didn’t seem to find it. Toby gave him a bewildered look.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I can feel Patton’s emotions,” Remy said.

He could, but only barely – just little hints of Patton, pricking the edges of his soul – much less than he was used to, but still impossible to ignore. He was used to these feelings by now, always recognising them immediately, though this time it was... different.

“Okay... so, he’s writing to you? Isn’t that normal?”

Remy looked back at him, looking just as confused as Toby. “No, he isn’t. He isn’t writing to me. No ink.”

“He... isn’t?”

“I can always feel it,” Remy explained. “Always. But not right now. Why... why-” He froze, his eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses.

“What?”

“He must be close. He must- oh my god, he must be close!” Remy looked around quickly, at all of the surrounding pedestrians. None of them looked right – none of them were Patton – but he could practically sense him. He was so close.

Toby blinked. “Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes. Yes, really. I know what I’m talking about!” Remy exclaimed, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “The empath shit only happens when you write or when you’re close. Gurl, that’s, like, common knowledge.”

Toby held his hands up. “Right, uh... sorry.” He cleared his throat. “So, how are we gonna find him?”

Remy’s brow scrunched up in thought. “I don’t know.”

His best friend shrugged, even more lost than he was.

“Maybe... maybe...” Remy continued, trailing off, before he suddenly straightened up. “It’ll get stronger the closer I get to him, so I just have to follow where it’s stronger, right? Like... like getting warmer and colder.”

Toby nodded slowly. “That makes sense. So, uh, walk around, and we’ll go in the direction that makes it stronger.”

Remy immediately began to pace in circles around Toby, pulling a slightly panicked face when at one point the feeling completely disappeared. Then, it got stronger, a wave of anticipation and curiosity, nervousness and excitement.

It suddenly hit Remy that if he could feel Patton, then Patton could feel him, too.

Patton was probably looking for him.

The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He was practically oozing excitement, and it was contagious, as Patton’s also seemed to increase – even Toby began smiling, too.

Toby patted him on the shoulder.

“Go on, follow your gut. I’ll be right behind you.”

Remy immediately turned on his heel, sprinting in the direction the emotions seemed to be coming from, and Toby almost tripped over his own feet following him. The empathy got stronger and stronger and stronger with every step, until it was even stronger than it usually was, and as his excitement further increased, so did Patton’s.

He rounded a corner, and immediately ran right into someone running at a similar speed, and they both tumbled to the ground with two loud thumps.

“Ah, fuck,” Remy groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a jolt of pain shot down his leg.

“Oof,” The other boy winced.

His voice was like a bell, ringing through the air: suddenly the only sound that Remy could hear.

That was when Remy realised that Patton’s emotions were now equal to his own – mixing together in Remy’s soul until they were one and the same. It was almost like they were thinking and feeling as one, which was rather disorienting, to say the least.

Patton... Patton was right in front of him.

Remy opened his eyes, immediately coming face-to-face with the most gorgeous person he had even seen – a wide-eyed and freckled boy, about a year younger than Remy, staring back at him with parted lips and an equally startled expression. He was wearing a blue and grey t-shirt, showing off his arms and the words Remy had written to him today, and all the constellations he’d doodled on his own skin. Now, Remy could see the stars that he’d been missing, and, in his opinion, they were even better than the ones in the night sky.

Patton.

Patton, Patton, Patton.

“Patton,” Remy breathed.

“Remy.”

Remy laughed, uncontrolled and loud and delighted, sitting up straight and taking Patton’s hand in his own, squeezing it. It was warm and soft, Remy never wanted to let go, and when Patton squeezed back, he felt... complete. Perfect. Heaven.

Patton smiled – like a shining sun, one that thankfully didn’t hurt to look at, as Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Wow,” Remy laughed. “You’re... wow.”

“Wow,” Patton echoed.

People were probably staring at them – Toby included – but Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of Patton to check. Patton seemed to be doing similarly, his eyes slowly taking in every part of Remy’s body, before returning to his face, staring into his eyes.

Patton’s eyes were brown, like honey in the sunlight. Beautiful.

“It’s... it’s nice to finally meet you,” Patton said softly.

“Likewise.”

There was a beat.

“You are gorgeous,” Remy continued, the words coming out before he could stop himself. He almost regretted blurting it out, but then Patton’s face turned a particularly pretty shade of pink, and Remy immediately grinned.

Patton squeezed his hand. “You, too.”

“Oh, I know I’m hot, babe,” Remy said, making Patton giggle. “But you, you’re... you’re an angel. Like, damn, how the hell did I get so lucky? I must’ve done something really freaking amazing in a past life to have deserved you.”

“You’re even more of a flirt in person,” Patton smiled, a little teasingly.

Remy laughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I warned you.”

“You did,” Patton said, smiling fondly.

“Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” Remy asked suddenly. His tone of voice was casual, like he was joking, but they both knew – Patton could probably sense – that he was serious.

Patton didn’t hesitate, answering quickly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean... no, it’s not too soon. Please?”

Remy didn’t waste any time, reaching forward, carefully cradling Patton’s face in his hand and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and warm and Remy never wanted to stop kissing him. Patton covered Remy’s hand with his own free one, kissing back a little clumsily, though it was without a doubt enthusiastic.

Then, he got a little too enthusiastic, and Remy tumbled backwards, pulling Patton along with him.

They broke apart, and after a moment of startled – slightly awkward – silence, they both started laughing loudly, and Patton climbed off of him. He finally stood up, holding out his hand and helping Remy up, too.

The pedestrians that had been watching them had mostly all moved on by now, leaving only Toby hovering awkwardly nearby. He had his phone out, trying to distract himself, give them some privacy, though he was undeniably still keeping an eye out. It wasn’t every day you saw a soulmate pair’s first meeting.

Remy took Patton’s hands in his own, looking him over again and again and again.

An idea came to him – not a new one, one he’d thought about and talked about and dreamed and daydreamed about a million times – and he grinned in a way that he could feel made Patton’s heart skip a beat.

“Remember how I said I wanted to kiss every freckle?"

#me #writing #sleepality #sanders sides #remy sanders #sleep sanders #patton sanders #mosleep #soulmate au #human au #sanders sides au #thomas sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #emile picani #cartoon therapy #virmile #thomgan

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sserpente · 4 years

Text

24 little kinks | Doors 18, 19 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: I enjoyed writing this door a lot more than I thought I would. I’m gonna go take a shower now, okay?

NSFW warnings: medical play

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t figure it out yourself.” You giggled, examining the toy in your hands. “You couldn’t have used it on me, it’s for you.” Loki frowned.

“For me?”

“It’s a masturbator.”

“Yes, that’s what it said on the package.”

“It’s some kind of… vagina… simulator. You stick your hard penis inside and… masturbate.” Loki’s frown deepened. “I sincerely doubt this toy would feel nearly as good as your warm quim, my sweet.”

You giggled once again. “I’m flattered you think so, Trickster.”

Christmas drew nearer and nearer. On Thursday, you turned your living room into a gift wrapping factory. While drinking coffee on the sofa, Loki watched you in an interested manner, observing how you tied the bows on every package with skilled fingers and decorated them with chocolate, candy canes and tiny little baubles and at the very same time, desperately tried to find out what you had gotten him to put under the tree but you had told him that you wouldn’t be so stupid as to wrap his Christmas present right before his eyes.

He had even offered to help you but realised quickly he did not have the patience to wrap gifts that were not for you, even though he had quite the talent to make all those packages look rather pretty and presentable.

“Perhaps I should use that feather on you again…” He mused, crossing his arms before his chest.

You suddenly laughed.

“What?”

“I am for some reason imagining you wearing nothing but a red bow… neatly tied around your crown jewels.”

Loki smirked at you, shaking his head in the process.

“I’m almost done, Trickster. Why don’t you go ahead and open our advent calendar in the meantime?” Yesterday’s door revealed a penis sheath with knobs to enhance the female pleasure during sex. You hadn’t gotten around to using it yet though—Loki had buried himself inside you before you could even bring it up again yesterday and you intended to change that tonight.

He returned to you with a medium-sized box moments later, its content rattling when he opened the lid. Your eyes widened. You recognised the metal device immediately. It was vaginal speculum.

An arousing image of Loki, in a white coat, examining your pussy while you spread your legs for him on the sofa flashed before your eyes…

But at first, you’d have to explain to Loki what a gynaecologist was.

“That’s a vaginal speculum.” You stated, both terrified and excited.

“I beg your pardon, a what?”

“My gynaecologist uses it on me to examine my cervix. It’s an annual routine examination, along with a general pelvic exam.”

Loki looked up immediately, seemingly shocked by your explanation. “You let a strange man examine your quim every year?!”

“No, no, no, no, that’s not at all what this is. I mean… technically, yes. But she’s a woman. That examination is important, Loki, it’s to prevent any serious illnesses from developing. Things like cervical bleeding, cystitis or breast cancer…”

“She examines your breasts too?”

“Loki.” You smiled at him. “Are you aware what that toy is for?”

“Very well aware…” He replied, fingering the speculum in his hands. A faint smirk tugged on his thin lips.

Loki had done his research and when you came home from doing some groceries for the upcoming Christmas week (including loads of sweets and food he had asked for), your living room had transformed into… into a… it looked like a surgery. Everything was white, your windows covered with white curtains, the carpet to your feet white and cold tiles and the sofa… your sofa had turned into a gyno-chair.

It must have been an illusion—and a realistic one at that. You swallowed thickly. Suspiciously, you took off your shoes and leaned the shopping bags against the threshold. It was then Loki appeared in the living room, his arms crossed before his chest.

But that was not all. He was wearing a white coat.

“You are late for your appointment, Miss (Y/L/N).” Loki said, staring you down in a reproachful manner. “I do expect my patients to be punctual. My time is very limited.”

“How… how did you… and what…”

“I… what did you call it, ‘googled’ it?”

“You used my computer? You used Google?”

“Yes. The picture search, along with some very explicit pornography.” Which must have given him this idea, you concluded.

“Now… are you ready for your annual pelvic exam, Miss (Y/L/N).”

You opened your mouth but no more words would come out. You were paralysed, frozen to the spot—but most importantly, you were growing hornier with every passing second.

“Now, would you mind removing your clothes for me so we can get this examination started…” He pointed to the chair. Damn… Loki was a good actor. Nodding obediently, you still said nothing when you undressed until you were fully naked and then hesitantly approached the chair.

“There is no need to be afraid, Miss (Y/L/N). This is a routine examination.” Loki had meddled with the chair, perhaps even taken some inspiration from the porn he had found. As soon as you sat down on the gyno-chair and put your calves on the leg rests, his seidr took care of restraining you.

Exposed, you looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Now, let us see what we have here.” Loki had coated the speculum with the lube from the calendar even though you were sure you didn’t need any. Carefully, he pushed it inside to spread you and moved between your legs to take a proper look at your already swollen pussy.

His fingers probed your lips while you were getting used to the feeling of the speculum inside you. It felt so much different from when your actual gynaecologist did it. Well—now, you were aroused and it was Loki who was performing an… exam on you.

He hummed. He was tremendously good at hiding his own arousal, or his heavy breathing which would have given him away immediately. Oh no, he wanted this experience to be as real as possible for you. That was the point of this toy, was it not?

“Everything looks good so far… however, I do detect a little dryness around the cervical area. Does this feel uncomfortable?” Well, he had made this up. Loki sank two fingers inside you, curling them right at your g-spot. A moan escaped your lips.

“N-no…” You whimpered. “It… it feels good.”

Loki smirked. “Does it now? Does this feel good too?” His thumb found your clit, toying with it teasingly. You squirmed in your restraints.

“I-it does…”

Loki hummed once more as if he were a scientist examining a particularly interesting discovery. “I would recommend at least three orgasms per day, Miss (Y/LN). Consider it a prescription. We have to keep that lovely quim nice and wet so you can keep enjoying sex, no?”

“Of course…” You squeaked out. Doctor’s orders…

“Now I would like to screen your heart rate during arousal. Try to stay relaxed. You will have to experience an orgasm for me for an accurate reading.”

Fuck… you moaned again, eyes widening when he produced a stethoscope, bringing the cold metal to your chest and then began to massage your sensitive bundle of nerves for his purposes. He had you on the verge of orgasm within mere minutes.

Soon, you were gushing all over that speculum, if anything not only because of the bliss he made you feel but also because of his scrutinising blue gaze which never seemed to leave your clenching pussy. You were sure he could see it contract when you came, your whole body spasming with pleasure.

Loki took a deep, almost shaky breath. For the first time, he fought for his composure and indifference as your ‘doctor’. He hummed in approval.

“Yes, that looks good…” He said it as if he had just tried a delicious meal. “But I would prefer to run one last test on you to make sure your vaginal muscles are strong and healthy. To do this, I will have to penetrate you, yes?”

You nodded enthusiastically. Yes. Fuck me, doctor, please. If he could hear your thoughts, he did not show.

Your eyes widened. Only now did you notice that Loki was wearing the penis sheath. “Surely, you understand that, Miss (Y/L/N).” A shiver ran down your spine. You nodded again, moaning when he removed the speculum which was now slick with your juices and instead pushed his cock inside you. The knobs felt wonderful. Loki slid right in, sheathing himself to the hilt and started to thrust into you repeatedly, hard and fast.

You threw your head back as you felt another orgasm building, forming that tight knot right below your stomach to let you experience that pleasurable explosion only Loki could make you feel this intensely. His thumb kept playing your clit like an instrument, every stroke, due to the penis sheath, even more breath-taking than the last and when you screamed his name, coming undone before his eyes, Loki grunted, your once again contracting muscles triggering his own release. He emptied himself into the sheath, making you whimper quietly.

“I expect you to return to my surgery next week, Miss (Y/L/N).” He panted. “You might need a few more treatments before I can be sure your body is well-trained for future sexual activities…”

Your heart skipped a beat. Who were you to object if that was what the doctor ordered?

A/N: Doors 20 and 21 will be opened on December 21st!

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente

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fairyqueenofthedragons · 3 years

Text

Key to Knowledge

Fablekingdom chapter 3

Glad you all seem to like the story :D I'm having fun writing it. Sorry for the slight delay, life happens. Finals are coming up and I have a bunch of projects so I might be a bit slow on updates for the next few weeks.

(Find Chapter One with a server of “Fk ch 1″)

Come chat with me on discord: https://discord.gg/nwwcSQSUjh

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Breakfast the next morning was good. Lena had called it “cream of wheat”, mixed with berries and homemade raspberry preserves. There was also toast and butter, and orange juice.

Seth had his tongue poking out as he angled his butter knife to bounce sun rays in Kendra’s eyes. She was not close enough to the window to retaliate, so she settled for kicking his foot.

“Don’t blind your sister, Seth,” Grandpa said.

Seth put his butter knife down with a sigh, turning to Grandpa, “Where’s Dale?”

Kendra wondered the same thing, she hadn’t seen him today, was he still asleep? It was almost nine.

“Dale and I got up a few hours ago, finished most of the morning chores. He’s still out working, I’m just here to keep you company since it’s your first morning.”

“Will you guys be back for lunch?” Kendra asked.

“No, today I’m going to the North fields, I’ll be bringing lunch with me.” He studied the wall above them, looking uncomfortable. “I’ll likely be back for dinner.”

“Oh...” Kendra murmured, nibbling on some toast. She supposed he hadn’t particularly wanted them here anyways. He wasn’t required to spend all his time with them.

“You kids remember my rules?” Grandpa asked.

Seth nodded, shoving some cream of wheat in his mouth, “This is good.”

“Stay out of the woods and the barn,” Kendra answered her Grandpa. “And keep things neat and try not to break anything.”

“Good girl,” Grandpa said with a small smile. “There’s a swimming pool out back, it’s all set up so feel free to swim in it. If you don’t feel like swimming there are gardens as well, plus the yard as a whole to run around in. You might even find some surprises if you look around.”

He stood, folding his napkin.

“You’re also welcome to play in your room. Any questions?”

Kendra nodded, “When is Grandma coming back?”

Grandpa faltered, gaze darting to the clock.

“That depends on your Aunt Edna. If she recovers quickly than Ruth could be back next week, or it could be a couple of months.”

“Good thing Grandma’s not sick anymore,” Seth said, putting some jam on his toast.

“Sick?” Grandpa asked.

“You know,” Kendra said with a frown. “The illness that kept her from the funeral.”

“Oh yes,” He nodded. “That one. Well, she was still a little under the weather when she left but was feeling much better.”

“I’m sad we missed her,” Kendra said.

“Yeah, we haven’t seen her in years,” Seth added.

“She was sorry to miss you too,” Grandpa assured them as he pushed his chair in. “I’d best be off. Don’t forget sunblock if you swim and keep your video games inside.”

“Yes Grandpa,” Seth said.

“We’ll be good,” Kendra promised.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Kendra was dressed in her blue swimsuit, a towel over one shoulder, as she stepped onto the back porch. She had a water bottle under one arm and a very pretty handheld mirror she’d found in the nightstand by her bed in her hand.

She paused to admire the gardens that covered a good portion of the backyard. There were paths of white stones meandering through the flower beds and hedgerows. She could see the edge of a vegetable patch peeking out behind some hedges to the right of her, and some dry fountains over there too.

Just in front of the porch seemed to be an herb garden and around the pool were more flower beds and a ring of fruit trees. She didn’t recognize all the fruit there, only the two apple trees and cherry tree. Maybe that one was a peach tree?

She wondered if it was okay for them to eat any of them.

The flowers were really beautiful though, Kendra had never seen such brilliant blossoms.

Seth was already swimming, throwing some sinking toys and diving after them.

The pool looked really cool, with a black bottom and rocks surrounding it you could almost mistake it for a pond.

Kendra grinned and headed down the steps, following the short path to the pool side.

The garden around her was filled with birds and insects.

There were quick moving hummingbirds, wings nearly invisible as they moved from flower to flower.

Huge bumblebees buzzed around, two coming very close to her. She stilled for a moment, remembering the rule her dad taught her. As long as you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you. They drifted past.

Kendra paused again as two butterflies alighted on some flowers by her, wings brilliant hues of blue and red. She’d never seen such brilliant butterflies. Then again, she’d never visited a garden this incredible either, it’s no wonder Grandpa Sorenson had so many chores.

“Beautiful,” she murmured.

The butterflies fluttered back up, flying around her for a moment before drifting away.

“Wow,” she whispered as she arrived at the pool. This really was an amazing backyard.

The poolside was paved, with some recliners and a circular glass table with a big umbrella in the center.

Seth climbed out of the pool as she arrived, waving as he leapt from a stone outcropping with a whoop. He hit the water with a big splash.

Kendra set her towel and mirror on the table and grabbed a bottle of sunblock. She took a few minutes to smear it on her skin, rubbing it in until it disappeared.

While Seth dove under water for another one of the sinking toys, Kendra picked up the mirror, carefully angling it so it reflected the sunlight. When Seth came up she aimed a big splotch of sunlight right in his eyes.

“Hey!”

Seth ducked back under water, coming back up in another spot. Kendra pointed the light right back at him.

“Cut it out!” Seth called.

“But I thought you liked playing with sunlight,” Kendra said.

Seth turned to glare but had to look away with the light in his eyes.

“I only did it a little! And Grandpa already told me to stop.”

Because that always stops him from doing something, but Kendra put the mirror down anyways.

“Don’t try to blind me again,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, swimming over to the side of the pool.

“How’s the water?” Kendra asked, walking over to the edge.

Seth grinned, and shoved the water forward to splash her.

She shrieked, surprised by the cold, before her eyes narrowed and she leapt over him into the water.

It took a moment to adjust to the temperature but then she quickly swam away from Seth, ducking under the water to avoid his splashing.

It ended in a splash fight, Seth swinging his arms in wide arcs and doing big but weak splashes. Kendra pushed to water in focused waves, hitting Seth head on more, though he dodged more than she did.

She ducked under water after a few minutes, when the fight was slowing, yanking Seth under water.

The fight began anew, Seth and her wrestling in the water until they were both tired.

“I definitely won,” Seth said.

Kendra rolled her eyes.

The two of them played some games with the sinking toys, racing for them and seeing who could get the most. Then they tried different dives into the deep end.

Kendra was the best at the clean dives, making only a small splash. Seth was great at doing big splashes though.

Kendra grew bored after a bit, getting out of the pool to rest on the edge.

Seth had her judge his dives.

“Watch this can opener!” He yelled as he jumped with one leg straight and the other bent.

“Eight and a half,” Kendra called back when he surfaced.

“That was definitely a nine,” he said as he swam back to the edge to jump again.

“You bent your leg when you hit the water,” she countered.

“Oh, come on!”

Kendra grinned, standing to grab her towel, but stopped when she saw the mirror.

Hummingbirds, bumblebees, and butterflies swirled in the air around the mirror. Several more butterflies and a couple of large dragonflies were actually sitting on the mirror face.

“Seth,” Kendra called quietly. “Come look at this.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Seth sighed, walking around to reach Kendra and doing a double take at the insects and birds around the mirror.

“What’s up with them? They’re acting like the fairies from Grandpa’s stories.”

“I’m not sure,” Kendra said. “Do insects like mirrors?”

“Ones that are secretly fairies do,” Seth joked.

Kendra rolled her eyes, “This isn’t Grandpa’s fairytales, Seth, what are they doing?”

“Admiring their lovely wings?”

“Well they are pretty wings.”

They stared for a moment.

“I dare you to grab the mirror,” Kendra said.

“Sure.”

He moved forward carefully, before snatching up the mirror and bolting to the pool, diving in.

Some of the insects and birds scattered, but most drifted after him for a moment.

“How strange,” Kendra muttered before shaking her head. “Seth, get the mirror out of the pool, the chemicals will ruin it!”

“Chill, it’s fine,” he said, stroking over to the side.

“Here, let me see it,” Kendra took the mirror from him and wiped it dry with her towel. It didn’t seem damaged.

She paused, eyeing the assorted insects around the pool.

“Want to try something?” Kendra said as she placed the mirror face up on a lounge chair and backed away.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Seth asked.

“We’ll see.”

Kendra and Seth sat down at the table, not too far away from the lounge chair. Kendra sipped her water as they watched a hummingbird glide over to the mirror. Soon it was joined by a few butterflies, and then some bumblebees, and then some dragonflies.

“Go turn the mirror face down,” Kendra suggested. “I wanna see if they like their reflections or the mirror itself.”

Seth crept forward slowly, the animals taking no notice of his approach. He reached forward carefully, then quickly flipped the mirror and bolted back to the table.

The ones that had landed on the mirror took flight when it was overturned, but only a few of the creatures flew away. A pair of butterflies and a dragonfly landed on the lounge chair at the edge of the mirror.

Kendra gasped as they took flight and flipped the mirror over, nearly sliding it off the chair in the process.

“Is that even possible?” Kendra muttered.

“That was so weird,” Seth agreed as the swarm pressed close to the mirror again.

“How are they strong enough to lift it?”

“There were a few of them,” Seth pointed out. “Want me to flip it again?”

“No, it might break… I don’t think butterflies are strong enough to flip that, it’s too heavy.”

“I dunno,” Seth said, draping his towel over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go change.”

“Take the mirror with you?”

“Sure, but if I get stung I’m telling Grandpa it was your fault.”

Seth moved to towards the mirror slowly, then snatched it up and rushed to the path back to the house. Part of the swarm drifted after him but didn’t follow far before scattering.

Kendra stared after them for a moment, frowning as she tried to figure out what was up with them. Seth was right, it really did remind her of the stories Grandpa told them about fairies.

How strange.

Kendra sighed and wrapped her towel around her waist, grabbing the sunblock and her water. She headed back to the house.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Kendra found Seth dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved camo shirt. He was checking through the cereal box that served as his emergency kit.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking if I need anything else,” he said innocently.

“How about some water?” Kendra said, eyes narrowed.

Seth brightened, “Good idea! I’ll grab some on my way out.”

He scooped up the kit and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?”

Seth paused, sending her a sly smile, “Promise you won’t tell?”

She huffed, “You’re going into the woods.”

He shrugged, “Wanna come?”

“You heard Grandpa, there are ticks in there, you’ll get Lyme disease.”

“Ticks are everywhere, so’s poison ivy. If people let possible dangers stop them then no one would ever go anywhere.”

“Grandpa will be mad, you’ll get in trouble.”

“Grandpa isn’t here. As long as you don’t tell, nobody will know.”

Kendra frowned, “Grandpa has been really nice. He didn’t want to have us here, but he opened his home to us. We should follow his rules, he only gave us like three of them.”

Seth rolled his eyes, “There’s no adventure in the garden.”

“Have you explored the whole yard yet?”

“How about this. If I don’t find anything interesting or weird or anything like that in the woods today, I’ll spend the next week only in the yard.”

Kendra considered, that sounded fair. What were the chances the forest had much in it?

“Grandpa’s livestock or whatever he has here doesn’t count.”

“Sure, but if I find a satyr or evil witch in the woods-“

“If you find an evil witch in the woods I’m not letting you back in the woods or you’ll get cursed.”

“But then how is Kendra the fairy princess gonna save me?” He asked, batting his eyelashes.

“Fight me.”

He laughed, “It’ll be fine, are you coming?”

Kendra hesitated, it did sound interesting but…

“No, not this time.”

“Will you tell on me?”

“If they ask I won’t lie.”

“I won’t be long,” Seth promised, hurrying out of the room.

Kendra sighed and stared around the room for a moment, what was there to do?

Oh yeah, she’d almost forgotten.

Kendra hurried to the nightstand, the mirror was resting on it. Beside the mirror was the key ring Grandpa had given her.

She’d already figured out what the biggest key opened, a jewelry box on the dresser that was full of costume jewelry, and a few pieces that looked real.

There were some fake necklaces and earrings and pendants and rings and bracelets, but also some that looked real. She was pretty sure the hair clip was real silver, and the bracelet looked like real rubies. She’d put them all back in the jewelry box, not sure if they were allowed to use it despite what Grandpa had said.

Did he mean for her to keep them in giving her the keys? Or was there a different purpose?

She wasn’t sure.

There had also been gold wrapped chocolates, only three of them, she’d had one and it was undoubtably the best chocolate she’d ever had.

She decided to check out the rest of the room for more key holes. She had two more keys, both smaller than the first. The smallest was no longer than a thumbtack. Where would she find such tiny keyholes?

The night before she’d tried all the drawers and toy chest, but none were small enough, and most unlocked anyways.

Her eyes scanned the room, trying to figure out what might have a small enough keyhole. They landed on the Victorian dollhouse.

Of course, if anything would have tiny keyholes, it would be a tiny house.

She unlatched the clasps of the house and opened it, revealing three stories and many rooms full of miniature furniture. Five doll people lived in the house—a father, a mother, a son, a daughter, and a baby.

The detail was incredible, the dolls had individual hairs on their heads and the clothing had patterns. The rooms themselves had just as much detail, with the beds having quilts, blankets, sheets, and pillows, and the couches having removable cushions. The bathtub even had movable knobs and the sinks had tiny cosmetic supplies on them.

The dollhouse’s master bedroom had an intricate armoire, with a large keyhole in the center, or well, large for the size of it.

Kendra inserted the tiniest key and turned it, smiling when the doors sprung open.

Inside were more of the gold wrapped chocolates, along with a small golden key. It was larger than the one that opened the armoire, but smaller than the one that opened the jewelry box.

Kendra carefully tucked the two wrapped chocolates away, they were two good to eat all at once.

She checked the rest of the tiny house, under every couch, bed, and carpet, behind every painting and dresser, in every closet and cabinet, but there were no more keyholes.

She closed up the dollhouse once more, determined to play with it later, this really was the dream dollhouse, she wished she’d had one at home.

Looking around the room, Kendra debated what to check next. There was one key left of the originals, plus the new one… was there a key in the jewelry box too?

She went back over to it, shifting through the real and fake jewelry to see. On a charm bracelet she found another little golden key, about the size of the one she’d found in the armoire. She took it off the bracelet and slipped it onto the keyring.

So that’s two new keys, and one of the originals.

She looked around again. Kendra had already checked all the dressers and toy chests and wardrobes (they were filled with fascinating stuff, the wardrobes had some of the softest fur coats and scarves and gloves she was jealous) but she could always double check. It was possible a key hole could be behind something, or under something, but she didn’t think it would be that crazy, the first two weren’t.

She decided to check the telescope, it seemed reasonable enough with all the knobs and different sections.

A thorough check later led her to be sure that there were no key holes.

Maybe she could see Seth through it though.

She opened the window, noticing Dale walking along the lawn at the outskirts of the woods. Kendra thought that he was out doing chores, why was he at the yard?

He stooped, putting something that he’d been carrying behind a low hedge, making her unable to see it. He set off at a brisk pace, glancing around as if worried someone would see.

Kendra considered for a moment, that seemed strange, but not bad. Her curiosity got the best of her though and she headed down the stairs.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Reaching outside, Dale was nowhere in sight. She headed over to the low hedge beneath the attic window, weaving through the beautiful gardens and past a few lovely fountains.

The hedge was about six feet before the edge of the forest and laying on the ground just behind it was a large pie tin full of milk.

Kendra crouched down, staring in fascination at the assorted animals hovering around it and drinking the milk.

An iridescent hummingbird hung suspended over the pie tin, along with several butterflies. One swooped down and splashed in the milk, before fluttering back up.

The hummingbird flew away after a moment and a dragonfly approached.

All the animals were very pretty. The butterflies wings the brightest colors and the dragonflies large and almost sparkling in the light.

“You’re all so pretty,” she murmured to the winged animals. “But why are you all drinking the milk?”

She gasped as a butterfly landed on her hand, wings fluttering delicately.

“Hello,” she whispered, staying still so as not to scare it away.

It’s wings fluttered, and after a moment it drifted back into the air.

She glanced back at the pie tin, surprised by how much the milk level had fallen.

Who knew that butterflies, dragonflies, hummingbirds, and bees liked milk?

She carefully straightened, grinning at the winged animals that drifted around her.

“I’ve got to go, enjoy your milk.”

She walked back towards the house, then paused partway. She studied the attic window for a moment. The house was pretty big, but the attic was fairly long.

Studying the window, she visualized the room. It only took up half the space that should be there.

She walked around to the opposite side of the house, distracted slightly by the many beautiful flowers, and the assorted fruit trees that dotted the lawn.

Arriving on the far side, she studied the top of the house. There were another set of attic windows, window that the room Seth and she were staying in couldn’t see. So, there was another side to the attic.

Maybe there was a secret passage to it in the playroom! Maybe that’s what the keys were for.

She was just about to head back to the attic to check when she noticed Dale coming from the barn with another pie tin.

She could always check the attic later.

She hurried over to Dale, frowning when he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

He pasted a smile on his face as she reached him, “Hey Kendra.”

“Hi, what are you doing?”

“Just taking some milk to the house,” he said, changing direction to head towards the house. He had been heading towards the woods.

“Why’s it in a pie tin? And why’d you leave the other tin behind the hedge?”

“Hedge?” he said innocently, looking incredibly guilty.

“There were a lot of butterflies there, drinking it.”

Dale stopped, studying Kendra intently. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

He glanced around as if there were spies nearby. “We have a few milking cows, and they make a lot of milk. We sell some of it, and use some, but there’s a bit excess. I put it out for the insects, seems to make them happy.”

“Why’s it a secret?” Kendra asked.

“Well, I never really asked if it was alright. Your grandfather might not be happy about me doing it when I could be trying to sell it.”

“It seems nice,” Kendra offered. “The animals seemed to like it.”

He nodded, “Yeah, they seem happy with it.”

“So you weren’t taking that tin to the house.”

He coughed, “No, no. This milk hasn’t been pasteurized. It’s full of bacteria, you could catch all sorts of diseases. People should not drink it, but the insects seem to like it best like this. You’ll keep my secret?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks,” he winked at her.

“Where are you putting that one?”

“Over there,” he jerked his chin towards the woods. “I set a few on the border of the yard every day.”

“Does it go bad? Or attract anything dangerous?”

“I don’t leave it out long. And some days they’re empty when I collect the pans, haha, they’re thirsty little critters.”

Kendra nodded, “Cool.”

“I’d best get back to work, I’ll see you around Kendra.”

“Yeah, see you later.”

She turned to head back inside.

“Oh yeah, you seen your brother around?” Dale asked.

“I think he’s in the house,” Kendra said. “He wanted some water last I checked.”

“Kay, just checking.”

Kendra waved, heading back in the house.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to reblog and leave a review, they feed my soul.

lmk if you’d like to be tagged.

#fablehaven #dragonwatch #fh #dw #fhdw #kendra sorenson #seth sorenson #fh fanfic #fh fanfiction #fablehaven fanfic #fablehaven fanfiction #fablekingdom ch 3 #fablekingdom ch. 3 #FK ch 3 #grandpa sorenson #Dale Burgess #fh dale #fablekingdom

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babykyunbun · 5 years

Text

Apologies||Mark Lee

🌜Pairing🌛: Mark Lee and f-reader

🌜summery🌛: smut, minor angst, fluff,,hand holding, kissing, fucking, oral, couch sex,praising,biting,marking,unprotected sex(wrap it up please:))masturbation,pull out method, cumming on stomach. it’s soft because I’m soft for him. Or am I? I don’t know honestly.

I know I write a lot about him but like, I love him a whole lot...anyway enjoy sweethearts. I didn’t expect to be out all day today, and this will be published about 11 pm and I’m most probably gonna pass out right after that but I promise I will post another request tomorrow♡

Also “no manners”,,yes listen to it

Yep, you are now my ✔️anon:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After about 4 hours you left the bedroom, your hair messy and all over the place. Your cheeks still red and puffy, a slight sting still in your eyes. You looked a mess but you honestly couldn’t give 2 flying fucks. You slowly walked into the kitchen, playing with the hem of marks shirt to calm your nerves. You never meant to upset him, make him angry. You never meant to scream at him when he was only trying to help.

“I made you dinner, it’s in the microwave so no flies got to it” you jump slightly turning around meeting his gaze, you nod your head moving around the kitchen to the microwave. Mark just leaned against the wall watching you, a slight twinge in his heart at the sight of your tear stained cheeks. You grab the food out, removing the foil that protected it, a small smile gracing your lips. He made you spaghetti bolognese, one of yours and his favourites.

“Thank you, I’m sorry I didn’t eat with you” you whisper out, turning around to look at him but your gaze slowly moving to the floor as small droplets fell fromyour eyes. You feel his arms wrap around you, pushing you to the counter until your back softly hit the edge. His hand running up to wipe the tears that had fallen, placing a small chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Come on, ill grab your tea, go sit on the couch” he says before placing one last kiss to your forehead, you nod before walking to the Living room. Stopping in your tracks as you notice what is playing on the tv, the nightmare before Christmas.

“Baby, it’s not even Halloween,or Christmas” you say loud enough for him to hear. Giggling at the faint response “dont judge me”. You lean your head on the pillow next to you, noticing it was marks from the bedroom. You pushed your face into the silk, breathing in the scent of his coconut shampoo.

“No falling asleep on me yet, angel” he chuckles, placing your tea on the side which he had heated up with a glass of which you thought was wine but is actually cranberry juice. You pull yourself up, leaning forward to grab your dinner before placing your head on his shoulder. Shovelling a spoonful of spaghetti into your mouth, moaning at the taste of it. You hadn’t had it in a while and you missed it.

“taste good Hm?” He says to which you nod your head, turning your attention to the movie.

~~~~~~~~~

You definitely didn’t expect this, you thought you’d just have a quiet night, cuddles, kisses and sleep. But you found yourself lying back against the couch.naked. Mark in between your legs, marking up your the soft skin of your thighs. Pink splotches covering your inner thighs, his teeth biting down softly onto the flesh.

Small whines leaving your plump lips, your fingers running through his silky black hair. His lips getting closer to your heat, where you needed him the most. “You want my tongue Hm? Or my fingers? Both?” He groans out, blowing against your wetness,Feeling goosebumps rise up your skin.

“Please, f-fuck please mark” you whimper out, bucking your hips up into the air. Wanting more friction. He shushes you before licking a long stripe up your folds, a sweet groan leaving his lips, telling you you tasted good. Your fingers immediately gripped his hair tighter, a drawn out whine leaving you. His cold fingertips meeting your sopping hole. Slowly pushing his middle finger in, working up his speed before slipping in another. Spreading you up for him. His other hand taking one of your hands and lacing your fingers together.

His lips attacking your clit, sucking,while his fingers pumped into you. Your loud moans filling the room, the smell of sex already in the air. “Just like that, your fingers fill me up so g-good fuck yes”.

He pulls away from you, still keeping the pace of his fingers. “I can’t wait for you to be wrapped around me, hugging my cock” he groans, before diving back in. Letting his tongue swirl around your wetness, taking in your essence. You let your head fall back against his pillow again, letting yourself drown in the pleasure and the scent of him.

The feeling of a soft fire filled in the pit of your stomach, you clenched around his digits, bucking your hips to meet with his thrusts.

“just fuck me, I’m so close” you whisper, feeling the knot in your tummy tighten slowly as the minutes go by. Your hand moving down to rub his shoulder, pushing him away slightly. He looks up at you, pushing him self up, your juices covering his mouth. A small smile forming on his face as he pokes his tongue out to lick his lips.

“You’re so beautiful you know, I’m sorry about today it’s just you know about work and stuff. Like It’s just stressful, but I shouldn’t take it out on you” he says, letting his eyes fall to the tv then back to you. You just nod your head moving to kiss his lips, tasting yourself.

“Don’t be sorry” you whisper pressing your lips to his again, pulling away shortly to look back in his eyes, the way his eyes stared deeply back into yours. You felt your heart skip a beat. “But if you’re gonna fuck me right here, we are gonna have to pause the movie because I don’t want jack singing when you’re plowing me”.

“Okay okay, but don’t you think it sets the hallo-okay I’m pausing it” he giggles reaching over to pause the tv as you swing your arm. He moves off of you pulling the rest of his clothes off, which were just his sweats.

“No boxers, what were you planning?” A questioning expression written on your face, his cheeks heat up and he lets out a loud sigh. Rolling his head back to hide his face.

“We’ll you technically locked me out of our bedroom for hours and I was doing something before you decided to lock me out and, that’s all I’m saying” he says quickly before gripping the sides of your thighs, slotting himself back between your legs. You let it slide for now but you’re definitely gonna ask him what he was doing even though you knew.

One of his hands gripped the arm of the couch, his other tapping your thigh so you’d wrap your legs around his waist. “Wait, condom” he groans, going to get up again before you reach for him. You shake your head pulling him into you.

“Just pull out, unless you want to use one” you say, lacing your fingers with his again. His eyes slowly widen but soon he pushes the thoughts away and slowly pushes into you after making sure his dick was soaked in your juices. The smallest whimpers leaving you, the feeling of him filling you up.

As soon as he feels you clench around him, he slowly draws back before pushing into you again. His fingers squeezing yours as he pushes himself into you more. Pushing his face into the crook of your neck, leaving the smallest marks. Your lonely hand running up and down his back, leaving faint scratches. You’re so glad your boyfriend doesn’t take his shirts off in concerts or everyone would know how not so innocent he is.

Soon,Both of your moans filled the dark room and the smell of sex was very prominent. Sweat dripped from both of your body’s, the feeling of heat affecting you but the pleasure that you felt blocked that out. The huffs and puffs that left marks lips ringed through your ears, the small growls he’d let out when you clenched around his cock. Had your whole body on fire.

The minutes began passing by, the pleasing aching in your tummy becoming more prominent. Heat washing over your lower half, the knot in your tummy tightening. Feeling yourself slowly falling over the edge you gripped onto mark. Whispering small pleas into his ear, your hips meeting his.

“Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock you deserve it” he whimpers, holding himself back but it was becoming hard by the way you tightened around him like crazy. The warmth surrounding his dick, like a blanket.

You nod your head pathetically, long whimpers leaving you as you feel yourself fall apart. Your body out of control as you couldn’t hold yourself still, your limbs flailing and gripping at anything you could grip.

Mark had to pull out to avoid cumming in you, but his fingers rubbed your clit making your heavenly high carry on for a little longer.

His fist clenching around his cock as he pumped up and down getting himself there, small whines leaving him too which definitely made you 100x more soaked. Soon you felt hot robes of his cum hit your tummy, you stared down at him your eyes wide at the beautiful sight infront of you. God, you could watch this all day.

He sat there for a couple of second, his breathing erratic, cum still dripping from his reddened tip. You let your head fall back, closing your eyes trying to calm your breathing. You felt yourself slowly drift Into a calmful state before marks breathless voice filled your ears.

“Now can I unpause the movie”

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randomoranges · 3 years

Text

months ago i had a convo with a friend and she said something about ed doing such a thing. the idea’s been in my head for literal months. apparently i had enough juice today to start this at work lamao

also sometimes despite your best intentions and doing what youre meant to do, your own mental health takes a turn for the dumpters and you lash out at those you care about [re the argument fight ill prolly never write maybe who knows but that clearly happened.] [one day i may stop being vague about So Many Things]

Positive Affirmations

November 2020

“Good morning, Sweetheart,”

Those are the words he wakes up to, on most days now. They’re good words to wake up to, Étienne tells himself, and they help settle something deep and old and ugly within him. He feels the bed dip as Edward crawls closer to him and he furrows his face instinctively into the warmth of his boyfriend’s chest.

This has been going on for a few weeks now and honestly, he could get used to it – has been getting used to it.

Edward runs a hand over his shoulder and Étienne let’s himself be lulled by the comfort it provides him. This started accidentally, really, but it has quickly become something he looks forward to each and every morning.

His return to Edmonton hadn’t been exactly – stellar and it had come with a most severe of shifts in his mood. He hadn’t felt this bad – this lethargic and then that angry – in far too long and he’d been set on his usual self-destructive path without wanting to, but without having much control over these things. It was why he’d exiled himself in Edmonton again. He knew he couldn’t be left alone with himself with no positive outlet. Therefore, he’d returned to Edmonton and had hoped that the storm would pass.

The storm had lingered. Had grown and gotten more powerful. Had taken over and had wrecked havoc throughout. It hadn’t been pretty. For a while, Étienne had thought for sure that this one would last even longer. That he’d end up losing everything. Despite the help he had. Despite the progress he’d made. Despite everything, really. That it would linger and fester. Would grow and rot everything to its very core, with no chance of recovery.

But, for some strange reason, Edward hadn’t left him for dead – hadn’t broken everything off despite the words they’d exchanged and the damage Étienne had done. To himself. To Edward. To their relationship. Instead, Edward had given him space to get his head sorted, had let the dust settle and had offered him his support. Unconditional and unwavering. Hadn’t given up on him even when Étienne had very much wanted to give up on himself.

Étienne knew he was a lucky bastard.

It had been after that that Edward had taken to sitting with him – cuddling really – every morning, for a handful of minutes, before Étienne started his day.

Even if Étienne woke up later than he did, or if he was in the other room, Edward would show up, slide in, and wait for him to come to.

“Sleep well?” His boyfriend asks and Étienne shrugs. It had been an on and off type of night, but not the worst ever. Edward places a soft kiss to his forehead and Étienne makes himself smaller still in Edward’s embrace. They tangle themselves in each other, from legs to arms around torsos and faces that get furrowed in necks, until Étienne is completely at ease. It’s cozy in Edward’s arms – cozy and safe and loving and he feels less wrought out when Edward caresses his back and runs careful fingers through his hair. Feels more human than he has in the past few months and it soothes the gashes of his mind that never seem to properly scab over. Old demons that never seem to be far, ready to assault at any given time, for no particular reason.

Edward spends the first few minutes of every morning whispering gentle sweet nothings to Étienne. For every thought of “not good enough”, “has been”, and “irrelevant” that always seems to resonate at the back of his mind, Edward instead offers a “so kind”, “so good”, and “so important”. He’ll accompany some of the affirmations with a kiss to the top of his head, a warm caress, or sometimes, he’ll simply keep running his hand down Étienne’s back.

Sometimes, Edward will tell him the same things as a previous day, other times, his boyfriend will surprise him with something new, but every time, Étienne feels a warm flutter nestle itself in the depth of his soul, taking root and daring to grow just a little more. Étienne had wondered at first what strange angle Edward had been playing at, but when he’d asked, Edward had figured that maybe, if Étienne heard good things about him long enough, eventually he’d start believing them, for they were true.

He’s still not sure he entirely gets Edward’s strange little game, but he’s stopped questioning it. He likes the sound of Edward’s voice as it washes over him and tucks into the crevices of his body. He’s not sure he fully believes everything his boyfriend tells him. He wants to really, but the negative voice has lived rent free in his head for so long that sometimes, it outweighs all the good he knows is buried there, but he does feel calmer listening to him – feels just a little more grounded and a little less down about everything that keeps him reeling day in and day out. Maybe the positive affirmations do help, in their own way, but if anything, he likes these precious moments when it’s just the two of them, away from whatever chaos will come at them throughout the rest of the day.

“I love you, Teddy,” Edward always ends, minutes and minutes later, and every time – every single time, without fault, even though Étienne knows the words are coming, he stills and trembles, overcome with the affection Edward holds (still holds) for him. It makes the rotten and shriveled place where his heart had once been beat again with found hope and he tries his best to process his emotions as Edward holds him close.

On good days, he’ll return the words to Edward. He’ll say them back and watch as his boyfriend’s face will light up with the prettiest of soft smiles. But on the other days – on those when the storm clouds linger too close to him and the words seem too big and monumental to say, he’ll hold Edward tighter to him and hope that he’ll understand just how important he is to him – how thankful he is for Edward – for his presence in his life. For everything he’s done and keeps on doing.

Luckily, they’re in a better place now. There’s more communication and less second guessing and Étienne no longer needs to worry that Edward will never know how it is he truly feels about him. It’s one less thing that creeps up on him and for that, he’s thankful.

Instead, this morning, he manages to look up to Edward’s face and he takes a moment to appreciate the open expression on his face. Edward’s handsome, he thinks, and not for the first time, as he brings up a hand to caress his boyfriend’s cheek. He feels Edward lean into it for a moment and Étienne smiles softly. He loves him, really, and it’s a strange and wonderful thing to think.

It’s still a shit-show out there and he knows – has resigned himself to admit that they’re far from out of the woodworks, but, again, and not for the last time he’s thankful that he gets to be here despite everything that’s going on out there. He knows he’s part of the lucky ones and he doesn’t take it for granted.

Edward places a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand and Étienne lets out a content sigh. He doesn’t need to get out of bed just yet and Edward knows. They choose to linger in bed a little longer, holding each other close, healing in their own way and as Étienne listens to the rhythmic beating of Edward’s heart, he dares to hope that this – what they have – will never end. Not again.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #fic #projoconodoko #cal totally knows about this and like doesnt question it #lets ed do his thing and such

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miguel-manbemel · 4 years

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Aspects & Fanfics Ep. 40: Cream of Broccoli Gone Horribly Wrong

Here comes a new entry of the main storyline of this fanfic blog inspired on Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders, Joan S. and the Foster Dawg Team. I really thought I wasn’t going to make it this time, because I spent a lot of time working on the “Catching the Reference” video, so much so that I didn’t have any time to write. This episode has been written literally in the last five days. When I started, getting it finished for Sunday was only a hope. Thank goodness that the hope became a reality. And speaking about it, hope and the lack of it and it’s effect on Roman, who is Thomas’ hopes and dreams, will be one of the central topics of this episode. I leave you with it now, hope you enjoy it and until next time.

SYNOPSIS: After discovering that Thomas’ lack of hope is affecting Roman and making him sick, Virgil tries to take care of him and of their injured son Chris at the same time. Both of them try to convince him to ask for help, but Virgil stubbornly tries to do this on his own. But it’s been a week, Virgil’s strength starts failing him and he doesn’t know if he can cope anymore with taking care both of them at the same time. And, exahusted and overwhelmed as he is, when he tries to make Patton’s cream of broccoli to comfort Roman, disaster ensues...

WARNINGS: Romantic prinxiety and logicality. Mentions to illness and death. Angst.

EPISODE INDEX

[Virgil is watching TV, a show about conspiracies he’s enjoying very much. A voice is heard in the distance]

ROMAN: Sweetheart? Are you there?

VIRGIL: [sighs] I thought he’d sleep a little longer… [yelling] Yes, honey, I’m here! Do you want something?

ROMAN: I’d want a little glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, if it doesn’t bother you too much, my love! My lips are completely dry and I need something fresh to drink!

CHRIS: [also voice in the distance] Could you make another one for me, dad, please?

VIRGIL: [yelling] I’m right on it!

CHRIS: Thanks, dad!

ROMAN: Thank you, Virge, I love you!

VIRGIL: [yelling] I love you back! [sighs] Just when it was getting interesting… [turning the TV off and standing up] Okay… back to work again. Come on, Virge. You endured the Dark Master’s working conditions, you can surely survive this! Two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. And, as Janus would say, I’m totally not tempted to squeeze my hands in the squeezer so I can join these two in bed. Not at all…

[intro sequence]

[Virgil enters Chris’ bedroom]

VIRGIL: [giving him a glass] Here’s your orange juice, Chris.

CHRIS: Thank you, dad.

VIRGIL: You’re welcome. How are you doing now?

CHRIS: My leg itches a little less today. But the question is… how are you doing today, dad? I’m worried that taking care of us both at the same time can be too much for you.

[Virgil smirks with gratitude]

VIRGIL: Thanks for thinking on me, son. But don’t worry. I can cope.

CHRIS: Are you sure? Remember that grandpa offered to temporarily move in with us to assist you.

VIRGIL: Yes, I know, dad has always been that great with us, but I can do this, and I don’t want to disturb him when he’s just starting his new life with Logan.

CHRIS: It’s just that it worries me to be a burden to you, dad. If only I could get rid of this plaster. It was really bad timing that father got so sick right when I’m in this condition. At least I could have helped you take care of him, and now you’re doing this on your own. Look at you. You look so tired, and it’s only been a week.

VIRGIL: [smiling, trying to conceal his fatigue] Don’t worry about me, son. It is I who must take care of you and not the opposite. But I really thank you for your concern. [kisses him on the forehead] I love you. Now drink that juice before it gets warm. It would be a shame that the ice cubes I put on it got melted. And I still have to bring the other glass to your father.

CHRIS: Okay… [drinks the juice, then gives the empty glass black to Virgil] It was delicious. Thank you for your hard work, dad.

VIRGIL: You’re welcome. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, whatever that is.

CHRIS: Okay, I will. See ya later.

[Virgil leaves Chris’ bedroom and enters his own bedroom, whose bed Roman lies in]

ROMAN: Hi, Virge…

VIRGIL: Hi, Roman, how are you feeling now? Any fever?

ROMAN: I don’t know exactly, I didn’t check my temperature lately. The shivering and the cold feeling are already indicators, though.

VIRGIL: Let me see…

[Virgil puts his hand on Roman’s forehead]

VIRGIL: You’re burning hot. And I don’t mean your presence, which unfortunately, and I’m sorry, is anything but hot right now, sorry sweetheart.

ROMAN: [titters] Yeah, I can imagine… But the truth is I couldn’t care less right now about my appearance.

VIRGIL: Now I know you really have a fever. I was joking, though. Even when you look as bad as you do right now, I still can see that something in you that not even illness can take away.

ROMAN: So you’re basically saying that I look like a haunting ghost and as you love ghosts you enjoy my nasty look… I’ll take that as a compliment.

VIRGIL: It was a compliment and a truth. [takes a bottle of green pills from his pocket, the label, which has Thomas’ face smiling and looking at he sky with a dreamy face, reads “Thomas’ Hope”] Okay, it’s time for your medicine. Take one pill with the orange juice. That will make you feel better, at least for the time being.

[Virgil takes one pill from the bottle and gives it to Roman along with the orange juice]

ROMAN: Thanks. I owe Thomas and his friends so much for their efforts in trying to improve his mood. If it wasn’t for these little pills of hope Thomas generates for us, I don’t know if I would have coped at all… They’re the only thing that keeps me alive, literally. I hope, pun not intended, that they never run out.

VIRGIL: Me too, but remember what Logan said. You must take them fresh, because hope is strong and almost unbreakable when it’s the basis of a human mind, but it’s very fragile and gets spoiled easily when served in these small doses. So take it before it expires.

ROMAN: Okay. Can’t I have a double dose? The effect is so good, but lasts for so little…

VIRGIL: I’m not sure if it’s safe. I’d rather not take the risk until we ask Logan about it. It could be harmful for you.

ROMAN: [sighs] Okay, you’re right. Itadakimasu! [puts the pill in his mouth]

VIRGIL: What was that?

ROMAN: [still with the pill in his mouth] It was Japanese. Don’t you watch subtitled anime? They always say that before eating, as an expression of gratitude for the food they’re gonna eat.

VIRGIL: Oh, I see… You’re welcome, I guess.

[Roman swallows the pill with some of the juice]

ROMAN: Ah… this is so good. No one makes orange juice better than you, Virge.

VIRGIL: Heh… It was nothing special. If the oranges are good, the juice will be good, that’s all.

ROMAN: [grabbing Virgil’s hand] Don’t take merit from yourself, my Emo Dream-of-my-Lifetime, especially when I’m complimenting you.

VIRGIL: [smiles] Okay, I accept your compliment.

[Roman kisses Virgil’s hand, then they both look at each other for a couple of seconds with the most loving glance. It’s Virgil who gets out of this mesmerizing moment first]

VIRGIL: Okay… Now, I gotta go clean the squeezer, then I’ll make dinner. Do you want anything special for dinner tonight?

ROMAN: You told me Patton had given you his secret recipe for the cream of broccoli, right? That warm soup brought me back from the dead when I was feeling bruised. Maybe it could have the same effect with this fever. Could you make some? [puppy face and voice] Please? [suddenly serious] If it’s not too much work for you, of course.

VIRGIL: [shrugs] It’s okay by me. I have never made it before, but I’m willing to learn and if I follow the recipe, it shouldn’t be too hard. [yelling] What do you think, Chris!? Cream of broccoli for dinner!? With my dad’s recipe!?

CHRIS: [from a distance] Yay, I love Patton’s cream of broccoli! And broccoli is a good source of nutrients to help me effectively restore my bones too!

VIRGIL: Where did you learn that?

CHRIS: Uh… internet!? Oh, and grandpa Logan told me the last time they visited!

VIRGIL: [smirks] I thought so, you could only learn that kind of technical words from him… Okay, it’s settled, then. Cream of broccoli for dinner. I’ll start making it as soon as I clean the kitchen. Are you done with your glass, Roman?

ROMAN: [swallowing the last of the juice] Yes, I’m done. Thanks, Virge. I love you.

VIRGIL: I love you back, and you’re welcome. [grabs the empty glass] Now, try to rest a little bit while I’m making dinner, okay? Let the pill of hope make effect.

ROMAN: Okay. I really think I could sleep a little more.

VIRGIL: Dream a little dream of me.

ROMAN: All I do is dream of you my whole life through. [laying down in bed] See ya later.

[Virgil goes downstairs to the kitchen. He washes the two glasses, then cleans the squeezer, getting it ready for another use]

VIRGIL: Okay… now, to make dinner. I hope I have inherited some of my dad’s abilities to make that cream of broccoli.

[Virgil picks up his phone and starts reading the recipe Patton texted him]

VIRGIL: Okay, I need broccoli… Of course, Captain Obvious… I also need butter, an onion, a clove of garlic, three spoonfuls of flour, two cups of chicken stew, a quarter of liter of milk cream, two carrots… Carrots? Oh, well, Roman likes carrots. And Chris… He doesn’t need to know. And I also need salt, black pepper and cheddar cheese. Okay, time to summon it all. Here we go.

[Virgil summons all the ingredients, which appear on the counter]

VIRGIL: I wish I could summon the cream of broccoli itself already made… but I need to make it myself a couple of times before I’m certain I’m summoning it right. I wouldn’t want to serve my husband and son a bowl of swamp mud. Okay, let’s get cooking.

[Virgil starts following the instructions of the recipe. It’s not long before he starts getting anxious about the many steps the recipe has, some of them done at the same time. Soon, an awful smell starts filling the whole room]

VIRGIL: Holly sh… [bleep] ! The broccoli is burning! Oh, f… [bleep], the pan is on fire!

ROMAN: [distant voice] Virge? It’s something burning?

VIRGIL: It’s… it’s okay, Roman! I have it all under control!

[Virgil puts the pan on fire in the sink]

ROMAN: Remember, Virge, that you mustn’t try to extinguish grease fire with…

[Virgil turns on the water and a huge flame erupts from the pan, Virgil yells scared]

ROMAN: …water.

VIRGIL: [yelling almost hysterical] Okay, okay! Don’t worry, I… I knew that!

[Virgil looks for the fire extinguisher everywhere, on the verge of a panic attack. He finally finds it and extinguishes the flames that had already started burning the cabinets above the sink]

VIRGIL: Gosh… that was close… but I must endure. I need to make that cream of broccoli. And I’ll finish it even if I have to throw myself to the floor to grow the vegetables myself!

[Virgil approaches the counter, but he slips on a bunch of butter that had fallen on the floor in the confusion, and he loudly falls. He tries to hang on the edge on the counter, but he only manages to throw down everything that was there over him with a huge chaotic noise]

ROMAN: What was that? Is everything okay, Virge?

VIRGIL: [mumbling with a face of pain, covered with all the ingredients that fell on him] Aw… my arm… Talk about throwing myself to the floor… aw…

[soon footsteps are heard on the stairs and Roman appears wearing a dressing gown, white with a red belt and his logo on the left side of his chest. He’s also wearing golden slippers, and he’s carrying a walking stick, made of gold with the handle full of embedded rubies and amethysts. Roman looks horrified at the chaos in the kitchen, especially when he sees Virgil lying on the ground. Roman walks towards him, unable to run, but walking as fast as he can, leaning on his cane]

ROMAN: Virgil! Sweet Bette Midler, are you okay?

VIRGIL: [getting up with difficulty] Roman, you shouldn’t be up. Get back to bed, I can handle this.

ROMAN: Don’t worry, the pill has started making effect and I’m not feeling fever at this moment. And you obviously can’t handle this, anyone could see it. I’m so sorry I’ve made you go through this, my love. But not anymore, I swear.

VIRGIL: It’s not your fault. You didn’t choose to get sick, and it’s my duty to take care of you.

ROMAN: For starters, it never was a duty as in an obligation, and even if it was or rather you saw it as such because of your vows, you never vowed to do it all alone on your own. Logan once taught me that one mustn’t do things alone if they can gather a group of friends to help them. Now I understand what he meant and I agree. Virgil, I want you to call the others for help.

VIRGIL: So you think I’m not good enough to take care of you on my own, right? You think I’m not capable to do this?

ROMAN: You are capable enough, but capacity wears out with time for anyone, and there’s no need for you to do all of this all alone. Please, Virge, you need to rest as much as we do at this moment. Don’t you see we’re worrying about you and we’d feel better if we knew that you had some assistance? At least, let Patton come here to help you. He already offered to do so.

VIRGIL: But I don’t want to bother him…

ROMAN: [serious, firm voice] Either we call him or I call my brother Remus. You choose, but you’re no longer doing this alone.

VIRGIL: …or maybe it would be fine to call my dad…

ROMAN: That’s more like it. I knew I could convince you somehow.

VIRGIL: You say convincing, I say coercing. You know the mess that would happen if we bring Remus here to take care of this.

ROMAN: Whatever works… Will you call Patton or shall I?

VIRGIL: No, I’ll call him myself. And you’re going back to bed right now, mister.

ROMAN: I tell you I’m feeling fine at this moment. Call him. I’m not going back to bed until I see him here.

VIRGIL: [sighs] Okay… Dad! Dad are you there? Could you come here, please!

[Patton rises up]

PATTON: Hi, son. How are you do… [notices the mess in the kitchen] …ing now…? Okay I can see the answer with my own eyes… What’s happened here?

VIRGIL: Let’s just say that the cream of broccoli didn’t agree with me… while I was making it, that is.

PATTON: Okay, do not fear anymore. Your happy papi Patton is here.

VIRGIL: I hate so much bothering you… but Roman is right, I have reached my limit and I really need help.

PATTON: Hey, don’t worry, Virge. You are my son. You do this because you’re motivated by taking care of your son and husband, right? Do you think my motivation of taking care of you and your family, which is my family too, is any less strong? I’ll always be here for you, don’t you ever hesitate again to call me if you need me.

VIRGIL: Thank you, dad. Thank you so much.

PATTON: Okay, then first, Roman, go back to bed, you shouldn’t be up. Second, you, Virgil go have a shower and change your dirty clothes. And, even if you’re Vigilance and Anxiety, try to relax. Third, I’ll clean this mess before you have time to say “cookies”. And four, time to make some good warm cream of broccoli for my folks. [clapping hands] Okay, move on, now!

ROMAN: Wow, Patton, you really have your condition of dad in your DNA. You’ve organized all of our tasks in less than ten seconds…

PATTON: I said, back to bed, Princey, or do you want me to grab you there in my arms?

ROMAN: Okay, okay, I’m going, you don’t need to do that. [going upstairs] See ya later.

[Virgil also goes upstairs to the bathroom next to his bedroom. While getting a shower, he shows a face of concern while his thoughts are heard in an off-voice]

VIRGIL: [train of thought] Patton is saving the day this time… but I can’t rely on him for everything. I need to be self-sufficient. If I’m not capable of taking care of my own family… what kind of father and husband am I going to be? And Roman needs me… He doesn’t say it, because he pretends to be strong, like I do… but I know him very well. Behind that smile of assurance and that theatrical voice of bravery he displays… I can sense the fear in his eyes. He knows his life is on the stake and he doesn’t wanna die. I’m afraid to speak openly to him about that because I don’t wanna hurt or stress him… but I know he’s so scared. I wish he would open up to me, but opening up about his feelings has never been his strong suit… But is it him who needs to talk or is it really me? Is he the one who’s afraid to die… or is it me the one who’s afraid to lose him? Perhaps it is me who wants to talk to him about it… but I shouldn’t… Goodness, if I lose him… it will be like falling back into the Dark Realm again. He was the torch that guided me to the Light Side in the first place. It was literally his kiss what transformed me into a Light Side… and… I don’t know what I would do without him… [black tears fall down his cheeks, he cleans them and notices his stained hand] Oh, sh… I forgot to take my eyeshadow off before taking the shower. Oh, never mind, I’ll clean it later.

[Virgil gets out of the shower and wears a purple bathing robe. Right at that moment, Roman enters the bathroom. Virgil turns around quickly, trying to avoid Roman seeing his ruined eyeshadow]

ROMAN: Oh, sorry, I needed to go to the bathroom to pick up something and… Wait a minute. Have you been crying, Virge? Your eyeshadow is all over your cheeks

VIRGIL: What? Don’t be silly, it’s just that I forgot to take the eyeshadow off and the shower ruined it, that’s all. I…

ROMAN: You can’t fool me, Virge. I know you, and I can tell when you’ve been crying. What’s wrong, my love? You know you can tell me anything.

[Virgil turns around and looks at Roman. He’s crying again]

VIRGIL: I’m afraid.

ROMAN: Afraid?

VIRGIL: I don’t wanna lose you and I’m afraid that you could…

[Virgil gets choked up and covers his mouth and nose, desperately trying to fight the outburst of crying he can no longer hold back. Roman’s eyes get filled with tears again and he looks at Virgil with a glance overflowing with love]

ROMAN: Gosh… What have I done in life to deserve so much love from you? [opening his arms] Come here.

[Roman hugs Virgil tight until he calms down, then gives him a long kiss. Then he stares at him for a couple of seconds, still hugging him]

ROMAN: I’m scared too, I’m not gonna lie. Who wouldn’t be when his life is on risk? But I’m not gone yet, and while I’m here, I’m gonna keep fighting for my life, to keep on living, to keep on sharing my life with you and Chris, and the rest of our friends. You are the reason why I haven’t given up yet. So don’t give up either. I’m still standing and this illness won’t take me so easily. Heck, it won’t take me, at all. You’ll see. Okay?

VIRGIL: Okay…

[Roman kisses Virgil again, then Patton’s voice is heard from the bedroom on the other side of the door]

PATTON: Soup’s ready! Where are you, guys?

ROMAN: [still kissing Virgil, he groans] Mmm… I’m regretting Patton being here right at this moment…

VIRGIL: [kissing Roman’s cheek with a mocking smirk] It was your idea, Roman…

ROMAN: Yeah, I know… [gives Virgil a quick kiss, then releases him] Okay, let’s go. Now I’m feeling stronger than ever thanks to the pill… and this pill of love we’ve just shared. But I’m really in the mood for some warm soup. Aren’t you?

VIRGIL: Yeah, me too. But you go first, I’ll fix my makeup, then I’ll help Chris get to the stairs. It’s a good thing we can summon the chair lift at will to help Chris go up and down the stairs while his leg is still in the plaster.

ROMAN: Yeah, it is. Okay, I’ll be waiting downstairs for you two to arrive. I love you, my Hooded Dark Prince.

VIRGIL: I love you too, my Sir Sing-Along.

ROMAN: [opening the door] I’m here, Patton.

PATTON: Oh, there you are. [noticing Virgil in the bathroom before Roman closes the door behind him] I hope I’m not interrupting something.

ROMAN: No, we were just having a husband-to-husband talk we both needed to have, but we were done. I can’t wait for that broccoli, I’m hungry! My kingdom for a bowl of cream of broccoli!

PATTON: It’s a good sign that you feel hungry, kiddo. Let’s go.

[meanwhile, in the bathroom, Virgil cleans his face, then applies new makeup. Looking at himself in the mirror, he smirks]

VIRGIL: Things are coming rough right now… but as long as we’re together, we’ll get through it, I know.

PATTON: Virgil, your soup will get cold! I already helped Chris down the stairs, so hurry up, we’re all waiting down here, all the four of us!

VIRGIL: [changing to his usual outfit, then opening the door] Yes, I’m ready, dad! Don’t eat all the cream of broccoli without me! Wait… did he say the four of us?

[ending card]

[Roman, Virgil, Patton, Chris and Logan, who’s joined them, are eating the cream of broccoli on the living room’s table]

LOGAN: I give you my thanks for inviting me to dinner tonight with all of you. This cream of broccoli is more than adequate, Patton.

PATTON: Thanks, Lo. It’s the least I could do, inviting you for dinner, when I’m gonna have to spend a few nights here to help them.

VIRGIL: What? No, dad, that won’t be necessary. You can perfectly go home tonight with Logan, we can survive the night on our own, cause the only thing we’ll be doing is sleeping. And if anything goes wrong in the night, the only one who could get up anyway is me. You know you all fall asleep while Thomas is sleeping.

PATTON: Yeah, I know I’d spend the night sleeping in spite of myself… but I’d probably have nightmares all night out of the concern. If I was here, I’d feel more relaxed and my dreams would be more pleasant. Please, I can sleep on the couch if you want me to.

VIRGIL: No, dad. Should you come over here for the night, I would never allow you to sleep on the couch. We have a guest bedroom you can use… [sighs] Okay, if you think being away could cause you harm in your sleep… I accept. Both of you can sleep over here if you want, Logan.

LOGAN: Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a…

VIRGIL: It’s okay, there’s room in the bed for both of you, and I would be less worried knowing that I’m not separating you now that you’re just married. What do you think, Roman?

ROMAN: Oh, I don’t mind at all.

LOGAN: All right, if you don’t have any issues with it, I accept. The only thing that worries me is breakfast, I…

ROMAN: It’s okay, Logan, we also eat a lot of Crofter’s in this house in the mornings.

LOGAN: [speaking quickly and excited] I’m in!

PATTON: Then, it’s settled. We’ll be here as the lovely family I’ve always envisioned in my dreams!

LOGAN: But only for dinner and breakfast, though, at least me. I’m currently working on something that needs all my attention in my own room during the day.

VIRGIL: Oh, okay, if that’s what you need. Can I ask what are you working on?

PATTON: Yes, my love, I would also like to know, you never told me anything.

LOGAN: It’s a plan of action to try and make Thomas’ mood improve. It is my duty to create all the logical mechanisms that help Thomas enjoy life and understand why life is still enjoyable, so I have to do that. My goal is that, when I have settled that foundation, Thomas will be able to restore his levels of hope to a healthy level again.

ROMAN: Oh, that would be so great. If it would work, you would be saving my life, literally. Thank you, Logan.

LOGAN: Don’t mention. That’s my job, after all. How are Thomas’ pills of hope working, by the way? Are they doing the trick?

ROMAN: Yes, they’re working perfectly fine. I had the last one a couple of hours ago and when I take one, all the symptoms almost disappear, even the fever goes away. That’s why I’m feeling so fine right now. It’s a shame that the effect only lasts for around four hours per pill and that I can only get three pills each day so I have to spend a great deal of the day feeling the symptoms in all their crudeness, and in those moments I feel like trash, but when they’re working like now, it’s an absolute relief. Say, isn’t there any possibility that I could get a double dose to make the effect last longer?

LOGAN: [suddenly yelling, with a face of fear and tension] No! Don’t do that! [there’s a silence at the table, everyone looks at Logan in silence. Logan clears his throat] I’m sorry… I wish you could take more pills or that the effect was longer, but as I told you, hope is fragile when served in these small doses, and if you got more than the established dose, which is one pill each eight hours, the pills you’d take in excess would get corrupted inside of you, as if it was an overdose. And then, they wouldn’t be hope anymore, they would be delusion, irrationality, even dementia, and that would have dangerous consequences, for you and for Thomas, that we must avoid at all cost. Remember, Roman. Even if you’re tempted to do so when you’re feeling the worst, even if you feel like you’re gonna die if you don’t, don’t take more than the right dose each day, do you understand?

ROMAN: Okay. I understand.

LOGAN: And I’m warning you about this because… I’m sorry but, seeing the evolution of your illness…

ROMAN: What?

LOGAN: You’re getting worse, Roman.

VIRGIL: What?

LOGAN: The pills will keep rescuing you and making you feel fine while they’re working, but when the effect wears off… you’re gonna be feeling worse than you’re already feeling now.

ROMAN: Oh, no… There has to be something you can do.

LOGAN: We’re working on it. But you must have faith in us and be strong when you feel the worst.

ROMAN: You’ve managed to scare me… Is it going to be so horrible?

LOGAN: Maybe even worse than anything you could imagine.

VIRGIL: [distressed] Logan, please, there’s no need to say things so crudely.

LOGAN: I’m sorry, but I can’t lie in a matter so serious, and Roman has the right to know… to be ready for that when it happens.

ROMAN: Logan is right, Virge, I have the right to know to prepare myself mentally. Don’t worry, I’m a prince. I’ll be strong, I promise.

VIRGIL: Roman… I know you’ll do your best. And we’ll do our best to take care of you too.

ROMAN: I count on that…

CHRIS: I wish I could take care of you too, father, but my leg…

ROMAN: I know, Chris, don’t worry about anything. Save your energies to heal that leg and get back in perfect shape. Remember we have lot’s of fencing lessons to share together in the future. And I don’t have any intention to miss them!

CHRIS: [smiling] Right!

PATTON: Okay, soup is over. Would you like a nice cup of hot chocolate for dessert? I can make churros to go with it.

VIRGIL: I’m not in the mood, dad, sorry…

PATTON: And that’s why I want you to help me make them. We need to distract ourselves and enjoy Roman’s good moments while they last. I won’t take no for an answer, kiddo.

VIRGIL: [sighs] Okay… let’s make some churros, then.

ROMAN: I think I’m gonna enjoy Patton’s stay in this room more than I anticipated. Churros for everyone! Yummy!

LOGAN: I would have preferred to dip them in Crofter’s, but hot chocolate is good too.

[Virgil goes with Patton to the kitchen and they start gathering the ingredients while Roman looks at them with a face of love and satisfaction, even though his eyes can’t conceal the fear. Virgil looks furtively at him and notices this fear but says nothing, and focuses on not messing up the recipe again]

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #angst #tw illness #aspects and fanfics

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heave-hyung · 5 years

Note

Could you do something where jimin is a little he gets a bellyache and either jungkook or hobi takes care of him/one of them is his daddy and ends up puking all over the place? Thank you so much

A/N: So I don’t know how good this is and I don’t know if I’ll really write much littlespace, but I wanted to post this anyway. I guess if this is a hit I can take little requests, I just can’t promise that I’ll write them all? Though of course I’ll do my best!

Jimin is the type to overestimate himself. He thinks he can hide things and handle things on his own on the daily. If he’s injured or ill, he doesn’t want to feel like a burden, so he tries his best not to mention it and to hide his pain, not that he ever succeeds. He’s super obvious, and he always has been.

When he’s little, however, everything changes. He doesn’t make any move to hide it. Which is exactly how he ended up in Hoseok’s lap, currently sitting and whining about having a bad bellyache.

“Poor puppy,” Hoseok coos, running his hand through Jimin’s hair. “What’s got my baby’s tummy so upset?”

Jimin shrugs. “Dunno…” His tone is subdued--downright sad, even. They’ve been sitting on the couch for a while. Jimin hasn’t mentioned that he feels nauseous yet, and he also hasn’t allowed himself the relief of...blowing off any steam, either. Even as a little, he’s super embarrassed about burping and farting, and that’s never changed, though he has gotten the tiniest bit better at it.

Jimin buries his face in Hoseok’s shoulder, whining pitifully. Hoseok hums in sympathy, snaking the hand on his back around his waist to start rubbing light, gentle circles into the taut flesh there. The little freezes, stiffening up.

“Am I hurting you, baby boy?” Hoseok asks, pausing.

Jimin stays quiet, knowing that if he lets his hyung keep doing that, he’ll end up doing something embarrassing. Still, it does feel nice...so he shakes his head. “N-No.”

Hoseok nods in acknowledgement to his response before resuming his soft ministrations. Jimin shifts a bit, trying to keep some control on his body, but when Hoseok runs a hand down his spine and pats his back gently out of caregiver instinct, he ends up releasing a loud belch he couldn’t hold back.

“S-Sorry!” Jimin quickly apologizes, muffled by Hoseok’s shoulder.

The older boy chuckles softly. “Silly Jiminie...you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Hoseok stays quiet for a moment before making a realization. “Do you have to…” He presses into Jimin’s lower stomach, which immediately encourages a bubbling outburst of gas from his other end and makes him whine basfully.

“Excuse me…” He mumbles, shame heavy in his voice.

“Baby, I don’t mind...I just want you to feel better, sweet boy,” Hoseok does his best to comfort him. He knows just how temperamental his baby’s tummy can get, and just how gassy he can get when his stomach is upset. Hoseok doesn’t like to see his baby boy all shameful (or, worse, guilty.) But he also doesn’t like seeing him in so much pain, and he knows that getting him to let it out might alleviate some of his issue, so he reluctantly starts to press harder.

Jimin loses all control from that, a much louder and longer fart escaping him, followed quickly by a much deeper belch and a whine. He leans heavier on Hoseok, hiding his face even more, if that’s even possible as another muffled belch rolls up his throat.

“That’s it, baby,” Hoseok encourages. “Just let it all out…”

The little really doesn’t have much of a choice, belch after belch, fart after fart escaping him in rapid succession. He moans and whines, though Hoseok can’t tell his it’s out of embarrassment or pain or both.

“Daddy,” Jimin suddenly whines. “I don’ feel good…”

“I know, puppy, I know,” Hoseok says, not entirely understanding exactly what Jimin means. Well, until Jimin jerks with another belch and Hoseok feels something wet and warm on his back. He freezes up for a moment, the realization of what just happened not fully setting in--probably because he doesn’t want it to. As much as he loves Jimin, he can’t say he loves getting puked on, even if everything about his baby is adorable to him.

Hoseok is brought back to reality by Jimin suddenly starting to sob and hiccup. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please d-don’t be mad, I’m sorry! Diminie is sorryy,” he repeats, words gradually becoming more slurred and childlike as he gets himself all worked up.

“Oh, no, no, sweet boy, don’t cry...shh, it’s alright, okay? You’re feeling icky, you can’t help it. You didn’t choose for this to happen,” Hoseok comforts, totally forgetting about his extreme dislike for vomit. “Come, let’s get to the bathroom.” Hoseok picks his little up, quickly making his way to the bathroom with Jimin in his arms, who’s still mumbling apologies and sniffling into his shoulder.

Hoseok sets him down in front of the toilet, taking off his soiled shirt so as not to get himself all uncomfortable and lose track of his baby who needs him right now. He rubs Jimin’s back with one hand, pulling his bangs back with the other as he lurches towards the toilet with a much sicker belch, followed by a full-blown heave.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Hoseok whispers sweet nothings, trying to make this as painless as possible. “Let it all up...get it out, baby, you’re okay.”

Jimin hiccups and chokes, sobbing between heaves and losing the ability to breathe as he retches again and again, bringing up copious waves of sick one after the other, and Hoseok wonders how he has all of that in him despite a breakfast of dino nuggets and apple juice. The caregiver places gentle kisses on Jimin’s neck and jawline when he takes his head out of the bowl every so often, carding fingers through his hair while keeping his long, light brown bangs out of his face so he doesn’t get sick in them. He glances down at the soiled water for a minute, seeing just how fogged and almost opaque it is from the sheer amount of sick his little is bringing up, and he feels his heart break, realizing just how much he must be hurting. He tries his best to figure out why he’s so sick, but he can’t think straight enough to actually come back with a valid answer; all that’s on his mind is how much he wants Jimin to feel better.

Eventually, Jimin is burping up small mouthfuls of sick that turn into more bile than half-digested food, before he’s finally diminished to hollow belches and dry heaves that are only made all the more painful and dramatic by the sobs that still wrack his frame. It’s not at all helped by the embarrassment he still feels from the gas escaping his other end that he can’t control at all and is only made louder by his spot on the cold bathroom floor. “I’m sorry, daddy, I’m sorry,” he still mumbles. “Diminie didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, promise! I’m sorry,” he sobs.

“Jiminie, it’s alright! I swear it’s okay, daddy isn’t mad,” Hoseok coos. “Daddy isn’t mad at all...my poor baby boy, I’m sorry you feel so sick…shhh, baby, shh, don’t cry.”

Jimin jerks forward again with a few quieter, pitiful belches and quiet gags before he finally calms down, sniffling as he leans into Hoseok. The older boy takes his little’s shirt off too, hoping the skin to skin contact will do something to help him before pulling him close to his chest.

The little slumps against him, whimpering sadly. “Don’ feel good, daddy…”

“I know you don’t, I’m sorry…”

“Dinos don’ taste good to throw up.”

Hoseok nods, before suddenly, realization hits him. “Jiminie, did you read the numbers on the box like daddy told you to while I poured apple juice in your sippy?”

Jimin nods. “Yeah! They were...three...three...two zero one five…”

Hoseok facepalms. “Shit, that’s why they were in the back of the freezer…”

“You curs-ed!”

Hoseok thinks over what he just said before laughing. “Sorry, baby! Didn’t mean too.”

“S’okay…” Jimin yawns. “I’m tired.”

“I bet you are,” the older man agrees. “Do you want to go lay in bed?”

“I still feel icky tho…” Jimin mumbles defeatedly, sighing.

“Okay, baby, we can stay here,” Hoseok says, starting to rock the smaller boy gently. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

The next time he looked down, his little was fast asleep in his arms.

#little!jimin #sick!jimin #daddy!hoseok #caring!hoseok #emeto #vomiting #eprocto #farting #eructo #burping #bts emeto #bts sickfic

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 1 of 21

Return to theMaster Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO and the

ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck) @ask-de-writer

And

Carmen Pondiego @askcarmenpondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

Writing begun 08/26/15

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Daring Do was sitting at the bar of the Adventurer’s Guild, sipping her coconut milk and pineapple juice. She was still steaming about the Royal Museum’s Acquisition Committee trying to put her last find, the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock, through “the routine process.”

The routine process gave them the possession of the neckalce for over a year before she could see any return on the difficult, expensive, and dangerous expedition to obtain the priceless artifact.

Her recovery of it from Count Umber had involved a physical altercation. The memory made her sweet drink taste sour.

Glancing into the back bar mirror, she casually placed a hoof on her pith helmet. A business suited pony approached her, proffering a card. Instead of taking the card, Daring Do swiftly lifted her pith helmet. A knife, aimed at the suited pony stood quivering in her hat, sunk deep into the cork.

She pulled the knife out and flipped it casually back. The thump of it striking hilt first was followed by the collapse of the silken robed pony who had thrown it.

She turned toward the shaken business suited pony who had just paled three shades of yellow green lighter. Brightly, she said, “Well, that was a few moments of rollicking fun! What do you have for me?”

With a shaking hoof, he proffered a card. “Please call us at your earliest convenience. If you wish, I can take you to the appointment."

Daring Do raised an eyebrow. “Appointment? You would make an appointment without asking me? A bit arrogant, aren’t you? I have some personal business to take care of first. I will call later, after it is done.” She turned her back and pointedly resumed her drink.

It tasted better, for some reason.

She sat at the bar until she was sure that he was gone, sipping her drink, the case with the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock safely in her saddlebag. Daring Do hated what she had to do next.

She and her mother, Carmen Pondiego, master thief and head of V.I.L.E., did not see eye to eye on ANYTHING. However, her mom’s advice was the best that she was going to find. Daring Do steeled herself and pulled out her magic net mirror. She tapped the code that she could not forget and hated.

The glass shimmered before a dark, redheaded figure with a gleaming grin answered the call. “City Morgue, you kill ‘em, we chill ‘em. Oooh! Look who is finally dropping a line.”

Answering in a gritty voice, Daring Do spoke low. “Uncle M, I’m trying to get a hold of-” “Yeah yeah, I know. Don’t go ruffling your feathers. Hey Red! Yer kid is on the line!”

Daring rolled her eyes as the view shakily changed to the beaming visage of a khaki colored unicorn mare dressed in red, her pale green eyes throwing a piercing glance at Daring Do. “Adora!! I am so glad you called! How was your trip? I hope you haven’t come across too much trouble. You know I will send some agents to help you if you ever need it.”

Daring Do rubbed her brow, “Mother, you know I hate that name, and no I don’t need your lawless agents. I… I just need some advice.”

A soft chuckle arose, “Of course, Daring dear. Now what seems to be the trouble?” Carmen lifted her brows as she calmly smiled, and the young pegasus held back a scoff. The thief seemed too friendly and eager to help, but why?

“Listen, its not trouble, I just want your -honest- opinion.”

Carmen pouted playfully, “My dear, you wound me, I have always been truthful to you.”

Sourly, Daring Do replied, “I do know that, Mother. That is the only reason that I am calling you now.

“The expedition went well. I even got the legendary Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock. The assorted traps didn’t even cause much damage to the Pyramid of Keychops.

“The Royal University would not and will not underwrite the expedition but they want me to DONATE the necklace. They even threatened my tenure in the Chair of Antiquities to get it for free. The Royal Museum was almost worse.”

The face of Carmen in the mirror nearly lost it with hilarity. “The Royal Museum!? It takes over a year to sell them a glass bead! Then they will try to push you into letting it go for less than half of your price!”

Resisting a twitch in her eye, Daring Do cleared her throat, “Listen, Ma, what… Would you LEGALLY do if you didn’t get paid for a job that you did over a year ago?”

The thief took a moment to think. “Do you really want to go through the whole legal mess of suing said offender? Of course it would make it easier if you actually had a written contract.

“Heavens knows you don’t use the office here that I gave you and you bounce around from location to location so often without a home base so I don’t have any idea where you would keep such a document anyway…”

Daring’s grip on the mirror tightened. “Mother… I DO have an office. It is in the Royal University! I am the Chair of Antiquities!”

“Right. Well, I would collect whatever you agreed on selling and take it elsewhere.. Are you needing my help with that?”

Daring Do’s grip on the mirror tightened even more. “Mother … Mother. I have already taken it back! I also know that V.I.L.E. makes a ton of money on the, um, resale of assorted goods.”

Dryly, Carmen pointed out, “In spite of our REPUTATION, we have NEVER been caught doing or been convicted of ANY CRIME.” Her face twisted to a cheerfully sideways smile as she added, “Give me a few moments to check our inventory of PERFECTLY LEGAL buyers.”

Instead of “hold music” the recorded image of her uncle Marehem's blue furred, orange maned visage appeared giving the commercial message, “Allstable Insurance, You are in good hooves with Allstable! Please feel free to inquire about our customized policies and truly reasonable rates!”

Daring Do’s teeth grinding together would have been sweet music to any dentist!

Carmen’s cheerful face came back to the mirror in time to save it from being tossed across the room!

One eyebrow raised in amusement, she poked, “Adora, my sweet. I COULD move the necklace for you. V.I.L.E. does have to be paid for their efforts, of course. How does 20 percent sound? I am only offering such a good rate because you are family, no matter that SOMEPONY managed totally destroy all records of her connection to her MOTHER.”

Carmen grinned as Daring Do’s teeth ground together again. Regaining her control, she asked her mother, “Oh, another thing. Do you know anything about the ROT law offices? They offered a card, I think they want me to find something for them.”

Silence came over the mirror.

“Mom?”

Carmen sighed, “Daring, if being an outlaw taught me anything, its presentation. If you are shady, you pick a shady name for intimidation, for greater intimidation one would use a completely harmless and cheerful name, though that is rare.

“I don’t know much of them but if their name means anything, I would use extreme caution if dealing with them. It could be a bluff or it could simply be an acronym, it could mean that they are rotten to the bone. Are you sure you don’t want me to send someone…?”

“I AM FINE BY MYSELF, MOTHER. Thank you.”

“Alright, Adora, dear. If you are in the area, we’re having lasagna at 7:00,” Carmen shrugged, blowing a motherly kiss.

“I’ll be sure to miss it..” Daring Do groaned, turning off the mirror. She rubbed her forehead, fingers running through her monotone mane.

Daring Do was just getting ready to leave when the unconscious pony in the silken robes started to stir. He fumbled for and recovered his knife.

Setting eyes on her he got up, made a formal Far Eastern bow and said, “Miss Do, if I may be permitted to say so, that was most ill done. That pony and a few others with him are treacherous liars and wish to steal a priceless thing to which they have no right.”

Daring Do returned quietly, “It was very bad form of you to try murdering him here, in this club. The alley or even the street outside would have been better.

“As for his character, I already know that much of him and his associates. What more can you tell me?”

Haughtily he dodged her question. “You knew of his evil ways and still chose to listen to him? Perhaps I have misjudged you.”

She made a formal Far Eastern bow to him and replied in perfect X'ibian with an ancient proverb. “The failure to listen is the greatest cause of Ignorance.”

The pony’s eyes flew wide and his face fell. “I have erred greatly by my precipitous action. Be sure to listen with wisdom.”

He took his leave, robes making a slight swishing sound against the carpet of the Club floor.

Daring Do followed him out but he was nowhere to be seen. Consulting the card, she trotted up the street.

The building itself was not even hard to locate. It had a flagpole hanging over the street with a flag of pale off green with gray letters outlined in brownish red. “The Legal Team of ROT, for all of your legal needs!” was flapping in the breeze.

She entered, thinking ironically of the old joke, “pony walked down the street and turned into a drug store. After five sales, he bought what he wanted and changed back into a pony!”

She walked up to the receptionist and proffered the card. The receptionist looked down her nose at Daring Do and pronounced, “You are late for your appointment. You will have to wait for at least an hour.”

Daring Do gave her a return snooty stare and retorted, “No, I do not. THEY made the appointment without consulting me. I informed them that they would have to wait until my business was done.

“I am only marginally interested in whatever they want me for. You may inform them that they can call me at their earliest convenience to set a mutually agreeable appointment.” She tipped her pith helmet and turned to leave.

Frantically, the receptionist called after her, “Miss Do! Please take the elevator with the bronze doors! The Partners will see you immediately!”

“That is better, Horstense!” Daring Do entered the elevator, which had an earth pony operator. She serenely pulled a large, double edged knife and began to carefully trim her left hoof. Conversationally, she mentioned, “If this car gets stuck between floors, you get stuck too. Not seriously, of course. You will become qualified for a higher paid job, though. Castrato in the Fallen Pony Choir.” He paled at the thought. The elevator ride was uneventful.

She stepped out into a foyer with big glass doors at the far end. They had black and gilt letters proclaiming, ROT, the firm for all Legal Work.” Beyond the doors was an office with three desks placed in a U shape with a single hard chair at the focus of the U. The desks were not occupied, so Daring Do checked to see if the doors were unlocked.

They were. With a grin, Daring Do entered and quickly leaped across the desk at the center. She first lifted the comfortable, padded swivel chair out and replaced it with the hard chair. Checking the desk itself, she found a large flagon of expensive pomegranate juice and a snifter. There was only one door that they could enter from. She took their waste baskets and put them where the door swinging in would just miss them. Checking the other desks yielded an assortment of documents, a number of them were maps with X'ibian characters instead of Equestrian words.

She settled herself comfortably, far back, near the doors, away from the focus of the desks. She leaned back, smiling, and poured a healthy shot. While studying the maps, she started sipping.

Looking closely at two of the documents caused her to pull out her Magic Net mirror and make several urgent calls.

NEXT ==>

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#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #part 1 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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