#I wanna make a quilt I wanna make a patch vest

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

“Hey boss, I can’t come into work tonight, I’ve come down with a case of whimsy and childlike wonder. Yeah it’s pretty severe.”

[barry-j-blupjeans]

38, 42, or 5 with angus and your pick of who else from the 50 ways to say I love you prompts? Baby boy…

5. “Give me a hug please”

38. “I am not leaving you”

42. “You’re not alone anymore”

(all :D!!! this got kinda long I'm real sorry sdldfsdf)

--

The thing about Mr. Magnus- just Magnus, just Magnus, Angus, c'mon- was that he was sort of, kind of protective. Angus knew he didn't mean to be, but he also supposed it was just sort of built into him now. Magnus had spent over a hundred years being a protector and he certainly wasn't going to stop. Angus felt very safe when at home, because he was certain that Magnus had locked the doors three times over and swept through the perimeter of the house at least once.

That being said, preventative measures outside didn't mean that Angus was safe inside. Inside his brain, he meant. Not inside the house. The inside of the house was very safe.

But Angus was very young and, well, the trauma of a nearly world-ending event could mess up his mind a little. Today in particular was pretty bad. It had started alright, with a barely burnt breakfast and a time spent by the nook reading while Mr. Magnus- while Magnus carved away at something. And then Angus had gone on a walk.

And he had forgotten the knife Mr. Magnus gave him and he got started by a rabbit in the bushes to the east of their house and he knew it was silly but then every little moment was catching his attention and he couldn't focus and it felt like the Hunger was back and, and, and-

Angus kind of slammed the front door closed rather than shut it gently like he usually did. Mr. Magnus startled and dropped his carving tools, but Angus was already halfway up the stairs. He was in his room (another slammed door) by the time Mr. Magnus started following him. He buried his face in his pillow and shut his eyes tight and listened.

Mr. Magnus was climbing up the stairs. He was halfway up because there was a creaky step in the middle that he never tried to avoid like Angus did. Outside, the birds who had built their nest in the tree next to Angus's window were absent. Though when Angus strained his ears really hard, he could tell the squirrel that kept stealing their nuts from their birdfeeder was back at his usual tricks. There was a dog barking somewhere, and it wasn't one of theirs, because Mr. Magnus had dropped them off at a pet spa before Angus had even woken up.

Mr. Magnus knocked. Angus didn't make any move to get up. He felt the fabric on his pillow instead. It was soft and plush and Miss Lup had made it for him when she got her body back (something about practicing fine motor skills and "stealing Taako's apprentice from him"). Angus's door squeaked open.

He had to check to see if it was Mr. Magnus (he had to, he had to). It was. He buried his head back into his pillow.

"Um," Mr. Magnus began. "Heya Ango."

He sat at the edge of Angus's bed. It squeaked. Angus breathed in deep and tried to place all the smells he could pick up. Mr. Magnus's cologne, the one that always made Mr. Merle cough. Angus's own deodorant, a fresh "pine" smell that was actually nothing like real pine. The slight trace of their laundry detergent on his sheets.

"Angus?" Mr. Magnus- just Magnus, goddamn it, Angus- said. "Are you with me?"

"Uh-huh," Angus said, mostly into his pillow.

"Can I..." Magnus seemed to hesitate. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I just got really scared," Angus blurted out before he could stop himself. Deep breath, deep breath- the color of his pillow was red, his sheets were blue, his sweater vest was light brown today. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry for being scared," Magnus said. "Can I touch your shoulder? Is that okay?"

Angus nodded, not looking away from his bed. He had a quilt that was dark blue and tan. There were patches with little flower designs. Lilac. Honeysuckle. Unidentifiable leaves. Dark blue, tan, dark blue, tan. Magnus's hand was heavy on his shoulder.

"What scared you?" he asked gently. Angus resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.

"A rabbit," he said. "But I wasn't listening and- and I didn't expect it and it scared me and I didn't have the knife you gave me and I thought it was the Hunger-"

"Shh," Magnus said soothingly, but Angus had to press on.

"And I was all alone," he choked out. "I thought it was gonna die but it was just a rabbit and that's-" Angus made a frustrated noise, not really knowing how to describe it. He focused back on his quilt. Dark blue, tan, dark blue-

"Angus," Magnus said quietly. Angus failed to choke back a sob. "You're not alone anymore, I promise. I'm not leaving you."

"I'm sorry," Angus said again, not really sure why. "I'm sorry, I didn't to ruin your morning and- and now- and now you're gonna think I'm just a baby and I'm not a baby! I'm not!"

"I'm not saying you are," Magnus said, rubbing circles into his shoulder. "You're a very mature young adult, Angus. But I'm probably like, the most mature person you know, and I'd be scared then. That's not a joke. Something sneaking up on me when I'm not expecting it? That's terrifying, Angus, and I'm sorry that happened. Is there..." he hesitated again, the circles stopping. Angus missed them already. "What can I do to help you?"

"I'm not a baby," Angus said again, weakly. The panic was starting to wear off a little. Dark blue, tan, dark blue, tan. He blinked at his quilt.

"No, you're not," Magnus agreed.

"I..." Lilac, honeysuckle, leaves. "Give me a hug, please?"

"'Course," Magnus said and Angus was swept up into his arms. The weight of it all was much more grounding than his other coping strategies. Magnus's arms were sort of forcing him back into the present. Sometimes his brain made really illogical jumps when he was like this. Like the lilac, honeysuckle, leaves, there were leaves at the battle, until something stepped over them and came towards Angus and-

"I can hear you thinking," Magnus said, prodding him. "Stop doin' that." Angus giggled wetly, burying his head into Magnus's shoulder.

"I'm trying," Angus said. "It's hard."

"You're doing great," Magnus said, squeezing just a touch tighter. "I'm really proud of you." Angus blinked away a few tears. Magnus continued with,

"I've been reading Caleb Cleveland since you suggested it and I just finished the, uh, eighth book I think? The one about the missing goldfish that's actually a cover-up for a murder?"

"Caleb Cleveland and the Case of the Submerged Misses Hotsdail," Angus said, tearing his eyes away from his quilt for the last time. "That one's good."

"The plot twist was kinda lame," Magnus said conversationally. Angus knew he was trying to distract him and his brain itched at the chance. "I really didn't expect it to be the butler this time! I thought they would have retired that that twist after the fifth book."

"They get better as you go on," Angus said into Magnus's shoulder. "It really picks up around book fifteen."

"I'll take your word on it."

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter five (prince hamlet)

“It’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it. It’s a dirty song but someone’s gotta sing it now.” -”We Care a Lot”, Faith No More

October 13, 1988. Somewhere outside of Oswego, New York.

Lupe took the liberty of making a little spot for me on the far side of the main room, on the ledge in the little nook near the stairwell leading up to the second floor and the loft. Mrs. Hamilton threw out a note at me that that nook in particular has the best view of the entirety of the club given I can lay on my back and peer up to the edge of the second floor and a sliver of the loft ceiling. She scrounged up a couple of clean pillows from the back of the club, ones that had never been used on top of that. She lay those pillows down on the otherwise hard floorboards, and had fluffed up the one cradling my head. Once I’m reclining down on my back with my legs outstretched and my hands upon my chest, she spreads the quilt over me to keep me warm. Within time, Louie comes over to me with a mug of hot chocolate and a wad of stale marshmallows pulled from the inside of her jeans pocket.

Eh, it’s better than those stupid Mike n Ikes I had yesterday.

“Happy birthday,” Lupe tells me in a soft voice and with a shy smile upon her face. I return the favor accompanied with a warm feeling inside my skin.

“Thank you so much,” my voice cracks when I say that to her, so she gives me a giggle stifled by a hand over her mouth. Louie presses her hands to her hips as if about to sass me.

“Drink up, big boy,” she orders me, picking a marshmallow off of top of the mug and slipping it into her mouth; “Cindy Lou Who made you that big fat bowl of soup last night to warm up your tootsies and your tummy. I wanna know what the cocoa’s like.”

I take a swig from the mug: even though I know those marshmallows are stale and old, I swallow down a couple of them. Not bad, and the cocoa itself is just right.

“And?” she asks me, keeping her hands pressed to her hips.

“Perfect,” I reply, swallowing down another marshmallow and almost gagging on the hard outer shell, and without another word, she flashes me a thumbs up and a slight wink. Lupe then whispers something into Louie’s ear, and I swear it consists of “he’s so gorgeous” but their giggling covers it up enough to where I can’t actually hear it. I show them both a smirk and a slight raise of the eyebrow. To think that I am flirting with a pair of strippers at the moment, a pair of strippers who are also sisters.

Then again, I couldn’t ask for anything more than this here in Black Orchid, all snuggled up in the nook with my body warm and everything around me relaxed and willing to help me as well as please me.

They both walk away from me within time and I’m alone again with the mug and the blanket wrapped around me. I lay my head back onto the pillow and rest the mug on my chest, and gaze up at the ceiling overhead. And then there’s that girl upstairs, and I still can’t recall her name. At one point, I lift my head for a rather large swig of cocoa and marshmallows and I hear a light shuffling over me. I lay my head back down for another gaze up to the ceiling and the edge of the loft. Nothing there. Interesting.

Once I drink down the rest of the cocoa, I set down the mug on the floor, and it’s here I feel myself growing sleepy. My eyelids droop closed when I catch the sound of it again: it’s like someone’s crumpling paper. I’m too drowsy.

I doze off for a few moments, and awaken to the blurry sight of Mrs. Hamilton and Lizzy congregated before me on the other side of the room with their backs to me. I can hear them whispering to one another, and every so often I catch a sliver of a word, that is until Lizzy mentions my name. I rub my eyes and groan in my throat in hopes to grab their attention; I drop my hands in time to bear the sight of them whirling around to face me.

“Ah, there he is!” Mrs. Hamilton declares with a glimmer in her eye.

“Sleepy head lazy bones,” Lizzy teases me.

“What’s going on here?” my voice breaks from my nap.

“We were just discussing on how to bring you back to your humble abode,” Mrs. Hamilton explains to me, the twinkle in her eye never wavering. I rub my eyes again before raising myself up on my elbows.

“What’s it doing outside?” I ask them. “Is it snowing?”

“Nah, it quit snowing when we all got up this morning,” Lizzy replies. “The plows came through and took care of the roads for us all.”

“What about her, though?” I gesture up to the loft.

“Don’t worry about her,” Mrs. Hamilton assures me with a wave of the hand. “We’ll take care of her and find something for her when she wakes up.”

“What was her name, by the way—I’m drawing a blank on it...” I sit upright and rub my forehead followed by the side of my neck.

“Maya?” Lizzy fills in the blank for me.

“Maya, that was it!” Everything makes sense again.

“Yeah, Cindy told us. We didn’t know if she told you, though.”

“Eh, it’s neither here nor there at this point.” I peel back the covers and set my feet on the floor.

FLYING BANANA SLUGS ON A SANDWICH, THAT’S COLD!

“Where are my shoes?” I ask them, running my hands upon my upper arms. My teeth start chattering right then.

“I think they’re upstairs by your bed,” Mrs. Hamilton answers with an odd smirk upon her face. “Can we get you anything, by the way?”

“A thing of water, pretty please?” I suggest to them. I shiver as I climb out of the nook and head back upstairs to fetch the only thing to keep my feet from growing even colder. When I reach the top, from the looks of it, Maya hasn’t budged from her spot there on the edge of the bed.

Another question I have for her is what happened that led to her laying there in the storm drain with the rope wrapped around her ankles. I hope that when she wakes up she’ll be willing to share a recollection for me and the girls here in Black Orchid. But for the time being, I need to let her rest. I slip on my socks and, once I lace up my Chucks, I hear Mrs. Hamilton’s voice floating up from the first floor in conjunction with a man’s voice.

I stand to my feet and make my way to the stairwell: I catch a glimpse of a crown of puffy brown hair near the front door. That can’t be Scott, or Charlie for that matter: they wouldn’t know where I am, and they wouldn’t be here anyways. I reach the second stairwell in time to hear him say, “--just so long as I can warm up my ass.”

I stop there next to the nook where I took my little cat nap in hopes to recognize him. He’s short, a touch shorter than me, with that shaggy light, soft looking brown hair down past his shoulders, the scruffy seedlings of a beard about his round face, and steely blue-green eyes under a prominent brow. He’s wrapped in a heavy knit sweater underneath a lush, crushed crimson red velvet vest and a black overcoat, and has on knee high black leather boots: he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and I spot a shiny glimmer of silver on his ring finger.

“Hey, I remember you,” he says to me in an odd, European sounding accent. “Joey, right?”

“Yeah...” I have an odd feeling in my stomach about him, like I’ve seen him before but I can’t recall it at the moment. Lizzy returns to the room with a clean glass of water for me; I thank her right as he steps towards me. He leans in closer to my face such that I smell the soapy cologne wafting off of his neck.

“I heard what happened between you and Anthrax,” he confesses. “That just--God.” He shakes his head. “I have nothing to say about that, and I usually have shit to say about things.” He raises his eyebrows which brightens his face a bit; I’m getting flashbacks to the bus in Sweden two years ago.

“Pfff, tell me about it. I even quit drinking because I couldn’t live with myself if I continued. That still wasn’t enough.”

I take a slight sip from my glass before holding it before my chest and speaking up again. “You’re--I wanna say Lars?”

“Correct-a-mundo.” He wags a finger at me and I catch another glimmer of silver upon his ring finger.

“Wait a minute, I thought you were German,” I stop him.

“Danish,” he corrects me. “I’m a man about town, though.”

“So what brings you here?” I ask, feeling suspicious. He shrugs at me.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I can’t really say,” he admits to me.

“Why’s that?”

“I just can’t.”

“So--you came here for no reason?”

“No. I am here for a reason.”

“So you’re here for a reason but you admit to me that you won’t tell me?”

“Yes.”

“What is this, an Abbott and Costello routine?”

“No. I just--can’t--really--say.”

He nibbles on his bottom lip and pushes the same strand of hair behind his ear again. That bit of shine on his ring finger. Okay. Makes sense.

I drop my gaze to the triangular patch of sweater underneath his vest and his coat, and the shiny black obsidian arrowhead upon his chest. He’s like a prince, a dark prince all donned in this opulence, from the red velvet to the fine paisley lining inside of his coat and the black and silver goggles tucked in the breast pocket.

“I--I should go,” he blurts out, wheeling around and heading for the front door again. He opens the door, which reveals the blanket of bright pearly white snow outside, and I lunge for him.

“Lars!” I call out. He stops and turns to look at me, and that pendant shines in the bright white glare of the snow. I hunch my shoulders against the cold.

“I was just going to ask--what is this?” I gesture to my own chest to bring attention to his own. He glances down to the pendant upon his chest and raises his eyebrows at the sight of it as if he had seen something extraordinary.

“This? It’s my arrowhead. I got this from my grandmother when I moved here to the United States.” He swallows as he gazes up at me without lifting his head. “It’s to open up a wormhole to allow easy travel because flying can get rather pricey. I have used it all of once, though.”

I pause for a second.

“A wormhole,” I repeat that.

“Yeah.” He shifts his weight before me and clears his throat. “I didn’t believe it at first, either. But it does indeed work, though. I can go from San Francisco back to Copenhagen in just a couple of minutes if I want to. The sole issue with it is it’s kind of painful.”

“Like... how so?”

“Little pinches on the private area, especially if you’re a little bit on this side of well-endowed, and on the back and the hips, too. Then again you are climbing through a man made tear in the fabric of space and time.”

“Can we go inside to talk more about it, though?” I suggest to him, shivering at the icy, damp feeling around us.

“Might as well, You look cold.”