#he probably smells like warm fuzzy fresh laundry
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lilliryth · 1 year ago
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My most heartfelt condolences to everyone who is about to read this post (and the ensuing mental breakdown I had in the tags), but if Will “I Collect Strays” Graham was giving a lecture I happened to attend, and he adjusted his glasses or did that Professor Thing where a man sits half on the edge of the desk after raising a question to his students, I would be at his heel in no time at all. I’m sorry sir but I’m no better than a cannibal man, I know you aren’t trying to be this delicious on purpose but for the love of fuck, G-d, and all that is holy, please let me sit in your lap, before I wither away like a pathetic little gutter leaf. Please. please.I’m going into organ failure please please please pl
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here222lurk · 2 years ago
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Toji Fushiguro Vs. The Plushies - Part 2!
Will Toji win the IDGAF war? 
Part 1
Warnings: 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, blowjob, and toji being a big big softie
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Bored out of your mind, you watch the sky turn from pink to blue. It’s a nice Friday to be out. Here you are spending it in a grey conference room lit with lights fit for a hospital room 23 floors off the ground.
Your phone buzzes with a text from Toji.
wru?
Still stuck in a meeting
Just ditch it? It’s way past 5
It’s 5:03…but i get u
tell em it’s an emergency 
What??
Your bf needs to cum or he’ll die? 🥺
🙄🙄🙄
I’m srs
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You bolt the minute you exchange “Thanks,” “Bye,” and “Have a good weekend” with your coworkers. Toji greets you outside your office building and takes your stuff to carry it for you. He’s wearing a white long sleeve shirt with a fuzzy black jacket that you’re definitely stealing later. 
Toji’s face lights up and breaks the stern look on his face. He looks rugged but when he greets you he turns into a puppy. A puppy who is six feet tall and has claimed innumerable lives. He’s the best. 
He wraps his arm around your waist as you head home. There’s a big crowd in your usual route, urging you and Toji to take another street instead. You didn’t mind. It was nice to take the longer route if it means being away from a huge crowd. Anything feels bearable as long as he’s by your side. 
Along the seemingly never ending rows of stores, you pass by a series of claw machines. Nothing looked appealing until something caught your eye.
Toji wait– you abruptly stopped walking.
Huh? 
You tug his sleeve so to the side of the street and point to the machine with a banana plushie with duck-like features.
You want it?
You nod.
But it’s not even that cute. 
No plushie. No head.
Toji takes a deep breath as he searches his pockets for loose change. 
After about 12 tries and thumping on the glass out of frustration, you and Toji decided to stop. “I think let’s cap it at ¥1,200 and quit before we spend enough to buy a new plushie without the torture…” You watch his scar as he clicks his tongue in frustration. “So… no head?”
“Yup. No head for a million years.”
“That right? Let’s see you take that back in a few hours.” Toji chuckles and kisses your forehead. You catch a whiff of Toji as he leaned to kiss you. He smelled like fresh laundry and safety. There are probably no words to describe how comfortable his scent is. But if you had to try to describe it, you’d say he smells sweet like a floral dessert and a warm blanket comforter at the same time. 
After a train ride and a short walk, you arrive at your flat where you prove him right and give him head just cause. 
In the morning you wake up and find yourself alone in your bed. The only thing in the bed with you is your army of plushies. You grab Jiji and hug him until you doze off again. The sound of Toji bumping his toe on your furniture and muffling a curse woke you up. Your hazy vision focuses on his bulky silhouette.
“Did I wake you? Sorry babe.”
“It’s cool.” You reply while struggling to open your eyes fully.
“Wanna eat?” He asked while placing a paper bag on your bed. You inspect the bag and find your favorite BLT sandwich. 
“You’re too good to me. And you went all the way to The Sandwich Club?! That place near my office? That’s so far.”
“Chill. It’s a sandwich. Besides, you haven’t seen the best part.” Toji grabs something from his back to show you the banana duck plushie from last night. 
“Am I still dreaming??” you say letting go of the sandwich to hold the banana duck. Toji sits on the bed and as soon as his butt touches the mattress, you place the plushie on the left side of his face, squishing them together. You feel your chest tighten as Toji’s cheek presses against it. “Thank you baby…How fucking cute. This means the world.” You gave him a barrage of soft kisses. 
An unfamiliar feeling washes over Toji. He melts into your touch. He feels his cheeks ache as he tries to tame his smile that just won’t go away. It was nice to be held and taken care of. His early life may not have granted him this privilege, but he could definitely get used to this. Maybe allowing himself to be seen like this isn’t the worst thing in the world. 
“How many tries?” you ask biting into your sandwich.
“I plead the fifth.” he replied with the cheekiest smile.
“I love that. Be hot. Do crime.” 
“Do crime.”
The next time you pass by that street for fun, you see the claw machines with a couple new extra locks.
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livredebelle · 2 years ago
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Five.
HE WAS TALL, CERTAINLY ABOVE six feet, with ash-brown straight hair in a clean-cut nerdy style and pale baby blue eyes.
He was wearing thick-rimmed glasses and was dressed professionally in a business style baby-blue shirt that matched his eyes, navy pants, and cologne that smelled like fresh laundry. His hands were tucked in his pockets. His expression was warm, and his naturally rosy lips were slightly parted. If I wasn't mistaken, this was the library aide who volunteered to help out the school during his spare time. I couldn't remember his name, but I remembered some girl classmates gossiping about how he was a genius who had finished college early and was already enrolled in graduate school, on his way to get a Masters degree in... something. In summary, he was a young model student with his future set in front of him. I recalled that he had substituted as a teacher when our Econ teacher had gotten the stomach flu quite recently, and that all of the girls in my class had been utterly and hopelessly infatuated with him. Grotesque.
When I didn't reply, he gestured to the podium. "I was cleaning up earlier and saw that someone left his or her diploma behind... Is it yours?"
"That's presumptuous of you. But yes, it probably is. I don't see anyone else here except the two of us, and you're clearly not a newly graduated high school student." 
"No, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Actually, I'm only twenty-one. I finished school a bit early." He smiled--his smile was crooked. It bothered me. 
"You're only twenty-one and already in grad school? My God. Geniuses do exist," I said dryly as I headed towards the stage, climbed up to the podium and grabbed my diploma. Yup, mine. "Thanks for taking care of this for me, Mr. Library Aide. I'm going to head out now. Have a good rest of your day." 
As I headed towards one of the back exits of the auditorium, he called out, "Say, what's your name?" 
I didn't look back as I answered, "Irina." But he probably didn't hear me. And there was no reason to ask for his, because I was sure I wouldn't see him again. I left with my diploma, lost in thought about where we should go for lunch. No doubt, Maria and Quinn would take forever to decide where to go; they were just as indecisive, if not more, than I was. 
Sure enough, when I rounded up with the two outside, they were debating where would be appropriate to have lunch. I suggested a Japanese barbeque place, and they quickly agreed. We headed over in Quinn's car and the sun set on the day of my high school graduation. A momentous day for myself. Cheers to staying alive up until this point, I congratulated myself over a shot of hot sake. 
***
"We're here. Wake up." 
My eyes fluttered open and I immediately groaned. Ugh, the goddamn sake got to me. Despite having a weak tolerance for alcohol, I sure liked to torment my liver. This time, though, wasn't my fault; Maria and Quinn had insisted on shot after celebratory shot, and the last thing I remembered was my vision getting fuzzy...
I was in Quinn's car--I knew even before opening my eyes because his car always had that new car leather smell; it was nice. When I turned to face him in the driver's seat, I found his face inches from mine. 
"Wha--"
"Chill, I'm not going to do anything to you. Not until you want me to, that is." He smirked. "You always talk big when it comes to drinking, and you're always the first one of us to pass out. Maria was disappointed the night had to end so early."
"Early? We went to have lunch, had sake there, and went to karaoke and had some more, with beer. You know how when you mix beer and sake, it's a lethal combination." 
"You didn't even sing at karaoke."
"I don't know that many songs from nowadays." I took his bottle of water from the cupholder and drank. I really needed to sober up and clear my head. 
"You sound like a grandma sometimes, I swear." 
"Ha... maybe I am one. Or maybe the soul of a lost granny is perpetually stuck in my young body. Who knows." 
I could feel him staring at me as I drank the water. I turned to face him again. "What?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking that I kind of wanted to kiss you right now."
I grimaced. "Why do you do this? You know how to ruin someone's mood. I'm gonna get out of your car now." 
Quinn grabbed my hand and stopped me in my tracks. "Don't act like you're not intrigued. I get it, the barriers thing--trust me, I do; when you've been fucked over by so many people in your life, you start raising walls and refuse to let others in. It's natural, and self-defense. But I'm telling you I'm different. I won't hurt you... and I really do think being friends with benefits will be good for both of us." 
"How do you know what I want? And don't assume so much, dude. You don't even know me." I was starting to see red. How dare he? Yeah, maybe he went through a rough patch in his life too, but hell, he had money. He had a family, didn't he? What made him think we were on equal footing? It made zero sense. 
"But I do, though. There are some things you don't have to say aloud, and I still understand." He paused. "Did I ever tell you that you look very pretty when you frown or glare at me?"
"Huh? Do you really want to get a beating? I'm not drunk anymore." I shook my head. "Besides, you act like we're super close. You're just a neighbor and acquaintance--that's all. I've never thought of you in a different light, so sorry to disappoint." 
"Same here--I just see you as a friend and neighbor who's actually pretty cool and fun to spend down time with. Like I said, nothing will change... well, except for one thing. I don't get why you're so against it. I know you kind of want me too." His amber eyes smoldered. 
"So arrogant! I've never thought that I wanted you. Also, aren't you being too reckless and irresponsible? If we were to get involved romantically--or physically--things will become complicated. What if we end up hating each other? That would be a hindrance to our current living situation." 
"You worry too much. Live for a change--you know, just stop overthinking everything and just go with the feeling of the moment. You shouldn't be afraid to make mistakes. After all, we're young, and the only time the world will be so forgiving of our mistakes happens to be now." Quinn chuckled under his breath. "I know I have no right to say this to you, especially being older by like barely a year. But... sometimes, I see you struggling with yourself and it kinda hurts to watch. You should live in the moment more."
Upset, I reached for the door handle but found it locked. I was fed up with his lecturing and holier-than-thou approach; if he thought I was going to be so easily persuaded, he was mistaken. Just as I was about to turn back to him to complain, his lips met mine abruptly, and his hot minty tongue once again invaded my mouth. Struggling, I accidentally tipped over the water bottle I was holding, and it spilled on my shirt. "Fuck," I mumbled, and tried to push Quinn away so that I could dry myself. Shockingly, he licked the water droplets off of my neck and collarbone; where his tongue touched, it left a blazing trail behind--my skin felt like it was burning. I gasped, losing all track of my senses. His tongue traced back up my neck and then his lips were back on my mouth. This was now the second time that I was being kissed so fiercely, so passionately--it was too much to handle. The scent of his cologne, his arms crushing me to his chest as he kissed me, and the taste of his lips all added up to me losing my senses; before I knew it, I was kissing him back, and I was surprised at how it didn't feel wrong. I was sure that I would feel disgusted, but I didn't. Holy crap--was he right? Did I somehow want him too? When I came to, he had tugged my shirt off and was continuing to lick the places that were wet from the spilled water. Embarrassed, I tried to reach for my shirt back, but he threw it in the passenger seat. 
"No." I managed to rasp as he continued his fiery trail of kisses and licks.
"Hmm? No? All right, then."
As abruptly as he started, he let go of me, grabbing my shirt from the passenger's seat and tossing it to me with a wink. "Here. Sorry, I got a little carried away--but I meant it, I'm not going to do anything until you want me to." He smirked and got out of the car from his side. 
What?! This was just another prank to him. Unbelievable. 
Outraged, I hurriedly got out of his car and fast-walked towards the direction of my apartment.
"Uh... your shirt is still off, you know that, right? Although personally, I like that confidence of yours." I heard him walking a few steps behind me. Sure enough, people were staring and whispering in my direction. 
"Shut up. Because of you, my mind is a mess right now. And I don't care if people see--it's not like this is their first time seeing a bra, for heaven's sake. Let the nosy people wonder." 
"Riiiight. Whoever sees us like this, will definitely think we just had sex."
"As long as it's not true, it doesn't matter. Go die, asswipe." 
Then, having reached my apartment--finally!--I glared at Quinn before slamming the door in his face. 
Maria had been right. When I had first moved to this apartment complex, we had bumped into Quinn, who was also moving in around the same time. Having just moved out from the dorm life, he had a lot of shit that he didn't need that he graciously shared with me. "Perks of having a kind neighbor, am I right?" he had said at the time, smiling genuinely and showing off his pearly white teeth (after time, once I realized he was a smoker like I was, I often wondered how he managed to keep his teeth so white--it still boggles my mind). I had accepted, because a lot of the stuff he didn't need, I did need--stuff like kitchen appliances that I hadn't even bothered to think of buying yet. Maria had taken one look at Quinn, with his sleeveless tank top, ripped black jeans and a cigarette in his mouth, and warned, "You should be careful. I think he might have the hots for you, and I can smell a bad boy type from a mile away. They're nothing but heartbreak, and I won't accept one as your first real boyfriend."
If only she knew what had happened just now. Hmm. Knowing her, she probably had already sensed something was off during lunch and karaoke. Sighing and seeing no point in delaying the inevitable, I decided to text her.
[Hey. Did you get home safe? Sorry I knocked out early--you know I'm not good with sake.]
She responded in less than a minute:
[Bullshit. If you want my blessing for your new relationship with Quinn, then sorry, I'm not interested. Just make sure to use protection.]
Gah! She knew me like the back of her hand. My face got hot. She totally saw through my pretext, and called me out on it. 
[Sorry, I meant to tell you. But it JUST happened, like yesterday. Besides, there's nothing actually going on. He's just being a dick and doing whatever he damn well pleases.]
I felt bad, like I had deceived her in a way. I used to tell her almost everything when we were younger, but as time passed by and as we both  matured, I started talking less and less. In fact, when we entered high school, I told her almost nothing about what was going on in my life. And there had been so much going on since then that she wasn't aware of. I was going to have to come clean with her soon and talk with her about it. 
[Do you have time this week for coffee? Let's meet up and I'll tell you everything. I think I need an additional, sound perspective.]
[I know nothing about love, but sure, let's meet up this week. I'll text you when I know my schedule.]
With that settled, I breathed out a sigh of relief; she didn't sound mad. Her re-entry into my life had shockingly been a smoother transition than I'd anticipated. With everything that had happened last year, and with the distance that started small that gradually grew wider as she left school to be homeschooled, I had expected she would be a little hurt because I hadn't hit her up in so long, and I truly did feel bad now about not inviting her to my graduation. Maybe it was a big deal. Hmm. As I was digging in my fridge for dinner, I realized with dismay that I had no groceries or ingredients. A little cup ramen would have to do. My diet has always been shit anyway.
As the water boiled on the stove, I contemplated Quinn's proposal to be fuck buddies. It sounded like a horrible idea to me, but maybe he had a point. We were both adults, and it wouldn't be the worst thing. The problem was, I didn't have the emotional capacity for romance. I had spent all my life avoiding boys--or other people in general--like the plague, and to imagine getting intimate with another like that... It was difficult to accept. Maybe it was because I was brainwashed at a young age and was convinced that any romance would inevitably be doomed for failure; watching my mother jump from relationship to relationship taught me that, and she had told me plenty of horror stories of what happens to the lives of girls when they fall in love too soon, too much. After all, that was her life story--she had been somewhat successful as the daughter of a company CFO; had gone to the college of her choosing; had chosen dance as a career and dream. She had been beautiful, I was often told from my family members, and when she danced it was supposedly splendid. She had a lot of suitors and admirers, and among that group of losers was my father. He was my mother's first boyfriend, and--naive and in love--she had left behind a promising semi-celebrity life to tie the knot with him. 
It was a mistake that would cost our family for generations.
It was like a premonition for me--that to follow in her footsteps would be the same as putting the noose around my own neck. 
Terrified. I was always so terrified. Terrified of failure, of love, of dreams, of everything. 
Breathe. Breathe, Irina. 
If you think your life will be any different, you're gravely mistaken. A past memory. A ghost of my mother smiling eerily while saying those hateful words hovered over my head, dooming me to my fate of failure. Never forget: I chose to give life to you. You owe me. 
You're nothing without me. 
Useless. Disgusting. You look just like him. 
Why didn't I choose to abort you back then? Why did I let you ruin my life...? 
Why indeed...
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bokettochild · 3 years ago
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Tired Feet and Nimble Fingers
Sooo.....
I wrote more Ravio fics. This is one of two, the second one still needs to be reread and checked for errors, but rest assured to whomever requested a fic for Ravio getting some fussing, I nearly killed the kid for you :)
Mr. Hero had nice hands.
Oh sure, they were rather thin, and a bit knobby at the knuckles, aged in a way most people their age would not understand for decades yet, but they were nimble, quick, and forever flitting from one thing to another with the easy grace of a person who’s done everything with their life except sit still and rest.
Mr. Hero’s hands were worn and aged but feather light in their touch and still impossibly firm when he’d grab Ravio by the scarf and pull him down the one inch that was between the two of them so he could glare at him for one thing or another. Honestly, he rarely really did anything questionable, but the ever irritated “Why?” that Mr. Hero always shot at him when he raised the price of an item or tacked on another fee, be it emotional repercussions charges for tending his wounds, or a petty increase when he’d been made to actually worry for someone else, or even in the rare instance when Mr. Hero managed to actually make him angry. Either way, soft or firm, Mr. Hero had nice hands, and on the rare instance Ravio had actually seen him remove his rings (Mr. Hero had complained of swelling, and had nearly had to pry them off) he always smiled at the sight of them.
Was that weird? Probably. But there was a lot you could tell about a person by their hands, and Mr. Hero’s told the story of someone who gave and fought for others since he’d been able, and even if the caring person hid behind the shadows of his bangs or the icy pain in his eyes, Ravio knew that person was still in there.
And at times like this, he got to actually see it.
“What are you doing?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the other end of the couch where Mr. Hero had been sitting since he’d stumbled through the door with a tired groan. He’d collapsed onto the couch not long after, drenched and covered in mud, and it had been all Ravio could do to convince him to shed his extra layers and change into something clean, at least. Sure, he’d had to actually dig through the scant wardrobe in the bedroom to find something, but once the over-sized tunic had been shoved in the veteran hero’s face, he’d agreed to strip off his wet things, and Ravio had given him the space to do so while he’d made some warm cocoa for the two of them.
He would have preferred cider, but Mr. Hero still refused to share the recipe with him.
Now, however, he’d flopped onto the couch himself, uncaring for the fact that he’d had to settle his legs in the lap of his friend. After all, if Mr. Hero minded, he would have pushed him off. As was though, the pink-haired teen was staring at his feet with no small amount of displeasure, and Ravio was half considering pulling them back to himself and resigning himself to just curling up on the couch into one corner so he could give the other boy his space.
Firm hands latched around his boot, tugging with a small grunt and surprising the merchant greatly. “Mr. Hero, I just-”
“No shoes.” The pink-haired hero huffed. “Not on the couch.”
“Says the one who trudges dirt all over my freshly cleaned floors!” Ravio huffed, trying not to wiggle too much as Mr. Hero not only pulled off his shoes but, after making a disgusted face at the smell of his feet, had also yanked his socks off, throwing them over to the pile of sopping laundry on the floor. Ravio made a note to pick that up and help wash it later.
“My floors.” Mr. Hero corrected him, tugging the towel Ravio had given him earlier off of his shoulders and wiping its wet ends over the merchant’s feet, making him stiffen. “It’s my house I’ll have you know.”
“Mr. Hero, are you- are you cleaning my feet?”
“It’s not like you ever do it, when’s the last time you bathed, you filthy bunny?”
“Two days ago.” Ravio huffed into his cocoa, savoring the taste and the thrum of warmth that bloomed in his chest both at the drink and the sensation of Mr. Hero’s nimble fingers helping to clean the grime from his, admittedly, filthy feet. “More recently than you, I daresay, Mr. Hero.”
“I just showered.” Violet eyes flitted up to meet his as Mr. Hero motioned to the door ad likely the stormy weather outside.
“That doesn’t count!”
“It does for me.”
“When did you last bathe? With soap?”
Mr. Hero didn’t answer, instead continuing to rub the dirt and dust off the bottoms of his house-mate's feet with the wet towel. Ravio hmphed. A fight for another day then, it isn’t as if he had the energy to draw a bath and push his friend into it anyways.
A delightful, rough sensation rubbed over the base of his foot, firm and still somehow incredibly relaxing, and the bunny merchant found himself torn between sinking into the cushions with a sigh as some of the pain in his limbs faded and staring down at Mr. Hero to see what had been done. In the end, he’d sunk into the cushions of the couch, lids fluttering as a heavy sigh pulled itself from his lungs. “What-”
“You’re as tight-string as my gran’s horses.” Mr. Hero drawled, and the sensation repeated itself, warm pressure sliding across the ridge of his foot. “This used to work on my uncle, relax.”
It took longer than necessary to actually realize that his friend was rubbing his feet, but Ravio was too warm and comfortable to really care, especially with how sore the appendages in question had been with scurrying here and there over the last few days tending to the shop.
Mr. Hero’s hands were miracle workers, and Ravio was hardly even awake when the veteran hero had finally stopped with his self-assigned task, pushing himself up and leaving Ravio to stretch out over the length of the couch. All the merchant could register was the increase of weight on top of him, the clinking of two empty mugs being placed in the kitchen sink, and the door creaking open.
He never felt the draft when Mr. Hero left back into the outside world to continue his quest, but when he woke the next morning, it was to find the hero’s favorite blanket spread out over the top of him and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks slipped over his clean and no longer painfully tense feet.
“Ravio, sit.” Mr. Hero groaned, leaning back on the couch and pinned in place by the sailor using his legs as a back rest. “If you don’t, I swear I’m going to have Twilight throw you at the couch!”
The merchant in question pouted, he’d been trying his best to tidy the living room, after all, Mr. Hero and his family had been quite unexpected that evening and the place was, unfortunately, a mess. One had to take inventory now and again, and the sad fact of it was that that required pulling everything off the shelves and out of storage and from around the house to count it up and figure out if he should risk attempting to return to Lorule or attempting to work Mr. Hero’s small smithy out back in order to restock his items.
He’d only counted up everything and had been working on cleaning and polishing his various items when the heroes had come knocking at the front door, and then he’d been so busy helping them warm up from the chill (they were all wearing the scarves he’d given them and it pleased him to no end) and making a meal with Mr. Hero that he’d been left unable to finish gathering the things that had been scattered across the floor. Of course, after dinner was finished, he’d set right to it, but now that everyone was settled around the fire with warm mugs in hand and fluffy scarves around their necks, Mr. Hero seemed to only be agitated by his puttering about and moving everything again.
To be fair, he hadn’t stopped moving for the last thirty minutes since the others had helped gather his things back up so they could sit, but there was so much to put away!
“Mr. Hero, I still-”
“Sit.” Mr. Hero squeaked grouchily, earning a few giggles as Mr. Rancher and Mr. Chosen Hero exchanged glances, smiles wide. “My feet hurt just from looking at you.”
Like it or not, Ravio’s ears were already pricking up at those words.
Since that first time, Mr. Hero had done him the favor of massaging his feet after a hard day many times, and as much as Ravio didn’t want to expect it of him, it was incredibly nice to have someone fuss over him, if only for a little bit, and if there was even a chance that it would happen again, well...
It was entirely intentional that he flopped onto the couch, feet resting easily in Mr. Hero’s lap as he stretched out. He could have sat down, he really could, but the fact of it was that he simply didn’t want to. Fortunately, Mr. Hero didn’t seem to mind, and too the merchants delight his friend immediately started pulling off his shoes with the same old familiar huff and wrinkling of his button nose, tossing the shoes as far away as possible to avoid having to remain in contact with them for long.
It was a practiced and much appreciated ritual that was Mr. Hero helping him relax after a long day. Just as cocoa or cider was prepared when either was having a particularly long or difficult day, or how Ravio always made sure Mr. Hero ate three meals a day and slept for at least four hours, taking care that his friend wasn’t positioned too uncomfortably wherever it was that he finally passed out. Mr. Hero touching his feet was normal, just like him playing with Mr. Hero’s hair once the other boy had settled down at last.
Perhaps though, it wasn’t all that common for the others.
“Vet?”
Mr. Hero blinked up from his work, violet eyes meeting the midnight blue of Mr. Rancher impassively.
“What in Ordonia are ya doin’?”
The veteran hero cocked a brow. “Foot massage, he won’t relax otherwise, and foot pains a-” Captain Hero Sir Jr. shot a look their way and Mr. Hero quickly amended what he’d been about to say. “Foot pain sucks.”
“You are touching feet.” Mr. Rancher wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that a bit... gross?”
“Says the man who eats bee larva.” Came the quipped reply. “I wash them first, pities sakes.”
“By my head!?!?!?” Tune started jumping up and away and shooting Mr. Hero a hurt look. “Like, yeah, sure, I help Granny on bad days too, but warn a fellow if you’re gonna be having feet by his head.”
“Don’t sit on my legs.”
Ravio chuckled, letting the noise and chatter wash over him.
Mr. Hero’s hands never failed to sooth the pains of the day.
The heroes had stumbled in time and again over the months, and Ravio had grown quite used to their presence. Time passed differently on both ends of things, but he’d since learned when abouts to expect that they'd appear, and the house was, thankfully, stocked fully for each visit.
Autumn had brought about harvest, and the heroes had darted in and out, occasionally offering help and other times only crashing wearily in the living room and Mr. Hero’s bedroom for the night before they had to return to chasing the monsters. Today was one of the longer stays, especially if how Mr. Captain Hero Sir was moving so stiffly was any indication.
“Do you need me to step on you again?” Mr. Smithy asked worriedly as Mr. Captain Hero Sir eased his way down onto the couch, earning a few looks both from the merchant and the other heroes while Sheerow flitted about the man's head, chirruping worriedly and earning a gentle word or so from the captain.
Mr. Captain Hero Sir was in quite the state, stiff as a board and moving as poorly as the old pump in the village. It made him worried, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of any of his items that would help.
Mr. Hero appeared to already have an answer though. “Tunic off, Cap, and on the couch.”
Sharp blue blinked over in confusion to where Mr. Hero was already shedding his boots and rolling up his sleeves with a purpose. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Massage. Works wonders for back pain. Hop to it or I’m rescinding my offer.”
It was one thing to be on the receiving end of matters, but another entirely to be one of those who watched. Mr. Hero put his full weight into his hands as he worked, kneading out the knots in his friend's muscles while Mr. Captain Hero Sir melted into the couch with little relieved noises.
Maybe it took the others realizing that the vet didn’t just help him, but after that it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to carry in his attempts at cider or his wonderful cocoa and see Mr. Hero standing over one of the others and putting his clever hands to work in soothing tensed muscles back into place, the heroes under his hands melting under his touch.
The first time he heard Mr. Hero humming under his breath while he worked, the other heroes had all looked incredibly surprised, but not upset in the slightest. It was a lovely tune after all, and Tune himself started playing with his baton in time the gentle music, swaying in his seat and waving the instrument while the others continued working on repairing and tending their various items and clothing articles.
There was a pattern. For Mr. Captain Hero Sir it was his back, although rather rarely, and the same went for Mr. Chosen Hero.
For Captain Hero Sir Jr. It was his neck and shoulders.
Mr. Smithy got stress headaches that seemed to ease when someone helped message his temples.
Mr. Rancher had problems with his left wrist specifically.
Ravio of course had poor feet, and while Tune and Wild seemed to be mostly left unscathed from the repetitive pains that the others did, they took every opportunity to cling to Mr. Hero with their whole bodies when they felt that they wanted pets or attention when their mentor’s/brothers were too busy.
He’d attempted to return the favor all of one time. The black eye and bloody nose he got out of it weren’t even made better with the nearly tearful apologies of his best friend as Mr. Hero had jumped to his feet and dashed outside to get some ice for the injury.
Once the blood was cleaned up, the vet had sat in shame as Ravio had joined the others in teasing him for his “killer reflexes”.
“I can’t help it! People touching my feet- It-” Mr. Hero tugged at his hair frustratedly, eyes turning to the sky hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Ravio. It was an accident, I swear.”
“I know, Mr. Hero, I know.” He’d giggled out the reassurance, but from that day on he avoided touching Mr. Hero’s feet in any way possible.
(Oddly enough though, that didn’t stop a few of the others from trying, and Mr. Hero’s sleep was interrupted many times by heroes that had been kicked in the nose or even the mouth because they’d dared each other to touch the teen’s feet while he slept. Mr. Captain Hero Sir had complained for days until his own black eye healed, and Mr. Hero hadn’t even bother apologizing, stating that the others shouldn’t have tempted fat so foolishly.)
He felt a bit guilty for not returning the favor, but he knew better than to try again where so many others had failed.
And then winter had sprung up. Winter with its harsh gales that blew in half frozen heroes that tracked ice and snow across the floor as they bundled in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe for the weather. Winter when he’d brew hot cocoa to warm them all up, letting Mr. Hero tug down blankets to wrap around their on-and-off house-mates (guests no longer applied at this point). The mugs offered were warm, and Ravio smiled as each hero offered him a word of thanks as his tray grew lighter and lighter until he only had the two mugs left.
Mr. Hero had pulled together his usual nest before the fire. His huge blanket and a few spare pillows all bundled together into a comfortable place to sit for the younger heroes in order to make up for the lack of a second couch, and the vet sat in its center, still working to arrange the cushions with stiff fingers and chattering teeth until Ravio had pulled on his friend’s tunic and urged him to sit down.
When he offered the mug though, Mr. Hero had fumbled it and nearly dropped it, a hiss of irritation whishing from between his teeth and he glared down at his stiff digits. “Blast! Din’s sake, why does the freaking cold always freaking-”
Warm hands, worn from housekeeping and smithy work, wrapped around the vet’s as Ravio gently rubbed some warmth back into the stiff fingers. Mr. Hero started slightly at the touch, but didn’t complain as the merchant continued to press his into the rises and against the bones of his friend’s gnarled hands, offering warmth and relief against the pain and the cold both for a few short minutes, and Mr. Hero melted into the touch, as he always inevitably did, letting Ravio have his way for the moment and leaning to sit back-to-back with Wild while the merchant worked.
When he’d released his housemate, it’d only been to press a mug into the vet’s hands, but then he’d been settling across from him on the blanket nest, stockinged feet coming to rest in his friend’s lap as he’d pulled his own mug close for a sip. Violet eyes offered a begrudging smile that was returned in rupee green, but no words were spoken between the two as they enjoyed their cocoa.
Mr. Captain Hero Sir however wasn’t about to let it pass. “So, hand holding now, uh? Should I be talking to Fable about a wedding day?”
Ravio was certain that the only thing keeping some very rude signs from being exchanged as the fact that Mr. Hero wasn’t willing to stress his hands further or release the warmth that he held in them. The pink-haired hero did shoot a very disappointed look towards the captain though.
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we-be-writing-bts-stuff · 5 years ago
Text
How to Mend a Broken Spirit Pt. 1
Series Description: Sometimes it takes more than time to heal wounds.
Part Description: You arrive to your new home and meet a few new people.
Pairing: Eventually OT7 BTS x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut (maybe I don’t know if I’ll do anything more than an allusion to the smutty parts when we get there). Poly and hybrid au. This part is pure fluff and some angst. There are several mentions of past abuse against the reader. No details are given on the acts, but it is mentioned.
Word Count: 2467
A/N: Hey y’all. It’s been a hot minute. This is the poly hybrid fic that I talked about like forever ago. Before anyone says it, this was very much inspired by @hollyhomburg and all of her absolutely amazing and wonderful hybrid and poly aus. I don’t reread a lot of fics (I tend to be a one and done type of girl when it comes to fics), but I will reread Hybrid House every few months because I love it so much. I love it so much. Although this was inspired by that fic, I did my best to write my own story. I hope you all like it and I am always happy to hear your thoughts about the fics, my writing, your life, whatever. ~Bagel
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The first day you entered the house, you were clutching the few bags of things you were given from the rescue and the few things you were able to get out of your previous home when you were rescued in one hand while the other was holding onto Jimin’s hand tightly. It was near sunset on a balmy August day. The big ears on the top of your head flicking back as you hear one of the volunteers walk up to you.
“Are you ready to meet your fosters?” She asks you softly. Her voice was actually quite soothing, but you still jumped almost a foot in the air when she touched your shoulder without warning. The touch was soft and barely there, but you were still learning that not all touch was bad. Hiding your face into the center of Jimin’s back. He turns around and hugs you tightly. Calming you down for a few minutes before beginning to walk towards the door.
You could hear the shuffling and hushed whispers that was happening just beyond the slab of wood. It makes sense since the owners must have known that you two were coming and you’ve been just standing in the driveway for who knows how long. They've probably been waiting for a while for us to get to the door. You think. Squeezing Jimin's hand as the worker knocks and the door is opened almost immediately after by a human with a wide and warm smile. His hair was dark and shaggy. It seemed to be wet from a recent shower. His white t-shirt was baggy on him and the neckline plunged low enough to see his collarbone while his lower half had a pair of black basketball shorts and socks.
“Hi. You must be Y/N and Jimin. Come in.” He opens the door wider and gestures for you to come in. Walking into the house shows just how big this place was. The entrance way was just a small area that almost immediately opened up into the first floor. The living room to your left and a kitchen/dining room area to your left. In front of you was a flight of stairs that led to the upper floor and you saw several doors. The doors that were opened revealed that they were mainly bedrooms and at least one office and bathroom. There was also the bombardment of several new scents of both people and hybrids that hit your nose. You lean into Jimin, feeling a bit intimidated and overwhelmed by your new surroundings. Covering your nose with your hands to dampen some of the new smells.
After removing your shoes, you take a few tentative steps inside. Looking up to the landing on the second floor, reveals two hybrids looking over the railing at you. Their eyes widen and one of them blushes before they turn and hide from your gaze. Your attention getting pulled back to the current situation and the two people in front of you.
“I’m Hoseok and I’m going to be your foster for a while. Do you want something to eat or drink? Dinner is still warm if you want some of that.” He offers. He was very deliberate and slow with his movements. It wasn’t his first time working with a hybrid from an abusive household. You nod your head while watching the new human closely. The people at the rescue assured you that your fosters were some of the best that they had, but you didn't know or trust them yet. He seemed okay so far, but you would need to wait before making a decision. Turning to Jimin and whispering to him that you wanted some water. Not wanting to speak to him quite yet.
Jimin tells him what you both want as the worker helps to lead you to the couch. The first thing you notice once you get to the couch is the fuzzy blanket is the giant fuzzy blanket on the back of it. You turn around and tentatively reach out to touch it.
It felt nice under your fingertips, which prompts you to rub your face into it. You get the different smells that bombarded you at the door again, but one sticks out. It’s like a natural musk that puts you at ease. You hum as you scent yourself with the new smell as much as you can with just the blanket and not the source. A chuckle jolts you away from the blanket and back to the moment. You quickly sit forward again and look down to your lap.
“You’re okay Y/N. This is your home now. You don’t have to be afraid.” Hoseok assures you. You chance a look at him and see that warm smile again. Blushing and leaning back into Jimin’s side to hide your face once again.
Hoseok is gentle in his talking with the worker and he’s able to get Jimin to talk some. You peak your head out after a bit and begin to relax again. Anything directed towards you or Jimin were very simple questions and designed to get to know you more and get you comfortable with him. It didn’t work much for you though. All Hoseok was able to get out of you were quick nods and shakes of your head. The most was a muttering of ‘fennec fox’ when asked about both of your breeds. Jimin nodding and confirming that you both were both fennec foxes. Hoseok found the soft mutterance from you as a small victory even if he could barely hear the words that came from your mouth.
It’s after a few hours of sitting around and Hoseok bringing out some food for you and Jimin that you finally relax. Being more of a nocturnal breed meant that you were only becoming more awake as the night progressed. Soon you turn away from the conversation and look around. Becoming more and more curious about the house, but not wanting to do anything until you got permission. Around this time the worker decides to leave the house. Hoseok coming back and looking to you two still sitting on the couch once he helps her out and says his goodbye.
“You guys are safe here. We prepared two different rooms, but you are free to share one if you want to. We were told that you two are very close. I know that you are both more nocturnal and we already have some nocturnal hybrids and a nocturnal human so they can help or answer any questions if you need it. Let me show you your rooms before I leave you to your own devices. You are free to go into any room with an open door.”
You nod as you listen to his little speech. Reaching down to grab your bags before standing up and following him up the stairs. He explains the rooms as he walks by them. Jimin getting brave enough to ask a few questions. You were zoning out a bit until one of Jimin's questions grabs your attention.
“How many hybrids do you have already?”
Your head swings back around and looks towards the human that was currently guiding you so you can hear his answer.
“There's four here already. An arctic fox, red panda, black-footed ferret, and gray wolf. You might see some of them depending on how active you'll be and how much you explore tonight. We told them to give you some space to let you get used to everything, but I know that there’s at least two that are really excited to meet you both.” He explains. Opening a door to a fairly plain bedroom that has several small welcome gifts sitting on the bed. The most prominent of which is a stuffed bear with a bow stuck to its head. At the foot are several folded blankets.
“This was going to be Y/N’s room.”
The walls are an off-white and the furniture within is made of a darker wood. The furniture consists of a bed, small desk and chair set, and a dresser with a big mirror attached. The sheets on the bed were a muted blue color. It smelt like freshly done laundry and that same musk you smelt downstairs that calmed you. Both you and Jimin take a few steps into the room to see better. The walls were bare and you look back to Hoseok once you finished exploring. Being careful not to touch anything in case he didn’t want you to.
“You can get settled and unpack while I show Jimin his room.” Hoseok tells you. Smiling and leading Jimin out of the room. You felt a small bit of anxiety as you see them leave, but also some relief to be away from everything. Only surrounded by the fresh and comforting scents and your own things.
Walking to the bed, you pick up the bear first. The fur was soft and its body gave way when you press down like a normal stuffed animal. Putting it to your nose gives you the same musk that seems to be following you since you entered the house. Placing it back down you see two cards. They each had drawings on them that made you smile softly. It was cutesy animals and chibi people as you assumed the card was a way to welcome you into the house. You weren’t sure since you never learned how to read. The rescue tried to teach you, but it didn’t go anywhere when you refused to talk or went to hide in your room when someone moved towards you too fast.
The last thing was a small box with another card on top. You opened it and frowned when you only saw the indecipherable scribbles of what others told you were words.
You place it to the side with the other cards as you open the box. Seeing it was a small care package filled with shampoo, conditioner, body wash, a few change of clothes and towels. All of the hygiene products had simple floral scents. Nothing overpowering, but still distinctly feminine.
From here you decide to unpack. Taking the things you brought, which really just consisted of clothes, a few stuffed animals you got as goodbye gifts, a blanket, and the cheap shampoo and conditioner that the rescue got you. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had.
After you put everything away where you think it should go, you tentatively stick your head out of the window and look down the hallway. You’ve been left alone for a while and you weren’t even sure if Hoseok was still awake or if Jimin was in his room or not. The sun has gone down and it was fairly dark in the house. Leaving the door open behind you, you started to walk down the hall to try to find Jimin. Looking into the rooms with open doors hoping to see your companion. During your search there is a door that was ajar. Opened just enough for you to see into it.
There was a man in there that you haven’t met. He had a black beanie on and headphones. A desk sitting in front of him with several screens. You didn’t know what was on the screens or what he was doing. It looked colorful and there was more of the squiggles that you couldn’t decipher. You tilt your head to the side and open the door some more. Curious about what was happening. Before you can act, he takes off his headphones and turns around in his office chair. He startles and jumps a bit. Jumping a bit in his chair and scaring you. You make a squeak and turn away to go hide somewhere. Afraid that you were going to be in trouble.
“Wait!” He calls out. Scrambling out of his chair and the room to get to you. You freeze in your spot at the yell and begin to shake. Tears springing to your eyes. Soft mutterings of ‘I’m sorry’ leaving your lips as he gets close to you. Carefully walking to stand in front of you. Leaning down to be face to face with you. Frowning when he sees your state of distress. He squats down to make himself smaller and less threatening. Holding out his hands palm up to keep them in your eyeline. His movements slow and deliberate.
“Its okay. I’m not going to hurt you and you’re not in trouble.” He says. Repeating it until your gaze moves from his hands up to his face and you start to visibly relax. He smiles when your eyes meet his and you feel your heart flutter and cheeks heat up. “My name’s Yoongi. I’m the other human here. I know you’ve met Hoseok already. What’s your name?” He asks softly. When you refuse to say anything he decides to just ask for confirmation. It wasn’t hard since they’ve seen your file and picture before you and Jimin got there. Smiling once again when he gets you to nod.
“Do you want to see what I was doing?” He asks. You think for a minute and nod again. He carefully stands up again. Causing you to flinch back a bit out of sheer reflex. Going first to let you trail him. Gesturing once in the room to have you join him.
Carefully you walk over to the desk and lean over. Your tail flicking back and forth as you look at the design. Head tilting once again as you take in all of the colors and designs. A hand even reaching out to trace the swirls and bold black lines next to the bright colors. Eventually leaning back and looking back to him. Wanting to stay, but not sure if he wanted that.
“Do you want to stay and watch me?” He asks softly. You light up and nod. He chuckles and gets up to grab an extra chair for you. You perch on it and watch intently as he finishes the design. You don’t even notice when you slowly lean closer to him. Your brain following the source of that musk that you’ve been drawn to since you’ve arrived. Now fully enveloped in it now you were in the room with in.
It’s a few hours of just watching him work before you fall asleep with your head falling on his shoulder. Yoongi feels his heart swell for a second. His mind going back to your file and feeling like this is an accomplishment even though you have no idea. Carefully taking you into his arms, he stands up and carries you to your room. Tucking you in and leaving you to sleep in the place you now call home.
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secretsantasides · 5 years ago
Text
Gift #13: A Crack In The Facade
Gift for @lilfellasblog​
Summary: Logan overworked himself to a breaking point. Then the others found out.
The faintest silver-blue lining of light shined from under Logan's door, just barely visible in the dark hallway. If one would listen closely, one would be able to hear two things. Slight snoring coming from Patton's room and the soft clicking of Logan's keyboard, barely audible through the thick wooden doors.
Inside his room, the logical side was indeed still working despite the early morning hours. He sat at his desk, hunched over his laptop with the screen as the only source of light due to the sun setting unnoticed plenty of hours ago. Opening a new document, Logan took a look at the clock and winced. He had promised himself that tonight he would actually try to enforce the sleep schedule he made for Thomas and go to bed before midnight. His cognitive functions really couldn't effort another all-nighter. But he needed to get this done too. Logan started typing again, rubbing his sore wrists every once and a while.
Two hours later his eyes were burning and Logan miserably stared at the two incoherent paragraphs that mocked him from the screen. The frustration that tried to grow in his chest was only barely held down by sheer exhaustion. With a heavy heart, he saved his- he didn't dare to call it progress- and shut the laptop off. Sudden darkness emerged him. His wrists were throbbing and sharp pinches of pain in his knuckles tried to pierce through the fog in his brain.
Logan collapsed face-first into his bed, not even bothering to remove his clothes or glasses. His eyes finally slipped shut with a soft relieved sigh. But sleep simply wouldn't come and if he would have enough liquid in his eyes, Logan was sure he would be crying right now. His mind bounced on the walls as he taught about all the time he was loosing while simply laying here, not even using the time to sleep while he needed it so urgently to catch up with his work. So Logan tossed and turned in his sheets and tried to get his thoughts to just shut up for a single second.
Morning came far too early. Logan laid on his back and watched as the night sky painted on his ceiling got lighter with the pale light of dawn. He watched as the little glow-in-the-dark stars went dull. Logan still watched the light on his ceiling as he heard Patton showering in the other room and a few hours later as the other sides passed down the hallway to join Patton in the kitchen for breakfast. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, slight nausea rising inside him.
Logan turned to his side, now facing the door. By now it was bright enough that he was able to see the To-Do-List from this month. The nausea intensified as he stared at the three pages with only one merely point checked off. Today was the 24th.
Logan knew that he should get up, that he needed to strip off his old clothes, get into the shower to wash his hair, get out again and dry his hair as well as style it. Then he would need to find a clean shirt from the depths of the unloaded clean clothes laundry basket that he planned to put away three days ago. Then he needed to iron it, instead of just summoning it that way like usual since he was far too tired right now. And even after all that he would only complete half his outfit before he could down to breakfast and actually eat something before he could try to battle the evergrowing mountain of tasks. Logan could feel his exhaustion growing with an undertone of desperation at the sheer thought.
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Lo-Lo, are you awake? Breakfast is ready," Patton's voice sounded through the wood.
Logan pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I'll need a little longer. You can start without me, I'll eat something later."
He could hear him hesitate before his door before Patton seemed to give in, much to Logan's relief, although his door was always locked and wouldn't allow Patton to enter even if he would choose to try. He didn't want Patton to see him like this, looking like the physical embodiment of failure. He carefully listened to Patton's footsteps retreating and let out a heavy sigh when he heard him descending the stairs in his usual happy hopping pattern.
Somehow this encounter finally gave him the impulse to get out of bed. Instead of heading to the bathroom like he probably should, he decided to use this motivation while he still could to get some work done. He dragged himself across the room to his desk and powered up his laptop. He will shower and get a snack once he got something done, he promised himself as he opened the document of last night, already wincing at the countless red lines under the words placed in short jumbled sentences. His fingers started to hammer the laptop keys.
It was 3 am in the mindscape and Patton was just retreating to bed. Or rather he was creeping upstairs after having another Parks & Recs marathon in the living room.
The hallway was peacefully quiet in the low light that came from the unicorn-shaped flashlight in Patton's hand. He was about to go into his room, glad that his wandering didn't wake anyone up when a reflection caught his eye. Patton stepped closer and saw the plate with lunch leftovers still standing in front of Logan's door where he left it earlier this day. It was untouched.
Patton threw a worried glance at the logical side's door. He raised his hand to knock before he caught himself. It was three in the morning, Logan would be asleep by now and with how hard he had worked the last few weeks with all of Thomas' deadlines and the side' schedules for the video group meetings, he really needed his rest.
So instead Patton focused on teleporting the plate to the kitchen sink to be cleaned tomorrow. Then he went to bed. He would have to get up early again for breakfast and while he loved caring for his kiddos, he needed sleep too. Even a dad isn't invincible after all.
The sun rose late the next day, it almost being noon, and so did Patton. Given the time, he decided against making breakfast and instead cooked a quick soup, not cream-based of course, and cut up some fresh bread. Soon the smell of blended vegetables and curry washed through the kitchen.
When he went to clean up the kitchen, he found the plate from last night in the sink again and worry crept back into his mind.
However, he was distracted by Virgil sticking his bed head through the kitchen entry. "I smell food."
He turned and yelled over his shoulder. "Oi, royal pain in the ass, come down here, Patton made food!"
Patton smiled as he heard Roman scrambling down the stairs.
As soon as he reached the kitchen he started bickering with Virgil, but the sparkling eyes and hidden smiles didn't go unnoticed by Patton either, indicating that both sides had fun and weren't actually serious. They immediately went silent though when Patton placed a bowl on the table in front of each of them, their eyes immediately growing wide and stomach rumbling at the smell.
That they still loved his cooking so much, after all these years, always made Patton feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like a balloon of joy was swelling in his chest.
They sat down to eat. After the first few spoons, Roman stopped and frowned at the empty spot.
"Logan isn't coming?"
Patton sighed. "He's still working I think. He didn't eat lunch yesterday either. I'll bring him a bowl after." A determined look crossed his face. "And this time he'll damn well eat it."
Virgil snorted over his soup. "Well, then Logan doesn't stand a chance. Once our dear Patton goes into dad mode..."
Roman started to snicker and soon Patton joined in, his heart once more swelling with sheer love.
About an hour later Patton stood in front of Logan's still closed door. He was armed with soup, a spoon, and delicious self-made bread. This time he wouldn't let Logan make excuses. He knocked twice and waited to be allowed entry.
But it stayed silent on the other side of the door.
Patton frowned and knocked harder, the noise of his knuckles hitting the wood echoed around.
"Logan? May I come in, please?"
There still wasn't an answer and Patton grew even more worried. He tried the door only to find it locked. He strained his ears and could hear some soft sounds of something he couldn't quite place.
So Logan was definitely inside.
"Logan?!" Patton repeated louder, bordering on panic now. "If you don't answer me then I'm coming in!" When he once again was meet with deafening silence, he set aside the soup and rammed his shoulder against the door. It wouldn't budge but Patton's shoulder was aching.
He winced and rubbed it while he went to get Roman. He found him curled up with Virgil on the couch, doing each other's nails as some disney movie he didn't recognize played in the background.
"Roman?"
Two pairs of eyes snapped up at him. "Logan locked himself in his room and doesn't answer. I'm really worried something happened."
Roman's eyebrow furrowed. "Pattycake, I'm sure if anyone can get him out then it's you, so what-"
"I want you to break down his door."
Slowly a large grin grew on Roman's face and he jumped up. "Hell yeah!"
At Virgil's shocked judging face he quickly calmed himself. "Look, I know, we're all worried for Logan but do you know how long I waited for our wonderful little sunshine to ask me that!" He grabbed Patton by the hand and twirled him around a little before reluctantly setting him back down.
The little group promptly marched upstairs, lead by Roman. Once in front of the door, Roman pounded his fist against it and yelled: "Logan, step away from the door! We're coming in!"
He took a few steps back and then, with a battle cry, ran at the door at full speed, using his whole body as a battering ram. The door gave way with a dry crack, sending Roman tumbling to the floor along with the now splintered wood.
The room in front of them was pitch black. Virgil carefully stepped around the wood and helped Roman to his feet again. Patton in the meanwhile hit the light switch next to the door. The lightbulb over the door flickered to life and illuminated what once had been Logan's room. Now it looked like the inside of a trashcan that got caught in a tornado. Papers were strewn everywhere, most of them crumbled and stained.
Amid the chaos, Logan sat slumped over at his desk, clothes wrinkled and dirty. The laptop screen in front of him was black, the battery long run out. Regardless his fingers hovered over the keyboard, twitching and still trying to hit the keys. He didn't react when the light turned on.
"Logan?" Virgil carefully took a step forward and gently touched him at the shoulder, turning him around in his chair.
The three let out various noises of shook at the sight of the logical side. His eyes were bloodshot and stared blankly ahead. Just over his forehead, several patches of hair were missing were Logans must have pulled them out. His face was pale and sweaty and he was muttering under his breath.
His arms stayed in the exact same position as if he was still typing on a keyboard.
Virgil regained his composure the fastest and slowly crouched down in front of Logan. He reached out and cupped his face in his hands. "L, dear? What happened? Please tell me how we can help."
Virgil received no answer but Logan leaned almost unnoticeably into the touch. His mumbles stopped for a moment and his eyes slipped closed before his head suddenly snapped up again and he frantically searched for his laptop, hitting the keyboard like a man possessed even though it was obvious that he could barely move his arms.
Virgil helplessly looked back at the others.
Roman shared a look with Patton as well before Patton walked behind Logan and loosely wrapped his arm around him. Patton opened his mouth to speak but upon touching Logan's forehead, he frowned. "Guys, he's freezing cold."
Virgil startled in alarm. "We need to warm him up, who knows how long he's been like this! What if he's developing hypothermia or what if he already has! He needs fluids, a warm bath- wait is that ok if he's freezing, he won't go into shock right?!"
He only paused when Roman grabbed his hands. "Deep breaths, stormcloud. We're here now and we'll figure it out on the way, okay? I think a bath is a good idea, we can use my tub. I think it's been a while since he had one..."
Virgil nodded. "I'll get it ready." With a last glance, he basically fled out of the room.
Meanwhile, Patton tried to ease Logan away from his desk without upsetting him too much. "Why don't we leave this alone for a bit, sweetheart? Just a few seconds, okay? You already did so much, Lo-Lo, it's okay now, I promise."
He carefully lifted Logan out of his chair despite his weak protests, swooning under his weight.
"Roman, a little help?"
Roman spurred into action. "Yeah, sure, let me-" He lifted Logan in a princess carry and had to hold back the tears when he felt just how light the other side was.
As soon as Logan was pressed against his chest, Logan nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck and his voice, even though muffled by Roman's shirt, became a bit more clear and louder. Maybe it was only because his muscles relaxed at the warmth but Roman would like to think it was because he felt safe in Roman's arms.
Logan deeply inhaled Roman's scent and let out a sigh. "Smell nice... good...."
Even through his worry, Roman send a smile down to one of the most important people for him in his arms.
Logan buried his face deeper in Roman's shirt, distantly taking note of his heartbeat. "Perfect..."
Patton chuckled beside them. "I see you got that covered. I'll go and see how Virgil's doing." He hurried down the corridor, into Roman's room.
Roman nodded in acknowledgment, slowly starting to walk himself. "Mind repeating that, starlight?"
Logan grumbled a bit but still slurred out a few words: "Need to be perfect 'n work harder."
Roman gently hushed him. "No, deary, no. You're doing so good, the best. Why do you have to be perfect? That's impossible, even for you."
Logan whined against his chest and said something Roman would never forget, no matter how long he lived. "Want you to love me... Am not enough..."
Roman could feel his heartbreak, could feel it shattering in his chest and each little piece plunging into his flesh, sending sparks of pain through him. "No, Logan, my little scientist, no! We love you so much, all of us. And if I have to prove it to every single day, then I'll do so gladly."
Roman made his way to his own bathroom as quick as he could without jostling Logan. He had been hurt enough already and Roman vowed to himself that no matter what, no matter the cost, he'll never let Logan hurt himself like this again.
In the bathroom, they're greeted by Patton combing through Virgil's hair while hugging him close.
Both of them look up when Roman walked in. He glanced between the bubble bath Virgil prepared and Logan. "Uh, how do we do this?"
Virgil wiped the tear traces off his face and stepped closer, speaking softly to Logan to not startle him. "Hey, L. We're gonna get in the bath, okay? But we need to get your clothes off for that, is that alright?"
Logan weakly reached out for Virgil and Roman immediately complied, setting Logan carefully to his feet who clung to Virgil's hoodie instantly. Virgil quickly wrapped his arms around him to support his weight.
"Soft..." Logan mumbled while his fingers weakly twitched in the fabric folds.
"Well, I'm glad you like my hoodie," Virgil said as he carefully pulled away Logan's tie and got his shirt off.
"Noooo," Logan whined, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, "not hoodie, you. Soft and good, always so good... too good for me."
Virgil's gaze softened and Patton let out a choked sob. Virgil ran his hand slowly through Logan's greasy hair, smothering it back, away from his clammy forehead. "Never, love. You're always there for us, what would we do without you?"
Logan's eyes slipped closed as he whispered something that sounded like a protest and his legs buckled under him. Virgil quickly tightened his grip to keep him upright.
Patton put a hand on his shoulder. He still held back his tears. "I think, it's best when we talk about it in the morning. Bath time, now, Logibear."
Together they got rid of the rest of Logan's clothes and carefully maneuvered him into the tub.
Logan let out little moans as the warm water relaxed his muscles and Patton rinsed out his hair. The rest of the bath passed in silence. Just before the water could grow cold, a bit of color had returned to his face. They got him out and wrapped him in a fluffy towel and Logan's favorite periodic table print pajamas.
Roman carried him to his big canopy bed that would be able to fit them all in. There was no way in hell any of them would let Logan sleep alone tonight.
Logan himself was barely conscious right now, eyes barely open, body relaxed and pliant in Roman's arms. Roman gently placed him in the pillows and Patton immediately wrapped him in extra fluffy blankets, fresh out of the dryer.
Roman got into bed as well, pulling Logan close, so that his chest was pressed against his own.
Virgil sat down on Logan's other side and took one of his wrists into his hands. He barely bent it and Logan let out a sharp, pained yelp. Roman immediately soothed him, rubbing circles into his back.
"He probably has carpal tunnel syndrome," Virgil whispered to Patton. He started to gently massage his wrists, forearm, and hand, earning little relieved sighs from the other as Logan's eyes slowly slipped completely shut. When he got to the other wrists, he let out slow, even breaths, soundly asleep.
Virgil reached out and took the casts Patton had conjured in the meantime and carefully attached them around both wrists, just tight enough that they wouldn't cut off the blood flow but would still let the injuries heal. He adjusted the blankets and laid down next to Logan. Patton followed shortly, hugging Virgil from behind. They all fell asleep to the soft thumbing of Logan's heartbeat.
Logan woke early in the morning two days after the incident. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to make sense of why he wasn't looking at fading glow stars but red silk curtains. His memory was fuzzy and lacked large bits. He remembered working until he suddenly was not and felt cold and stiff and alone. Until suddenly he was not. He remembered warmth, and kind voices even though he couldn't remember what they had said.
Now his throat felt sore and his wrists were burning as if he had dunked them into acid. He also didn't remember putting casts on. Slowly he started to suspect what happened. The others must have found him on one of his burnout sessions, that meant they sawLogan's heart started to race and he could feel his breath coming short. The room started spinning and he distantly heard the door opening as if standing in a tunnel. Then someone was counting a familiar breathing pattern for him and slowly but steadily the world came back into focus.
Virgil sat in front of him, concern was written on his features clear as day. "How are you feeling?"
Logan nodded and pressed his hands to his lap to hide the shaking. "I assure you, I'm fine."
Virgil raised a single eyebrow. "Yeah, I call bullshit." When Logan flinched back, his whole demeanor softened. "Look, I don't know what exactly happened or what you remember from last night, I mean you were pretty out of it. But, L, it's okay to feel shitty and we need to talk about this.
The others are waiting downstairs, we would have been here but you were asleep quite a bit- not that's that a bad thing, you clearly needed the rest, it's just-"
Virgil fell silent when Logan grabbed and squeezed his hands, as well as the casts, let him. "Vee, I know what you mean." He sighed and avoided his gaze as he continued speaking: "Can't we just forget this happened?"
Virgil squeezed back. "No, we really need to talk about it. Come on, L, time to face the music. No one will judge you, I promise."
Logan hesitantly let himself pulled out of bed. As soon as he stood, he pulled his hands back to himself. Although Virgil got a sad look on his face, he wordlessly let go.
Logan felt vulnerable in the open room and it only got worse when they walked down the hallway and down the stairs, into the common room. Upon hearing their footsteps Logan saw Roman quickly switching off the tv and sitting up ramrod straight on the couch.
Patton disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with a cup of tea. While Virgil got him seated next to Roman and squeezed himself on Logan's other side, Patton pressed the mug into his hands.
"It's good to see you up again, sweetie," he said while trying to smile convincingly.
Logan couldn't meet his eye. "Can we just get this conversation over? Virgil said you felt the need to talk about the latest events."
Patton nodded sadly. "Well, dear, can you blame us? We found you in a not so good state after you locked yourself in your room. You were freezing and not really responding to us. We're just worried for you, Lo-Lo."
Logan adjusted his glasses and self-consciously ran a hand through his, without a doubt, messy hair.
"I assure you I'm fine. Usually, I'm back to functioning properly after exactly 52 hours."
A tiny noise came from Roman and his hand twitched in his lap, aching to comfort Logan but suspecting that touch might be too much stimulation for him right now. "You mean this has happened before, moonbeam?"
Logans squirmed in his seat. "Indeed, it can happen during a particularly busy time. Usually, I catch the signs far earlier. I will be more careful next time and not inconvenience you again."
Simultaneously three different sounds of protest sounded from around him and Logan quickly found him squished in a group hug. And even though his skin was tingling from the contact, he felt strangely warm and safe.
After several minutes, Roman pulled back with wet eyes. "Darling, what in the world would make you think like this?"
Logan straightened. He had this argument with himself in his head many times after all. "I only meant to assure you that I'll be able to manage my workload again in the nearest future. So you don't have to worry about that."
"Logan, we're worried for you, not the spreadsheets and all this stuff. Because we love you."
Roman's voice choked a bit at the end.
"I don't understand. My role in Thomas' life is to take care of his schedule and the like. If I can't do that what else is left of me." Logan went quiet for a second. "What else is left there to love?"
"No!" Patton lifted his chin to look him in the eyes. Logan saw his determination burning with the intensity of a wildfire. "Logan, we love you for you. Not your role as Logic, that's only such a small part of you we adore."
Virgil nodded. "You're allowed to make mistakes, Logan. We don't want you to work yourself into the ground. We couldn't risk losing you. And if you tell us how to help-"
"No," Logan interrupted him. "I have to do this on my own."
"Why?! No seriously Logan, why?! Why do you have to this by yourself? To prove your worth or some bullshit?!" Virgil took a deep breath to calm himself. "Look, I'm sorry if this sounds harsh but it's the truth. You can accept help, it's not a weakness, believe me. We won't abandon you. I mean, what if Patton or Roman or I would come for you and ask for help? Would it bother you or make you think less of any of us? Would it make you love us less?"
Logan vehemently shook his head. "No, of course not."
"Then why is it different for you?"
Logan took a moment to think before he answered slowly, trying to wrap his head around the concept. "I suppose, it isn't?"
"Damn right, it isn't."
Roman chimed in. "You're enough, you always have been. And if we didn't make you feel like this from the very start then it's on us, not you." He pressed a light kiss onto Logan's hand. "Let us try to help, dearest?"
"It's okay to struggle, it's a learning process to get rid of old habits. Just give this a chance please?"
Patton grabbed his free hand and soothingly rubbed circles into his palm, careful to not touch the casts around his wrists.
And Logan finally decided to give it a chance, no matter how strange it seemed to him. How could he not when they all looked at him with so much hope in their puppy eyes.
They talked until late in the afternoon, Logan trusting them enough to spill everything. He told them about his troubles to complete his work, his insomnia, and his problems to get out of his bed. And they discussed possible ways to help him, strategies they could try to make life easier. But most importantly, they listened to him. For the first time in a long while, Logan truly felt heard without having to worry about hiding anything, without having to uphold his mask of perfection.
Still, Logan expected things to back to normal pretty quickly after their talk. Maybe Patton would check in on him more frequently, Virgil would spend his reading time in Logan's room and Roman would consider his schedule for group meetings with less drama, but he expected nothing too drastic. And even as a rare occurrence as it was, this time Logan was wrong.
He was skeptical when Patton insisted that Logan threw out his shrill alarm clock. He only complied because Patton promised that they would wake him up on time because once Patton promised something, it was set in stone.
He realized just how much effort they were putting in when he slowly rose from sleep instead of jumping out of his skin due to his alarm. Sleeping alone on itself was rare since he was not used to sleeping soundly but waking to Virgil massaging his wrists was heavenly. He let out a sleepish grunt and blindly buried his face in Virgil's hoodie who was still half-asleep himself.
Virgil leaned in to whisper into his ear: "Breakfast is ready, do you want some? Patton made them with Crofters. And Princey's currently torturing oranges to make juice."
Logan felt a smile grow on his face and warmth bloom in his chest. "That sounds lovely." Then he could feel the heaviness settling into his guts, pulling him down into the blankets, urging him to just stay in bed a little longer, just until he was ready which would probably be never.
Virgil rose again and pulled Logan with him, halfway into his arms.
Logan did definitely not let out a yelp because he was a very composed person who did not yelp. As he looked up into Virig's sleepy face, he found he could get used to this.
"Do you want to get ready?"
Logan shook his head. He was wearing his favorite pajamas and felt pretty comfortable and warm.
But then he thought about how his hair was probably messy and- "I mean if that's acceptable? I know I don't look-"
Strong hands cupped his face. "Hey, none of that. You look perfect. And even if you didn't, you could still come down."
Logan took deep breaths. "Then I want to go down."
He linked his with Virgil's fingers and lead him downstairs. Patton and Roman were still busy in the kitchen which emitted the sound of laughter and the absolutely delicious smell of fresh jelly and pancakes.
It became a routine after that day and even though Virgil hated the early morning hours with a passion, he would get up every day without fail to wake him with sleepy hugs, better than every clockwork could.
Logan realized just how much they actually cared when Patton first started reciting famous poets and historians to him on a bad day.
He was reassured of it every time Patton slid a note under his door when he said he wanted to work undisturbed or brought him a snack when he worked in the commons.
He knew they all did when Patton and Roman asked for his documents and proofread them, bringing them back corrected with color-coded notes.
Logan realized that they really meant what they said that day of the talk when Roman brought him a cd with ocean sounds and soothing music with a handpainted cover to help him sleep, on the same evening they had discussed his problems.
It was drilled into his consciousness every time Roman sang him a lullaby or made up a bedtime story that could have been written by Agatha Christie herself just to help him wind down after a stressful day. All Logan had to do, was lay there and relax while Patton massaged his wrists and Virgil laid on top of him, providing a soothing weight and warmth.
Logan never felt more loved as when they all had breakfast in bed on laundry day so that Logan wouldn't have to deal with the crumbs in his bed afterwards. Or when they were there for him on the really bad days, where he got nothing done and slipped into old habits, just as much as they always did.
Logan never felt more loved before and he couldn't wait for the years to come.
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wolfpawn · 5 years ago
Text
I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 94
Chapter Summary -   The Skull Island tour has been long and tedious, taking a lot out of Tom. When he returns home, it is too much and his body tells him he needs to rest, which leads to him needing care, thankfully, his ex-paramedic girlfriend comes home to assist.
Previous Chapter
Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)
Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.
authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.
tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​ @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​​ @fairlightswiftly​​ @salempoe​​​ @wolfsmom1​​​
If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.
Tom fell onto the bed and groaned. He could tell he was on the verge of being ill, his stomach felt odd and his head felt fuzzy. He had not drunk very much at the awards, but he suspected that the little he did drink after all the tiring travelling over the last two weeks and the now suspect stomach upset was not helping. Looking at his phone for a moment to see what the beep noise he had heard in the car back to the house was. He did not tend to check his phone in cars, he left it in a car one night and it cost him a good opportunity at a role in the time it took to get it back. He had to squint to see the words on screen.
Danielle - Delighted for you, you deserved it. The food is so weird here, I am scared to try some. I cannot wait to be home with you tomorrow, I love you and I am so proud of you. Xxx
He grinned on realising that Danielle had taken the time to text. Over the past few weeks, they did not talk often, mostly by text, but he ensured to contact her every day as he got ready for whatever the day held and before bed, she did the same, but usually added another text on days he was on tv shows or the red carpet to give him encouragement and her thoughts. It made him excited to check his phone after such events. To watch the Jimmy Kimmel show, she had to get out of bed after a day of work and with more work the next day, as well as spending her evening's correspondence with the Lucas man she was working with in America, but she did it willingly. Her words and the smiley face or x’s at the end of her texts and the ‘I love you’ at the end of her day made him smile goofily without fail any time he received one. It made the tiring days and the lonely nights in hotel rooms so much easier. They spoke twice, but time zones and workloads made it difficult. Danielle’s week of work was one of intensity and insane hours, especially with her other work too. He knew she would be reluctant to speak too because he would scold her for overdoing it. The only grace he had was because it was in Suffolk and she was next to his mother, he had Diana keep an eye on her.
Feeling drowsy and unwell, Tom kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed, not even taking off his pants and fell asleep lying across the bed, his head on Danielle’s pillow, inhaling her scent as he drifted off.
*
Danielle tried Tom’s phone again, but it was still turned off. Thinking he was driving, she sat in the airport café and waited a little while longer. Her flight had been fifteen minutes early, though she suspected that that was because it gave itself a little longer flight time to declare itself ahead of time on a lot of services, and it was a time of day where traffic in London could be a tad mad, so she knew there was a high probability that Tom was delayed. She had texted when she got to Orlando on the stopover for her flight, and again at Schiphol, but Tom never replied to her texts, so she could only assume that even if there was an issue with his phone, he would still come at the time they had arranged. But as it came to an hour after that time and he was still not there, she began to wonder what to do. She rang him one last time, but as soon as she heard the automated answering machine, she hung up. Part of her thought to get a cab, but considering she was only in the US for two days and only brought a small backpack, she decided the Tube was far more cost-effective.
It took a little over an hour to get back to Belsize from Heathrow, and the entire way, Danielle thought over the time that Tom had been on the press tour. It was doable, or so she thought anyway. Not fun, not ideal, but very doable. She had spent time with Emma, feeling as though it was as good as before the whole Christmas debacle and they arranged to go out another time soon. Herself and Nacelle had a great time at her house, even if she had to hide her clothes in Diana’s, much to her neighbour’s utter bewilderment when she answered the front door to see Danielle standing there with clothes in her arms, not even packed in suitcases, asking her to mind them for a few days. Nacelle met Diana, who apparently knew her mother from her days in theatre and the trio had dinner any time that Nacelle and Danielle returned to the house at a normal hour. The nights they did not, there was food waiting for them in the fridge.
Luke had informed her halfway through the first week that Tom was away that the photos of her on the internet had caused little reaction. Most assuming her to be Tom’s dog walker, but one or two tried to link her to being the girl Tom was seen with for dinner with his mother, but her makeup and hair had thrown most into rubbishing it. But the small few were adamant it was the same person and were declaring their love or hate for it accordingly. He also warned her that there were a few that were certain that he was still seeing Taylor, and nothing would waive them. Danielle was not in any way bothered by such accusations, if anything, it meant she and Tom were less likely to be on people’s radar for the time being, which suited her.
When she walked to the house from the Tube station, she frowned at seeing Tom’s Jaguar and her car both in the driveway. She opened the door and walked into the house. “Hello?” She noted Tom’s keys and suitcase. “Tom?” looking around, she realised Tom had done nothing of note since he came home. His laptop bag and his wallet were in the kitchen, as were his two new Empire Awards. “Tom?” She called out again, but again, there was no answer. She walked up the stairs and towards the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and to be honest, the irrational part of her brain began to think of more and more outlandish worst-case scenarios, but she dismissed it and walked in slowly.
The room was in darkness and there was clearly someone in the bed. As soon as she entered, she got her reason for why he had not come to the airport. Looking at the figure in the bed, she felt herself feeling pity for him. There was a strong smell of sweat and vomit. Her years as a paramedic meant that though others would recoil, she only noticed because it was so strong. The first thing she did was went to the window and opened it slightly before then going to the bathroom to assess the damage. She cleaned everything that was required there and then put a fresh spray of air freshener inside. When that was done she left the room again and went downstairs. She put on a wash, knowing they would need to get the laundry sorted before going to the kitchen and making a rehydration drink for Tom, as well as bringing a few headache tablets. When she went back upstairs, she noticed Tom had not even stirred. Sitting on the side of the bed, she placed the drink and drugs on the beside locker before trying to wake him.
Her hand went to his sweat covered hair and brushed it off his forehead. “Tom, hey…” Tom groaned. “Hey, handsome.”
“Elle?”
“Hey.”
“What…what are you doing here? You’re not home until tomorrow night.”
“It is tomorrow night; my flight came in this evening as it was supposed to. Have you been sick since yesterday?”
“I came home from the awards, I felt like shit, then I…” He rushed off the bed and back to the bathroom and heaved into the toilet violently. Danielle followed him. “No. Out.” He ordered as he spat into the cleaned bowl.
“Not a chance, I am trained and desensitised to this,” She pointed out, getting a face cloth and dampening it before putting it to his forehead. “You’re run down.”
“You’re one to talk, you look like you could sleep for a week.”
“Running across one of the largest airports in the world for a connecting flight was not fun, but overall I am fine, I miss my bed.”
“I ruined it.”
“The bed?” He nodded sheepishly, “I’ll get clean sheets, you sit here for a moment,” She put down the toilet seat. Tom silently did as instructed.
It took only a few moments to change the bed, she also opened the window slightly so that the room would get some fresh air. It was raining, but not overly cold so it would not require her to put the heating on for longer. When she was done she brought the sheets down and placed them beside the washing machine before heading back upstairs, making sure the lights were off and the doors were locked as she did. It was only eight at night, but she was tired and Tom was sick, no one was going to get up again soon, she thought.
In the bedroom, Tom was almost like a zombie as he made his way back from the bathroom to the bed. “Come on,” She led him back. “No, stay standing for a second, I need to get these off you.”
“You just want me for my body,” He joked as she pulled off his pants.
Danielle couldn’t help but laugh, “We both knew that from the start.” She jibbed. “Drink this.” Tom did as instructed and though he hated the taste. She then helped him with his shirt and lifted the duvet up for him. “Are you tired?”
“Yes.” Tom groaned again as he fell into the bed.
“If you’re still ill in the morning, we’ll get you to the doctor, until then, we’ll catch up on sleep.” She smiled, getting into the bed next to him. Tom pulled her to him, even though he was still warm from his bug, Danielle curled into him. “I missed you.” She kissed his hand that was around her.
“I missed you too,” Tom kissed her shoulder.
“Get some rest, Tom.” Danielle was falling asleep as she spoke.
*
When Tom woke the next morning, he was relieved to feel better. Beside him on the nightstand was another one of Danielle’s toxic but effective rehydration drinks. He sat up and downed the mixture so that he would get rid of the last of whatever he was enduring. Turning slightly at the peculiar noise next to him, he looked to see Danielle asleep, her hair covering her face. Chuckling, he pulled it back and bit his lips together as he watched her snort in her sleep, he could not call it snoring, as that had a rhythm to it, but occasionally, whatever way she was breathing with her mouth open, she snorted. He looked at her guiltily, wondering how long she had waited for him at the airport. Had she rung his sister to collect her, gotten a cab or taken the Tube, he felt terrible for not even thinking to contact her. He noted she seemed to be a tad pale, he wondered if he had passed his illness to her. He could not recall if she had looked like that on her return the night before; only that she had tended to him, selflessly and lovingly. She would have been exhausted, but she made the bed with fresh sheets, smiling at him to not worry as she went to do so. Part of him wanted to wake her and thank her, to tell her he loved her for what she was and what she had done, but he knew she was tired, so he left her sleep, instead choosing to get a shower, knowing that he needed one desperately. When he was done, he was slightly shocked to see that Danielle had not even moved in the bed, instead she seemed to be snoring slightly now. Tom realised before that she usually did that when she was at her most exhausted. He went downstairs and looked around. He was startled to see there was no sign of Mac, then cursed for not remembering to collect the dog in his illness. He found his phone, which was dead, and put it on charge. Thinking for a moment, he went to put on the kettle but then thought against it, instead he decided that given the past few days, both he and Danielle deserved a treat, so he ran to the café down the street and got them both their favourite drinks and pastries before heading back to the house. He groaned as a photographer caught sight of him and for some reason thought him getting coffees was something of considerable note and proceeded to take loads of pictures.
When he arrived back, he went straight to the kitchen to see if his phone had enough charge to turn it on. “Hey.”
“Good morning, you look a lot better.” Danielle was standing at the kettle, waiting for it to boil, and loving smile on her face. He walked over and gave her a passionate kiss. “A very good morning then?”
“The best.” He held up the items he bought. “A gift, as my apology.”
“Apology for what?” She asked, taking the caramel latte from the cup holder.
“Not collecting you.” He stated meekly.
“What? Tom, you were sick, you don’t need to apologise for that.” She laughed. “I won’t say no to my favourite coffee and an apple Danish though, no matter what the excuse or reason.” Tom pulled out the two pastries and handed her one. “Thank you. So how are you now?”
“Hungry, what about you?”
“Same, I didn’t eat too much in New Orleans, the food was all gumbo’s and stuff and I just was suspicious of everything.”
“I was down South for I Saw the Light, the food is something you have to be careful with, it can have a huge kick to it and not have any sign of it.” Danielle smiled and nodded, Tom’s face fell. “The interview?” Danielle shook her head. “Elle, I…I’m so sorry, did they give you any feedback?”
“The assistant director is Lena Dunham.” Tom’s face filled with recognition. “She said no, so that was it.”
“Elle, it’s my fault…”
“No, it’s not. You held decorum and class after everything, if her friends or even she wants to get petty, then that is not our doing. I was talking to Lucas, he was asked to do a war film here, Normandy and in Ireland. He’s too busy but he told them about me, no interview or anything, it’s mine if I want it.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Well gunfire, tanks, explosions and filth is the general gist of war stuff, so loads of headaches regarding safety, but it is being done with the help of a good friend of yours.” Tom looked at her. “Branagh.”
“He is an amazing man, honestly, one of the most incredible directors I’ve worked with.”
“I know. He wants to talk to me one on one to see if I can work with his idea. Apparently sometimes when a door closes, the sidewall of the house comes off. Branagh has a lot of influence, Lucas is his usual go-to man, but this redoing this safety thing is his only project this year, so he recommended me. If I can work this…” She smiled, “Jesus if I can actually get Branagh on my resume if I do this right…”
Tom pulled her to him, “You will, you are meticulous and intelligent, I know you will fly through this, wait and see.”
“He is in London next week.”
“Great.”
“I said I would meet him, but also that if possible could I bring my partner with me.” Tom looked at her blankly. “It was his wife I was talking to, when she asked who said partner was and relayed the message, he was elated apparently. So, fancy coming to lunch with me and Kenneth Branagh next week?”
Tom pulled her to him. “I will gladly accompany my beautiful girlfriend to her work meeting with the world-famous director next week.” He beamed. “Look at you Elle, less than a year in and you are getting all this done.”
“Visualisation. I thought it and look what’s happening; you, Mac, who we will collect after our coffees, my exams, my promotions, so to speak, it has to be deemed a promotion when you are a consultant for a huge studio,” Tom nodded in agreement. “Getting to work on Game of Thrones and now, having a business lunch with Kenneth fucking Branagh.”
“You are driven.” He kissed her again.
“I’m swinging with the big dicks now.” Tom looked at her in shock. “It’s an expression.”
“Irish people are nuts.”
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sunsetcurve · 5 years ago
Text
break these clocks, forget about time
Summary: The point is this, the three of them piled together on the couch with the blankets pulled over their laps, the dim light from the streets spilling in through the window, the cheap takeout in their hands and Jasper's arm around her and Henry's fingers threaded through hers and this, them, together. 
Fandom: Henry Danger
Relationships: Henry Hart/Charlotte Page-Bolton/Jasper Dunlop
Word Count: 1,492
A/N: i don’t know? i don’t know. there’s no plot to this. last night i just really needed some shitty domestic ot3 fluff and i started writing and...yeah. the three of them are aged up in this fic—you can really picture it at any point in their lives, but personally i just saw it as them being fresh out of college. it also doesn’t have to be read as romantic, it can definitely also be a platonic friendship thing. anyway, i hope you like it! (title is from the song a.m. by one direction)
Dedications: as always, please don’t feel any pressure to read this! also, if you want to be tagged/untagged in the future, just let me know! @rorythevambire @up-the-tube @mychenrymadness @ciara-knightly @cactus-con @henryhearts @henry-p-fart @bijerbear @chenoahchantel @taylorswiftrulestheworld @just-a-j-reallly @shadows-and-starlight
* * *
By the time they make it back to their apartment, Henry's sort of out of it. 
He hasn’t said much on the way home—not in the dark, brooding way that he only ever falls into when things are really bad, but more in the way that he gets when he's just tired. Worn out. He's leaning heavily on Charlotte as Jasper fumbles with his keys. She can see the latter's gaze flitting from side to side—Henry's not in costume anymore, but the fact that he's only a little more than half-conscious would probably raise too many questions among their new neighbors. Over the years that they've been doing this, the three of them have perfected the art of making up excuses, but they've only been here a couple of weeks, and they really don't need any sort of suspicion on them just yet.
Jasper finally gets the door open with only some effort (Charlotte's long since given up on trying to explain to him why having that many keychains on the same ring just doesn't make sense) and flicks on the lamps. Warm light floods the room, spilling over the pull-out couch they'd bought only a few days ago and the boxes that still sit unpacked in the corners of the room.
If it were up to Charlotte, things would be spick and span, exactly in their place by now, but it's not. Not entirely, anyway. She's tried, she's definitely tried to put their new apartment together, but it seems like her boys have a way of distracting her out of it every single time, with video games or movies or music that she really can't help but dance to with them.
(Maybe she should mind it more than she does. But maybe she's just too caught up in the happiness that they've finally, finally moved in together to care.)
Anyway, it's not like it isn't wonderful the way that it is. There's the beginnings of the bookshelf that she and Henry were putting together in the corner, and tiny potted succulents on the coffee table and counter tops, and a box of Henry's flowers by the window and a gaming system set up underneath the TV and the polaroids that Jasper had taken of the three of them hanging on string lights by wooden laundry clips over the couch. It’s perfect.
And to Charlotte, it's home.
She helps Henry down onto the couch, and he tips his head back and shuts his eyes and gives her a tired sort of smile. It could be worse, she thinks briefly—it has been worse—and still, there's a flutter of concern in her chest as she cards her fingers through his hair. Schwoz had given him a thorough examination; he's got a sprained ankle and a few scrapes and bruises and a mild concussion, but he'll be okay. By tomorrow morning, he'll be bouncing on his feet, acting good as new, whether he's pretending just for their benefit or not. 
For tonight, though, he's too out of it to put on a show, and Charlotte is quietly sort of grateful for that. For tonight, he'll let her and Jasper take care of him, let himself close his eyes and rest for once. God knows he needs it. 
"We're out of leftovers," Jasper says, looking over at them from where he's standing by the open fridge. "Should I make something?"
"Better not." Henry's words are a little slurred together, but there's a lopsided grin on his face and a teasing lilt to his voice.
He's right—the only things that Jasper knows how to make are turkey sandwiches and instant ramen. Really, that goes for Charlotte too; she's a fantastic baker, but she can't cook to save her life. That's Henry's job here, although clearly he's not up to it at the moment.
"Order takeout," Charlotte suggests. "Em's Kitchen." 
Jasper nods and has the order placed within a few minutes; he's got the number saved on his phone and doesn't even have to ask her and Henry what they want. Em's Kitchen has quickly become their default; it's right across the street and doesn't dent their wallets very much, and it's good, too—at least, as good as cheap Americanized-Chinese takeout can get. 
When he's off the phone, Jasper settles onto the couch next to Charlotte, curling up against her shoulder while his fingers reach over to thread through Henry's. He's warm; Charlotte will swear sometimes that lying next to him is like curling up beside a fire, and she leans back into him. 
"How're you feeling, Hen?" he says around her, and Henry's mouth quirks upward a little like he's pleased just by the sound of Jasper's voice, which, really, she can't argue with.
"M'fine,” he replies. "Head's kind of fuzzy, though."
"That's why you don't go giving yourself concussions," Charlotte chides. Jasper chuckles softly next to her.
Henry pouts a little, and it's cute enough that Charlotte can feel herself melt and has no doubt that Jasper does the same. "It's not my fault I got thrown into a stupid wall," he protests, though it's half-hearted.
"No," Jasper hums in agreement, "but we should probably get you a helmet at some point." He taps the side of Henry's head gently for effect, and Charlotte laughs quietly as Henry's scowl deepens and he swats at Jasper's hand.
The doorbell rings a little later, and Charlotte carefully untangles herself from the two of them and misses the warmth immediately when she does. She scrapes a handful of change from the jar on the kitchen counter and opens the door, smiling at the dark-haired man who hands her the food and tells her to enjoy her meal. She trades the cash for the bag of takeout and then he's gone and she shuts the door and makes her way back to the couch, the smell of fryer oil slowly filling the room.
There's Kung Pao chicken for her, shrimp fried rice for Jasper, sesame beef for Henry, and potstickers for the three of them to share. She deals out chopsticks and napkins and then settles back into her place in between them. 
"You guys wanna watch a movie?" Jasper asks, clumsily grabbing a potsticker from the carton in her lap with his chopsticks. He's gotten a little better at using them, but the bar was set pretty low to begin with. At least he's trying, though—unlike Henry, who's just settled for a fork.  
"We never did finish The Avengers," Charlotte says with a small shrug, and takes the remote.
Between the three of them, they've probably watched it over a hundred times. But that's not the point, really—the point is her calling out every inaccuracy in the film, and Jasper saying all the lines he knows by heart, and Henry telling them both to shut up with enough affection in his voice to let them know he doesn't really mind. The point is this, the three of them piled together on the couch with the blankets pulled over their laps, the dim light from the streets spilling in through the window, the cheap takeout in their hands and Jasper's arm around her and Henry's fingers threaded through hers and this, them, together. 
They haven't quite gotten to the battle of New York yet when it's clear that Henry's asleep, snoring quietly from where he's lying with his head in Charlotte’s lap. She finds herself watching him more than the movie, drawing comfort from the steady rise and fall of his chest, and maybe Jasper notices because his voice cuts in over the shouts and laser sound effects coming from the screen.
“You worried about him?” he says, the arm that’s wrapped around her moving to rub her shoulder gently.
She shrugs a little. “Always,” she replies, and he cracks a smile and presses a soft kiss against her temple.
“He’ll be okay,” Jasper says, quiet but sure. “He’s got us, remember?”
It’s sort of cheesy, and maybe a year ago Charlotte wouldn’t have believed him. But it’s been the three of them together since they were little kids. They’ve walked through heaven and hell and come out of it stronger, and she’s quickly realizing that when it’s like this, them, together, there’s nothing they can’t do.
“I love you, Jasper,” she says quietly, and he smiles softly and nudges his head in between her neck and shoulder.
“Love you too, Char,” he breathes, his eyes closed. “And you, Hen, even though you’re an idiot.”
Henry just snores in response, and Charlotte feels a laugh rise in her throat.
There's a flutter of something in her chest, then, something that Charlotte thinks will never go away, no matter how long they live together, no matter how many more nights they spend like this. It feels soft, familiar. It feels warm.
And to Charlotte, it feels like home.
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jimlingss · 6 years ago
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The Deli Diaries [10]
Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 [Finale]
➜ Words: 2k
➜ Genres: Fluff & Cuteness, That good ol’ slow burn, Slice of Life
➜ Summary: Working at a grocery store deli is absolutely unbearable (and you’re also perfectly aware of how dramatic you are). But it seems like something, or rather, someone might make the job a bit more manageable.
➜ Warnings: Mundane-ness that might make you bored to death
➜ Notes: FINALLLLLLYYYY!!! and also the finale is next chapter, gonna make it a bit longer and worth the slow burn. enjoy!!!
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Life is cooking you one of the worst recipes yet.   It is a terrible concoction to be both sick and working. Every time you speak too loudly, coughs are wheezing from your lungs. Your apron pockets are full of tissues since snot is literally dripping every other minute, but even then, you still have a stuffy nose that makes it hard to breathe. Your voice is thick and nasally, sounding as if you just woke up from a four-hour nap. You’re sneezing as well, covering your mouth and nose with a bent elbow and into your sleeve.   Needless to say, you’re one slimy and gross mess.   But you garner little sympathy from your coworkers and supervisors. They still make you work — the only way to excuse yourself from it was if you broke your damn leg, but even then you wouldn’t be surprised if they got you a chair in front of the sink and told you to wash dishes. But not wanting to taint the company’s clean image and god forbid, spread your cold to customers, they’re making you change your gloves as frequently as possible and you’re forbidden to serve customers.   So maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be ill and stuck working an eight-hour shift. Sure, you were trapped stocking the deli shelves of macaroni and washing whatever bowl that needed to be washed. Everyone also treated you like you had the black plague, staying away and repulsed at the sight of you, but at least you were spared from having to deal with irritating and demanding customers.   There’s always a bright side...right?   “Woah. What happened to you?”   “Thanks.” You push the boy aside, swiping your nametag on the side of the machine and clocking out for the night. “That really helps the situation.”   “Wow, someone’s Miss Grumpy Pants.” The produce boy clocks out as well and follows behind you, waving goodbye to the manager on duty as you both slip out the front door.   “Maybe because you made me sick.” To emphasize your condition, you sniffle and your airways don’t clear with the small effort. You’ve been feeling unwell ever since the Christmas party and he dragged you outside. The little coughs and sneezes have now morphed into your back throat being clogged with mucus and that same mucus dripping from your nostrils.   But now that your dirty apron was stuffed in your bag and you got to wash your hands, you were feeling better. The frigid temperature of the air was also doing wonders to cool down your cheeks, even if it made your eyes more watery.   “Sorry,” Jimin murmurs, peeking at your face, genuinely apologetic.   You sigh, not wanting to blame him or wrongfully redirect the irritation of your sickness onto the poor boy. “It’s okay,” you reassure, “really, it’s not that bad. I didn’t have to serve customers at all today, except for the very end, so that was pretty nice.”   The boy stops in his tracks, making you pause from walking too. “Here. Wait a second.”   He pulls his red plaid scarf from his neck and you put out a hand. “No, it’s okay, Jimin. You don’t have to.”   “Tch!” — Jimin clicks his tongue in annoyance. His eyes are playfully stern, telling you to stay where you are. “It’s cold outside. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll get even worse.” He takes the scarf and carefully wraps it around you three times, tying the end of it. The boy is gentle, eyes half lidded and brows furrowed in concentration, making you stare a bit too hard.   “Thanks.” You dig your nose into the soft fabric. It smells like him, slightly fruity and clinging onto the scent of fresh laundry. You end up mumbling, “I’ll wash it and give it back to you.”   “No. Just keep it. I didn’t get you a Christmas gift anyway.”   You steal a glance at him before looking straight ahead. It’s dark out and cold. Every breath you exhale makes a cloud of condensation. Yet, even with the temperature low, your hand slips out of the warm confines of your jacket pocket without thought. You’re still walking alongside Jimin and he matches your pace, steps synchronized together.   The back of your hand grazes against his. Your skin skims each other’s and with bated breath and calculated moves, Jimin slowly but surely touches your wrist before sliding down to your palm. He timidly snakes his way down before he’s holding your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.   Your cheeks heat up even more and this time, the cold air does nothing to help. “I’m contagious, you know,” you whisper quietly as to not disturb the peace surrounding you both.   “It’s okay.” The corner of his lip twitches, being pulled upwards.   “What if you can get sick too?”   Jimin squeezes your hand. By the second, he becomes more self-assured. “Then we can be sick together.”   All day people have been distancing themselves from you, from your supervisor to even Yuna and Amber. They practically only talked to you from a meter’s distance or poked you with a ten-foot long pole to get you to do something. Everyone was scared that your cold is infectious and you’ve been pushed away, fended off like a snot monster, having no sympathy from the healthy.   But Jimin doesn’t care.   And you realize that you’ve been craving physical contact. Not just from anyone either….   “Don’t I smell bad?” You’re certain that sanitizer and the scent of deli meat is still clinging onto your oily skin that pours of sweat from each of your pores. If you felt disgusting on a regular work day, now it was ten times worse.   “No,” he muses with pouty lips, cheeks puffed out and rounded. “Not really.”   You glance at him. “Really?”   “Really.” The boy smiles as if placating a baby and one word from him has your worries dispelling away. His fingers move slightly against the back of your hand and you find his natural movements comforting. His head tips to the side as he stares at you. “Was work hard today?”   “Not too bad. They didn’t want me to do any customer service or any production, so I basically cleaned, panned, and shelved things. How about you?”   “It was okay. There was a new shipment of apples and grapes and I cut watermelon before packaging them.”   “Does anyone even eat watermelon when it’s this cold out?”   His eyes crinkle into half-moons when he smiles, cute teeth peeking from the seams of his lips. “You’d be surprised.”   “How does it even taste?” You frown, considering that you’ve never tried watermelon during winter before since it’s more of a summer snack. “It’s not really watermelon season.”   “Well, I had some.” His brown irises twinkle of mischief and you know you’ve rubbed off on him in your slightly kleptomaniac ways. “And it was decent. A bit less juicy than normal.”   “I bet.” You lightly scoff and the conversation dies off. From where you are, you can see your house coming up at the end of the block. Your feet begin to slow down and you hope he doesn’t notice. “Hey, Jimin….”   “Hmm?”   Your hands are a bit cold, but you like it when he holds it like this. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Are you working this Friday?”   “I am,” he says and immediately, you become dejected, shoulders hunching, eyes falling downwards. But then— “It’s an early shift, so I’m done at three. Why?”   Oh. “I-..uh...have you watched that movie we were talking about?” You smile, approaching it at a more casual angle to lessen the awkwardness that was threatening to barge between you two and just in case you get rejected, you can play this off. “When Spring Meets Autumn. It had pretty okay reviews.”   Jimin smiles. “You want to go?”   “If you want to.” You shrug nonchalantly, wondering if you’re too casual about it. “I mean...I can get us free tickets since I have this voucher from another time and I have no one else to go with and it’ll expire soon. You can invite your friends if you want—”   “No. Just the two of us is fine.” Jimin grins, mouth expanding and pulling into his rosy cheeks once more. “I’m happy to go with you.”   “Oh. Okay. Sounds good.” The pair of you stop in front of your house, lingering right in front of the driveway. Usually, you’d run up to your doorstep and fish out your keys, wave one last time and bolt to the shower so you can strip off your sticky clothes. But today, you still haven’t let go. “It’s a plan then.”   “It’s a date,” Jimin confirms out of the blue. Your mind reels, wondering what he means, but you don’t disagree or make any signs of disapproval. Instead, you’re too focused on the way the yellow glow of the streetlamp casts down its faint light and paints his skin in warm hues.   “Y-yeah, sure.” Your face feels like a literal furnace and it’s not from your cold. “Uh- thanks for the scarf.”   “No problem.” The produce boy smiles again and again, unable to repress it. But he’s made a bit more shy than before. There’s silence where he stares down to the ground, then at your held hands and then traveling up into your eyes, finding it a bit embarrassing that he can’t hide how giddy he’s feeling.   “I should...probably go now…” You hitch a thumb over your shoulder.   Jimin blinks, breaking his gaze away from your eyes. “Y-Yeah. See you tomorrow?”   “Yes. See you.” You finally let go of him, turning around right in time for your grin to spread into your cheeks. You’re struggling to hold down a squeal and you know for a fact that you’ll be kicking your blankets tonight in excitement, marking down Friday several times on your calendar and putting tens of alarms on your phone. Finally. A date with Jimin. Oh god. You’re already freaking out — none of your pillows were going to survive after being screamed into later.   In the meanwhile, Jimin stares at your backside that walks off all too slowly. His mind races. Before it’s too late, he inhales a sharp breath. He takes a step forward. There’s one thing he just has to do, one thing he’s been waiting so long for, one of the things he’s been dreaming about...   “He, deli girl! Wait!”   “What, produce boy?”   You twist around, unable to resist your smile.   And your gasp is smothered. A tiny squeak leaves your throat. You can’t breathe and this time it’s not because of your clogged nose.   Jimin’s leaning down, kissing you. His lips are soft and the scent of the scarf surrounds your entire frame, though it doesn’t come from the cotton fabric anymore. His lips barely graze against yours. It can hardly be defined as a peck with how chaste and delicate, fast and hesitant it is. You don’t even have time to close your eyes or savour how soft it feels to have his mouth on yours before he’s moved away.   Your fingers automatically lift to your lips, surprised and caught off guard. He is left breathless, chest hyperventilating, big eyes locked into yours. Then, the boy blinks and realizes what he’s done. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears and you don’t know what to say.   He’s the one who speaks — “Okay. Goodnight!”   Park Jimin runs away. Like his tail is caught between his legs, he stumbles and books it down the block, feet scrambling and eyes now refusing to look at yours. You watch him, giggles bubbling from you and spilling out into the night from sheer disbelief. More importantly, you catch him jumping up and cutely fist pumping the air, shouting an energetic ‘yes!’.   God. Not even one date and you’re already such a sucker for him.   You dig your nose into his scarf, warming up and surrounding yourself in Jimin again, replaying the little moment over and over again until it feels like his sweetness is rotting your teeth.   It dawns on you that your lips now taste like vanilla chapstick.
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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago
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🍃 - mermaids or fairies?! Or maybe just answer all of them so then I can torture you by putting them into a couple of fics with a couple of characters and neatly wrap them up and send it to you?
Because I can’t sleep, I decided to answer all of them! And I’m always up for a bit of torture from a great writer! :P I’m a glutton for punishment.
sweet and pure asks
🐰- do you believe in soul mates? - Nope. I believe that there are probably several people out there that would ‘fit’ with someone else. Love is hard work, and without that work it will fizzle and die, no matter the chemistry that was there in the beginning. 
💌- diary or journal? - journal. Although I never have the patience to do either!
✨- which fictional character (book, show, or movie) do you relate to most? - I always wanted to be like Elizabeth Bennet, from Pride and Prejudice. Headstrong, confident, smart and witty. I don’t know if I relate to that, but it’s what I wish I had more of.
💕- are you crushing on someone? - I’m always crushing on my husband (how sappy is that?)
🐝- describe your aesthetic in emojis - Shoot, I’m on the computer and can’t do that! Um, I guess I’ll write it. But it would be soft, fuzzy blankets, coffee, big fluffy sweaters, old books and sunflowers.
🍼- what is your favorite memory? - The day that my husband proposed to me
🌸- what is your favorite flower? - sunflowers!
💖- have you ever been in love? - Yep! Twice, and the second time is working out pretty well so far. :)
🍰- strawberry or vanilla? - vanilla!
🍯- describe your favorite smell - Old books, fresh-cut grass, stone after it rains, evergreen trees. But in a partner, warm spice, laundry detergent, vanilla, musk, woodsmoke, and cedarwood.
🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be? - for not have DDD, to have more willpower, and to erase mine and my husband’s debt
🍪- cookie dough or cookies? - cookies! chocolate chip with sea salt, to be exact
☕- coffee or tea? - coffee, but only iced. I don’t like hot beverages 99% of the time.
🍃- would you rather live in a sea with mermaids or a forest with fairies? - sea with mermaids. Swimming is one of the times when I have the least amount of pain, and I’ve always been a water baby.
🍂- what’s your middle name? - Ann-Marie
🍭- how tall are you? - 5′5″. I used to be 5′6″, but I shrunk.
💒- which show would you want to live in? - Can I say Night Manager so I can have Pine? In reality, maybe Doctor Who? I’d love to travel time and space, see the stars.
🎄- what is your favorite holiday? - CHRISTMAS
🍦- what scented candle is your favorite? - We currently have a woodsmoke one that is the absolute bomb
💘- 3 ways to win your heart? - cook for me, give me all the cuddles, and don’t be afraid to express your emotions. I’m adding a 4th in, and that’s back/neck rubs. Oh man...
🍩- current mood? - anxious about a trip that we’re about to go on for Thanksgiving!
💍- your current relationship status? - Married! We’ve been together over 8 years, and married for a little over 2 now. Time flies.
📷- a photo of yourself - NOPE
💅🏻- do you like being spoiled? - Not with materialistic stuff, no. I feel so awful when people spend money on me. I hate it. But spoil me with your time, with your affection, your words.
🕊️- 3 habits you have? - I have the worst habit of picking at my nails absentmindedly. I will also hum or sing while doing dishes or cooking. I stick my tongue out a little bit when I’m thinking really hard about something.
🦄- how do you perceive yourself? - I’m an okay person. I can get a bit clingy, but also I’m terrible at keeping up with friendships because sometimes my body just gets too loud. I need to lose some weight, but I have pretty eyes and hair. I laugh a lot and I’m pretty patient most of the time.
🦋- how do you think others perceive you? - Probably that I’m quiet, unless I’m comfortable with them, and then I talk too much. I could take better care of myself physically. That I’m a hard worker and I care about people?
🌈- things I find attractive in girls/guys - Kindness and loyalty. Anyone not afraid to show affection, to tell someone how they feel and hold their hand or pull them in for a hug and cuddle. If you can make me laugh, that’s a plus. And they have to be smart! I’m the only one allowed to bring any stupid into the relationship.
🍓- one secret about yourself - I once thought that I could make it as a musical theatre character actress.
🍒- how do you act when you have a crush? - So dang shy. I’m so awkward in real life. I used to be super good at flirting, but i’ve lost all my skills now that I’m a married lady. So I don’t even know, really.
💔- the reason behind your last breakup? - they were an asshole.
💬- what your last text message says? - ‘40 feet for other side of house.’ I was taking measurements down for the husband for Christmas lights!
⛅- what is your morning routine? - Get up, let the dogs out, feed the dogs and cat, do my morning business that everyone does, drink some coffee and check my tumblr!
💗- who do you miss? - Both my maternal grandpa and my step-grandpa. They were the absolute best.
🥀- last time you cried? - Yesterday.
🎁- when is your birthday? - March 27th!
🔪- scariest/creepiest experience? - I got mugged in broad daylight in Paris years and years ago.
💤- date someone younger, older, or same age as you? - When I was dating, I usually dated around the same age as me, until I met my husband. He’s a bit older, but that doesn’t matter as much when you’re grown adults. I appreciate mature men. I don’t suffer fools or play games, and that’s all that my peers seemed to do.
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phoutube · 6 years ago
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while the rhythm of the rain keeps time
ao3 link (kudos appreciated!)
Rating: General Audiences (subject to change) 
Pairing: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Words: 3,906
Summary: Dan loved the rain. He loved how it made the world just a little bit duller, but not in a bad way. Never in a bad way. When the world seemed to get a bit too intense, too noisy and crowded and chaotic, Dan could always count on the rain to melt the colors together, blending them and morphing the scenery around him into something dull and comforting. It would only make sense that - on a day that was wet and cold and drizzly and perfect--Dan would meet someone who would change his life in so many amazing ways.
a/n: a special thanks to my beta readers, @freckliedan, @shrugs-are-kinky, and @edgylester for making this fic possible! Go show them some love!
likes and reblogs appreciated!!
Chapter One: Water Washes It Away
Dan loved the rain.
He loved how it made the world just a little bit duller, but not in a bad way. Never in a bad way. When the world seemed to get a bit too intense, too noisy and crowded and chaotic, Dan could always count on the rain to melt the colors together, blending them and morphing the scenery around him into something dull and comforting.
He loved how it made the world smell, how the rain made all the scents spring from the earth and dance in the air, bringing forth a vivid fragrance that lingered in the air and reminded him of woods and rivers and freshness.
He loved how it sounded, the steady metronome of rain drumming on the roof of his house, the sporadic but peaceful rhythm caused by drops cascading through the trees, and even the occasional rolling of thunder in the distance.
Dan even loved it when the rain would come all at once, in fierce gales and howling winds and big cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning that lit the entire sky. He loved how it made the world look afterwards, when the rain had stopped but drops hadn’t quite ceased dripping from the trees, when the sky was grey and beginning to clear and the world had a distinct waterlogged look about it.
Most of all, though, was how it gave him every excuse to stay at home, warm and cozy and wrapped in his favorite blanket. He’d sit, sipping a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, content with the world outside. Maybe he’d read a book or sit on Tumblr or watch a show on Netflix, but sometimes Dan would just sit outside under the balcony, headphones in his ears and at utter peace with the downpour around him.
Dan wasn’t the most superstitious, but whenever it started to rain, he knew instantly that his day would be a good one.
It would only make sense that - on a day that was wet and cold and drizzly and perfect--Dan would meet someone who would change his life in so many amazing ways.
--
It began sometime in early June. Dan could never remember the date (he’d always joked about how warped his sense of time seemed to be), and he’d harboured the vague idea that his birthday was nearing as the days dragged by.
Dan had woken up in a despondent state of mind, a unique sort of exhaustion weighing in his gut and a fuzzy feeling that started in his brain and wormed its way through each of his limbs.
Days like this were ones he immediately chalked up to be useless and hollow, days that were empty and futile and meant that there was no point in getting out of bed because he knew he’d only be an echo of himself.
The rain drizzling outside was calming in a way that nothing else was--a steady downpour that matched his melancholy state of mind.
Depression. That was the word for it. Disgusting.
Glancing out the window once more, Dan debated calling in sick to work or just not bothering at all. Would he get in trouble again if he ditched? It was hard to remember what the policy was for that. Also, Dan was finding it hard to care.
Should he get out of bed and try to fill this gaping void with a hot cup of steaming caffeine? He could even scrawl down some bullshit in his journal (the one his therapist insisted he keep) about the steam tendrils curling through the air like a hot breath on a winter’s day, injecting the warm scent of coffee into the air around him. He probably wouldn’t. Just drinking it was enough for now.
Coffee, Dan thought, was probably the only thing that was worth making on one of these days. He had never been a breakfast person (eating so soon after he’d woken up always made him nauseous), and besides, clutching something warm gave his hands something to do. Occasionally the caffeine was even enough to jerk him out of this stupor so he could do something productive, like the dishes. Or maybe the laundry.
Ugh. Even thinking about laundry was almost enough for him to burrow his head under the covers and never emerge again. Almost.
He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side. His head pounded with the beginnings of a migraine, and his hair was greasy--probably due to the fact that he hadn’t showered in… shit, what day was it? What day had it been when he last showered?
Sometimes the days got like this. They seemed to drag on forever on their own, but if Dan wasn’t paying enough attention it seemed months could go by without his noticing.
He threw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that didn’t exactly smell clean. It wasn’t like he cared.
He padded out of his room, tucking his hands into his pockets and muttering to himself as he went. The hallway was sparse, devoid of any decoration (save for the plastic potted plant sitting in the corner--Dan couldn’t trust himself to take care of a real one), and the tile was cold beneath his toes.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Dan went through the motions of making coffee--pouring water into the machine, getting a coffee filter out of the cabinet above his head, drifting away while his hands were busy. In a few minutes, he had a warm cup sitting in front of him and only the vaguest memory of actually making it.
He did that sometimes--floating away, phasing through the day like some sort of lanky ghost. Some days were better than others. Most were the same, though.
He hummed along absently to a song he hadn’t bothered to listen to in months, his scratchy vocals accompanied by the drip, drip of the tap and the slight creaking of his chair as he shifted around. The rain outside drummed a sparse beat onto the window pane, the clouds above not quite enough to hold back the weak sunlight now streaming through his curtainless windows.
His brain felt fuzzy, and Dan lifted the cup up to his mouth for the first time. It had gone cold. When had that happened? How long had he been sitting here, while echoes of Reinventing The Wheel To Run Myself Over bounced around in his head? Was that even the name, or had he gotten it confused with another, equally angsty title? Dan had to admit it was off a pretty decent record, but it reminded him too much of his awkward teenage years and hating himself and everyone else.
God, being a teenager was such shit. He didn’t even remember much of it, his brain clouded in a haze of My Chemical Romance and hoping that he would ever mean something to anybody and the first bitter realization that he wouldn’t. He could practically taste the first sip of lukewarm beer he’d had (he’d nearly spit it out), his first kiss with a girl (which, ironically, was exactly the moment he decided he didn’t like girls very much--at least, not in that way), and especially the day he realized that his friends seemed to have grown up without him--feeling separated from his peers and wanting desperately to figure himself out, et cetera. Fuck, was he spiraling? He was spiraling. Damnit.
Dan was suddenly jolted away from wherever he was by the buzzing of his phone on the table beside him. He didn’t remember bringing it out to the kitchen with him, but he supposed he did, at some point or another. He reckoned that was his boss calling, wondering where he was and why he hadn’t bothered to call in sick and why the hell he thought it was acceptable to miss another day of work and still expect to keep his job.
Dan answered it, not bothering to mask the apathy in his voice.
“Hello?”
“Dan. Where are you? Your shift started ten minutes ago, and I can’t ask Leslie to cover it again, she did that last week and she’s out of town today. You know this. Why aren’t you here?”
Dan sighed, quickly realizing that he had been breathing directly into the speaker. He cringed. “I’m sorry, Matt. I- I guess… Well, I don’t know what I guess but-”
Matt’s voice was tinny through the phone speakers, but the exasperation in it was clear. “This behavior isn’t acceptable, Dan. You know it isn’t, and I don’t want to have to let you go, but you realize that I don’t have much of a choice, you know that, right?”
“Sorry?”
“I’m going to give you one more chance to get yourself together, and then I’m afraid you’re going to lose your job, and you know more than anyone else I’d hate to do that.”
Dan’s boss assumed that Dan knew a lot of things, when really, he didn’t. He’d always got the impression that Matt had only put up with him because he did his job half-decently. When he showed up.
“You know I like you, Dan, but letting you go is really my only option, and if you can’t get your act together by the end of the week… Well, let’s just say you won’t be working at Asda any more, you understand what I’m saying, right?
“You’re lucky you don’t have to come to work today, because Tom just got here--but please, Dan, you know you have to come to work sooner or later.”
Matt hung up before Dan could say anything else.
Dan frowned, staring contemplatively at the wall opposite him. He was going to get fired, and Matt was probably going to do it both by finding ways to say the phrase “you know” a million times and also without saying the word “fired” at any point in the conversation. How would he pay the bills? He was already relying on pity checks from his parents to help with the monthly expenses that came from renting a tiny flat in the middle of London.
He sighed dejectedly and stood up, draining the cold dregs of coffee in his cup and placing it in the sink. He wasn’t sure whether the dishwasher was clean or dirty, and if he didn’t check now then he wouldn’t have to be angry at himself later for not unloading it if it did happen to be clean.
Dan made his way over to the couch, fighting back a shiver as he sat down. It was plenty warm in the flat--in fact, he could feel a sheen of sweat beginning on his forehead, but it still felt like his very core was freezing. He supposed there wasn’t really anything else he could do except get a blanket from his room and be content with lying somewhere other than his bed for once.
He suddenly resented himself for making coffee, knowing that the caffeine now in his system resulted in his body being physically tired enough to lounge around like a sack of lanky potatoes on the couch, but not enough to warrant actually going back to sleep. He wasn’t even sure whether he would be able to sleep, anyway--he’d gotten about five hours the night before, which Dan considered a luxury he was rarely able to indulge in. He didn’t even have dreams anymore, which he was okay with. Dreams were overrated, most of the time.
His laptop was on the coffee table in front of him. Reaching out and pulling it closer to him, Dan opened it with vague intentions of watching something interesting on Netflix. It was dead. He didn’t know where the charger was. It didn’t matter.
Closing the computer, he set it back down and sat back against the sofa, the sorry-looking couch cushions molding around his body almost perfectly. He could turn on the television, Dan supposed, but the commercials gave him headaches and he was at least 70% sure the only thing currently on were talk shows and football matches he didn’t care about.
Maybe he’d just rest here until his miserable excuse for a body needed food. It’s not like he had to go to work, or anything. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to sleep and that the position he was currently in would make his neck ache for hours afterwards. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.
--
Dan stood in front of the fridge, dumbfounded. The milk had expired six days ago? When the hell had that happened? For God’s sake, he couldn’t even have a bowl of cereal without something getting in his way.
He’d finally gotten his arse off the couch once his stomach started growling--and now, with a refrigerator that was as empty as his stomach, he supposed that the time had finally come for him to leave the house for the first time in what felt like forever but was probably a bit closer to four days.
He was due to go grocery shopping anyway--he hadn’t been in almost two weeks and at this point the only edible things in the flat were (dry) cereal and a half-empty jar of peanut butter that he supposed he could eat with a spoon if he were particularly desperate. The corner store down the street was much too expensive, although nobody looked twice if you wandered in wearing pajama bottoms and looking like you hadn’t showered in a week.
Speaking of showers.
Dan supposed he had to take one at some point, and hadn’t his therapist (who he had sporadic appointments with) said that maintaining his physical health was just as important as maintaining his mental health? Some bullshit like that. He walked back through the kitchen, shucking his shirt off and tossing it somewhere towards the corner of the room. Maybe he’d go to the Tesco that was a bit further away, the one with much cheaper prices and better products. Maybe he’d even stop at the Starbucks across the street and indulge in coffee that didn’t taste like shit.
He padded into the bathroom, humming the harmony of All The Small Things and stepping out of his boxers. Good moods were rare, and came on as suddenly as they went away, and Dan knew he’d have to make the best of it.
Turning the shower on, Dan looked, really looked, at himself in the mirror while he waited for the water to warm. Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. Sometimes it felt like the person he was inside didn’t look like the person staring back in the mirror--which he always had a hard time explaining to other people, ones who didn’t understand the jerk in your stomach and the pounding in your skull when you looked in the mirror and a stranger was looking back.
Today, however, he thought he could see a sliver of himself in the dark eyes of his reflection, in the curly strands of his hair, in the way he held himself. Maybe something would actually happen today. Sticking his tongue out at his reflection and stepping under the hot stream of water, Dan suddenly remembered why normal people showered regularly. It felt fucking great.
He would stay in here forever, if he could.
--
Stepping out of the shower, Dan toweled himself off as he walked out of the bathroom, picking up the clothes on the floor that he’d worn earlier that day. He’d forgotten how nice it felt stepping out of the shower and wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel--and, knowing himself, he’d likely forget it again when it was time to bathe himself again in a few days. At least it was nice to rediscover the feeling.
His room was a mess. Dan really didn’t feel like cleaning it today, and besides--he already had a very important Adult Thing to do that involved leaving the house and spending money responsibly. Picking up a shirt off the floor, Dan surveyed it--there weren’t any questionable stains, and it wasn’t incredibly wrinkly, so that would have to do.
He picked up the first pair of jeans he found (because nobody even looked at trousers anyway) and stepped into them, hopping around about as gracefully as a sack of geese trying to escape from said sack. Dan crash-landed on the bed, muttered a quick, “Jesus Christ,” and stood up once more, attempting to get the trousers up his thigh. At least he was getting some exercise.
When all his clothes were properly on and he deemed his appearance acceptable enough to leave the flat, Dan stepped back into the hallway and immediately tripped over the towel he’d thrown on the floor prior to getting dressed. Cursing loudly and colorfully, Dan slung the towel over the open bathroom door (musty-smelling towels were the worst) and wandered around the flat in search of socks he could wear. He’d already checked his room, and the absence of clean socks only meant that a load of laundry was long overdue--so, naturally, Dan was looking for any excuse to delay that.
Finally locating a mismatched pair behind the couch and putting on his shoes, Dan grabbed a jacket from the coat rack (“A coat rack? Why in the bloody hell do I have to buy one of these when I could be getting, I don’t know, things I actually need?” Dan had asked after his mother insisted he get one--turns out they were actually pretty useful) and stepped outside, keys in hand.
Dan hadn’t taken more than a few steps before he had to turn back into the flat, silently scolding himself for forgetting his phone and leaving it who knows where because now he has to go look for it and- oh, it was just on the table. After a moment of hesitation, Dan grabbed his earbuds and shoved them in his pocket.
Leaving the flat (again) and locking the door, Dan felt a swell of pride in his chest. He was going outside, and he was going to do mature, adult things maturely. It wasn’t like he had a history of going out with the intention of spending his money wisely and coming back home with £50 worth of Maltesers, or anything.
Dan put his arms through the sleeves of his jacket while walking down the stairs (he was great at multitasking) and nodded at the security guard standing by the door once he reached the ground floor.
Striding outside, Dan inhaled, taking in the scent of the rain. The world was beautiful today.
The rain cascaded from the dark grey sky like a waterfall, splattering onto the sidewalk and dripping from trees. Dan was glad he’d abandoned straightening his hair years ago as the occasional drop smacked the top of his head and rolled down his scalp, managing to soak his hair and send shivers down his spine every time it happened.
Dan hailed a cab and spent a few minutes sitting in silence before putting in earbuds. After a few taps of his finger, Spotify was rolling and Dan stared out the window, lost in thought. The rain tapped against the window, and the grey world around him seemed to put his mind at ease.
Dan had created a playlist for days like this, with songs he loved but were mellow enough to create that rare feeling of peace that Dan was so quick to associate with the downpour around him. Using his hands to drum the beat of the music on his thighs, Dan gazed through the window contentedly until it was suddenly time to get out.
Stepping through the doors of the Tesco, Dan was immediately overwhelmed by the superficial glare of the lights on the shiny floors and the fact that there were people everywhere.
Dan wandered through the aisles, picking up packages of food that would last a long time, like instant noodles and frozen dinners. He also made sure he spent his money responsibly on essentials such as chocolate and… chocolate. And more coffee. He was pretty sure he’d used the last of it this morning.
When he’d managed to gather all the groceries he thought he’d need and avoid making eye contact with anyone who passed him in the aisles, Dan got in line behind some bloke in the SelfServ.
The man had an interesting tattoo on his shoulder, and Dan took the opportunity to study it closely as he waited in line. It was very intricate, with swirls of color that starkly contrasted his dark skin. What looked like gears for a machine of some sort were inked onto the man’s skin, and-
“What the hell do you think you’re looking at, mate?”
Dan was jerked back into reality by the stranger, who was now uncomfortably close to his face and glaring menacingly. “Nothing- I-I’m sorry, it’s just, I mean, you have a really, uh, cool tattoo, and I-”
The man, whose cash register had begun to beep, only stared at him for a second longer and returned to his purchases. As soon as he was done, Dan quickly scanned his items and left the store as soon as possible. Heart thundering, Dan rushed into the Starbucks next to the Tesco and collapsed into a booth in the corner of the coffee shop. That had been absolutely mortifying, this is why he didn’t go outside, that poor man had been just trying to shop and Dan had been ogling him like he was a display in a shop window, what had he been thinking?
Dan forced himself to take deep, calming breaths as he surveyed his surroundings. The few customers who had turned to stare at the lanky bloke bursting haphazardly into the coffee shop had returned to their drinks. In fact, it was fairly quiet in the shop, with nothing but the soft murmurs of people not wanting to disturb the peace and the quiet hum of coffee makers putting out the scent of freshly ground coffee beans.
Stomach growling, Dan remembered that after he’d realized that there hadn’t been any food in the fridge, he hadn’t actually taken the time to eat something amongst all his impulsive decisions (such as taking a shower and leaving the house with no prior plans to do so. Who did that?).
In the midst of all this thinking, Dan suddenly realized that he was in a coffee shop and could literally buy something to eat right at this very second. Standing up and walking over to the line, Dan contemplated what he should get. A muffin? He was going to get coffee, obviously, but as his tired idiot brain didn’t realize this morning, caffeine on an empty stomach made Dan want to vomit. Which was a lovely prospect, in all consideration, but Dan still decided to get some food as well.
He’d just stepped up to the counter and turned to look up at the menu when his eyesight was suddenly bombarded with pale skin and black hair and eyes that were blue-green-yellow and a shy smile that made his stomach do backflips.
“Er, hello,” the barista said, completely unaware of the apparent effect he was having on Dan, “I’m Phil. What can I get for you today?”
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therake-1996-blog · 7 years ago
Text
Pure- Epilogue
May 18.
As I’m sitting in the mansion’s parlor studying for my math final tomorrow, the lights suddenly go out. I look up, frowning, and glance out the window. It’s perfect outside, not a single cloud marring the sky. So why…?
PRRRR!
I scream like a little girl when the sudden sound hits my ears, my legs curling up and my hands jerking to my head, my math book tumbling onto the floor with a fluttering crash.
At the same time, the lights come back on, and Dui, Ichthys, and Teorus pop out from behind the couch across from me with cheap party hats you buy for a little kid’s birthday party on their heads and party blowers in their hands. That was what caused the loud horn-like sound. As I stare dumbly at them, the rest of the gods enter the room, looking amused at my deer-in-headlights expression.
“Happy birthday, Eden!” Ichthys shouts, a wide smile on his face. I blink.
“You know my birthday?” I ask. He rolls his eyes at me as Teo and Dui go about creating food and a cake for all of us.
��Duh. You told me when we first met, remember?”
“Oh, yeah…” I guess I did tell him. He asked what my sign was, right?
“You’re really going to celebrate a human’s birthday?” I ask as Zyglavis comes to sit beside me with a smile on his face.
“Of course we are,” He replies pleasantly.
“Besides that, it was Minister Ponytail’s idea to celebrate in the first place.” Leon says. He turns to Huedhaut. “Hey, the goldfish might not be allowed to drink, but we are. Bring out the wine.” Huedhaut does a mocking salute.
“Yes, sir!” However, he does it anyway, snapping his fingers and creating three bottles of dark wine.
I look at Zyglavis.
“It was your idea to celebrate?” I ask him, feeling touched. He nods.
“You don’t allow Lorraine and David to throw you birthday parties it seems, so I figured, why not us?”
“How did you…” I begin to ask, but then my eyes flit down to the ground, and I notice Zyglavis’ shadow isn’t under him where it should be. “Oh. Still keeping your shadow with me?”
“The threat of the dark king may be gone, but that doesn’t mean evil has been expunged from the Earth. It is my primary goal to keep you safe now. My shadow will always be with you.”
Zyglavis’ voice becomes soft and tender as he gazes at me lovingly, and my cheeks warm up on their own volition. I stare back at him, smiling like an idiot, when a voice cuts in.
“Alright, enough mushy-gushy stuff, it’s gross,” Ichthys says while pretending to gag. “Let’s party!”
There’s a wide variety of food on a large table someone conjured up, ranging from simple foods like chips and pretzels to rather fancy food like coquilles Saint-Jacques and ossobuco. In the center of the table is a black and white four-tier cake with a string of cherry blossoms going from the top to the bottom. Surrounding the table are piles of presents, all wrapped in colorful paper and ranging in size from roughly the size of a laundry basket down to the size of a small ring box.
I raise my eyebrows.
“There was…really…no need…for this,” I mumble as I struggle to take it all in. What’s really hard to accept is that gods—gods—got me, a human, presents. And there has to be at least fifteen of them.
“I tried to reign those three in,” Zyglavis said, waving at finger at Dui, Ichthys, and Teo. “But like that’s even possible.”
“Whaaaat?” Ichthys whines, sticking out his bottom lip.
“We wanted to give you presents! That’s what birthdays are for, right?”
“Keep in mind Eden, that this is the first birthday party any of us have attended,” Huedhaut tells me as he pops the cork on one of the wine bottles. “Gods don’t celebrate the days they were born. At least, not like humans do.” I cock my head, and look to Zyglavis.
“You don’t?”
“Gods live for a very long time,” He replies. “Celebrating every year would get rather tedious. Instead, we acknowledge when we reach our hundredth year of living, and so on and so forth.”
I exhale loudly. That…is one thing I need to think about. Zyglavis is immortal, and I am not. What will happen when I die?
I decide to save that thought for a rainy day.
The room is busting with happy voices and music within minutes, everyone talking amongst themselves and eating and drinking. I don’t recognize the music playing from the stereo. It must be exclusive only to the Heavens.
The food is amazing. Even the chips taste better than normal. Ichthys had me try this weird grey lumpy porridge type deal and I keep finding myself coming back for more of it… whatever it is.
When it comes time for cake, the three gods who scared the crap out of me earlier insist on singing Happy Birthday to me, and Tauxolouve and Partheno even join in, but I have a feeling they just want to see me blush. When I look to Zyglavis for help, he’s just standing there chuckling.
“Okay, okay! Open your presents now!” Ichthys says, grabbing my arm and yanking me over to the pile of gifts that I’m sure will be completely unnecessary. However, to appease him, I smile and do as he asks.
The gods all gather around me as I begin to open my gifts.
The large present turns out to actually be a laundry basket, which I’m actually glad about; I needed a new one, anyway. I get a heavenly perfume from Partheno, who says that spraying that on me will have me smelling pleasant all day without needing to reapply, which I think is really awesome, and I get a book about the Heaven’s history from Huedhaut, which is also really cool because who wouldn’t want to know about the Heavens?
From Tauxolouve I get a pretty pink and red silk scarf, from Dui I get a soft, fuzzy plushie of cherries that actually smells like cherries, and from Leon I get a star pin that he says will keep harm from coming to me.
“She needs all the help she can get anyway.” He says, but his tone of voice is more joking than insulting.
From Karno I get a large mineral nightlamp that emits purifying energy, from Aigonorous I get a small music box that plays ten different lullabies, from Krioff I get a pair of socks that feel like silk but have the ability to keep my feet warm—I’m always down for a new pair of socks—from Scorpio I get an apple scented candle that will never run out, from Teo I get a cowbell that can call any animal I want to me, and from Ichthys…
He has a huge smile on his face when he hands me the small box I had seen earlier, and as I open it, he says, “That will put anyone in the ‘mood’, if you know what I mean.” I frown. Inside the box is a small orange piece of candy, barely bigger than a Nerd. I look up at him.
“You mean ‘mood’ as in…” He winks at me, and my cheeks immediately light up like a stoplight.
“That’s a bit of an inappropriate gift, don’t you think, Ichthys?” Zyglavis asks him, clearly unamused.
“What?” He asks, turning to look at his superior with puppy dog eyes. “I mean, she’s probably gonna need help with Your Uptightness, right?”
“Eden,” Huedhaut says with a snarky smile on his face. “That is one of the Heaven’s most potent aphrodisiacs. I’d be very careful with that if I were you.”
I hurriedly put the lid back on the box.
“I, ah, appreciate this, Ichthys, but I mean, it’s kind of early in our, um…relationship for…this.” Listening to me bumble like an idiot, everyone besides Zyglavis laughs. I’m pretty sure there’s steam coming out of my ears.
As I put the tiny, dangerous gift aside, I yawn.
“Are you getting tired?” Zyglavis asks me. I glance at the clock over the mantle of the fireplace and see that it’s almost ten at night.
“Whoa!” I gasp. How did the time go by so fast? It was just five! Teo smiles.
“You know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun.”
“Aww…are we ending the party already?” Ichthys asks, pouting like a small child. Zyglavis rolls his eyes.
“You can party all you’d like, but it’s time for Eden to get some sleep. Humans need eight hours of sleep or else their mental functionality is compromised.”
“Oh, jeez, are you ever boring,” Leon moans as he pulls himself to his feet to head for the wine. “Get out of here before you bore us all to death.”
Zyglavis narrows his eyes and opens his mouth like he’s about to rebuke Leon, but I quickly put my hand on his arm and pull us to our feet as well. “Let’s go, Zyglavis.”
As we walk to the door leading to the back hall, I turn to the gods and smile at all of them.
“Thank you all so much for the gifts. I’ll treasure all of them. But for future reference, you don’t have to get me presents just because it’s my birthday, okay? I have nothing to give back to you.” They all either smile or laugh at me.
“We didn’t give you presents just because it’s your birthday, Eden.” Dui says.
“Yeah,” Karno agrees. “We gave you presents because we like you. We don’t expect anything back.”
I know I won’t get anywhere trying to argue with them, so I just smile and nod graciously.
“Okay. Thank you all again. Tonight was really fun.”
I yawn again, and Zyglavis gently takes my hand and leads me to his room for the night.
When we enter his room, he snaps his fingers and I am in my pajamas. “How convenient,” I mumble. “Wish I could do that.” Zyglavis chuckles.
“It does come in handy.”
He turns the lights off save for the lamp beside his bed and I crawl into the crisp, fresh sheets. As I rub my eyes, Zyglavis lays down beside me and hands me a square-shaped box wrapped neatly in shiny blue paper.
“You got me something too?” I ask, feeling a small twinge of guilt.
“Of course I did. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I allowed all my coworkers to give you gifts and I didn’t?” In my mind, I do a little dance at the word ‘boyfriend’, but I remain calm and smile at him as I take the gift and carefully unwrap it, setting the paper aside and opening the lid of the simple black box.
“Oh, wow…” I whisper. Inside is a charm bracelet with eleven small charms dangling from the silver band. In the center is a larger ornament with the symbol of Libra inside it, surrounded by small stars. Upon closer inspection, I see that the stars are moving, dancing around the symbol as if they’re alive.
“That bracelet has the symbols of all of us,” Zyglavis tells me. I take the time and look at each little charm to see that it’s true. Stars dance around those symbols as well. “However, if you touch mine,” He reaches out and runs his finger over the shiny glass. “I will be able to hear you, and you me.”
I turn my eyes up to his face to find him gazing softly at me. “There will be times when I have to be in the Heavens for a period of time, and we won’t be able to see each other. But, if you should get lonely, all you have to do is touch this charm, and we can talk.”
“Zyglavis, this is…wow…”
I can’t even find the words. Zyglavis is always thinking of me it seems, if he went to all this trouble to get me something like this. Happy tears fill my eyes, and I throw my arms around his neck, pulling a shocked sound from him and causing him to tumble on top of me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not trusting my voice. “Thank you so much. I’m so happy…” Zyglavis makes a sound that tells me he’s pleased and wraps his arms around me, rolling us so we’re on our sides. As he strokes my hair, I say, “I love you.”
“And I love you.” He replies before placing a small kiss on my forehead.
I gaze up at him and move a hand to cup his warm cheek.
Our bodies move naturally, leaning in to one another, and our lips meet. I still have to remind myself to breathe, but like I care about that.
All too soon he pulls back from me, and when I make a small sound of disappointment, he chuckles and pulls my head to his chest. “It’s time to sleep, Eden.”
“But I don’t wanna.”
“You sound like a child.”
“I wanna kiss you some more.”
Zyglavis kisses my head, but doesn’t allow me any wiggle room to get back to his face. I want to pout, but my drowsiness slowly creeps up on me, and before I know it, my eyelids are drooping.
Oh, well, I suppose. There’s always tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…I don’t ever intend on letting him go, and I know he won’t let me go, either. My life is changed, forever altered, but there’s no way I can see that as a bad thing. I place all my worries on the back burner and close my eyes, taking a deep breath and cuddling closer to Zyglavis’ warm chest, feeling more safe than I ever have before in my life.
Lying in bed, being held by the most loving of gods, I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
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nardaviel · 8 years ago
Note
tell us about kinatsuen
x
:DDD ty anon! sorry for the delay
1. Who texts more often?
en but they’re usually just weird things he’s thinking about at the time. atsushi texts most often with information or questions that are relevant to their lives. kin-chan rarely initiates texting although he’ll respond if someone else texts him
2. Who is better with kids?
atsushi!! en likes them but they’re exhausting and kin-chan often doesn’t know how to deal with them
3. Who tops/bottoms?
en tops. kin-chan bottoms. atsushi is a switch. sometimes en or kinshirou will do the opposite role but tbh not often
4. How do they eat ice cream? What’s their favorite flavors?
they all get ice cream in a cup. atsushi thinks cones are nice but more trouble than they’re worth, en just thinks they’re a pain especially if you eat slowly, and kin-chan thinks it’s gross how sometimes the ice cream melts over your hand. i think atsushi would adore ice cream with chili in it but i don’t think they have things like that in japan (am i wrong though????? idk) so instead he gets chocolate, or any unusual flavors if they sound interesting. en likes vanilla ice cream with weird toppings, especially manjuu if thats an option like in the game :D kinchan likes green tea ice cream. it doesnt taste like green tea but he still thinks it tastes good
5. Do they go on dates? What are they like?
i dont think they go out on specially designated dates very often. for special occasions maybe like kinchans birthday. he probably wants to go to a fancy restaurant for his birthday dates so those are full of en feeling kind of uncomfortable and out of place, until kinchan catches on and starts getting them private rooms so en doesnt feel judged. … they go out sometimes to do stuff i think? and those are de facto dates even though they werent planned that way, like.. they act cute and in love bc theyre too in love to do otherwise
6. Do they stargaze? Expand.
WHAT A QUESTION
yes, they go stargazing. but en falls asleep quickly tbh and sometimes he cba to go at all so often its just kinatsu. when its kinatsu, it is sickeningly sweet. i still think that atsushi is the one whos really into astronomy and kinchan just enjoys spending time with atsushi in a romantic setting. there is lots of cuddling. …when en is there, though, he like .. makes up new constellations and speculates about the mysteries of space, &c &c. so its not as tooth-rotting but everyone still has a good time
7. Who’s the laziest?
hmmmmmmmmm…
8. Who complains more?
en tbh but kinchan has his moments as well
9. Who wakes up earlier?
kinchan! atsushi wakes up early too but not kinchan-level early. en .. yeah
10. What do they smell when they smell amortentia?
en: fresh laundry (= clean sheets), the smell of something sweet baking, kin-chan’s soap lololatsushi: curry, green tea bc he associates it with kin-chan, that kind of autumny smell u know when the leaves are falling and its starting to get coolkin-chan: the smell of tea ceremony which may or may not include more smells than just green tea idk, the sweet curry atchan makes him, a faint hint of paint bc en is an artist but too much paint smell is unpleasant
11. Who sets the other’s ringtone to something loud and obnoxious behind their back?
LMAO if anyone would do this, en would, but i’m not convinced. possibly kin-chan sets the alarm on en’s phone to something unbearable on a day when en has to get up early
12. Who uses chopsticks/Can either of them use chopsticks?
they’re all japanese so
13. When they can’t sleep what do they do?
kinchan tries to lie there in silence with his eyes closed the way u r meant to do. sometimes that gets results. if it doesn’t, he probably gets up and reads in a different room. atsushi does the same, except when he lies there quietly he’s less likely than kinchan to cuddle up to whoever’s next to him bc he doesn’t want to wake them up. en … ????????????????????? ??????? if he couldn’t sleep he wouldn’t know what to do with himself so he’d just lie there until it happened
14. Who’s clumsier?
probably atsushi. none of them really strike me as super clumsy but i think kinchan is graceful. whereas atsushi can be kind of awkward sometimes im sorry bby
15. Who would hold the umbrella in the rain?
en is the tallest. he’d try to make atsushi do it but atsushi would be like “just hold the umbralla en-chan omg” so he’d do it. he’d whine about it tho. also it’d have to be a big umbrella to fit all of them under it
16. What do they argue about most?
making en do the chores. kin-chan being a snob. those can be kind of rough bc kin-chan is a bit of a classist dick u know so sometimes he unintentionally hurts en’s feelings and then the resultant argument gets kind of messy. kinshirou and en also have frequent arguments about art but they aren’t as emotionally charged
17. Which one is a secret snuggler?
kin-chan. en is an open snuggler. and out and proud snuggler
18. Which one offers their jacket to the other when they complain they feel cold?
atsushi, but kin-chan won’t take it. u keep urself warm, atchan!! en often says the same thing but if he’s really cold he’ll accept it a;ljsdf
19. Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?
atsushi. en remembers their favorites &c but not every single thing at every restaurant. kin-chan also remembers i think but he doesn’t let on, he just enjoys the feeling he gets when he’s right. it’s warm and fuzzy and also slightly triumphant lmao
20. Who reaches for the other one’s hand while driving?
en … tbh … kin-chan and atsushi are more conscious of road safety!!!! ..but sometimes if the road is straight they take en’s hand when he reaches out lmao
21. Who gets the window seat?
en. he wants to zzz. a couple of times early on kin-chan said no i want the window seat i want to watch the scenery but en was so annoying about not being able to zzz as easily that he just let him take it after that
22. Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it say?)
ok this meme really is just like a bunch of questions from other memes all stitched together. this question confirms it. atsushi leaves the notes. they’re cute little cheerful things for kin-chan but they are an extra way for him to nag en-chan. also occasionally en leaves obnoxious things in kin-chan’s lunch if they’ve been arguing or he’s been teasing kin-chan and then kin-chan is mad all afternoon :D
23. Who wakes up first?
kin-chan
24. Who falls asleep while watching a movie?
all these questions about sleeping and waking up like are they even necessary here
25. Who’s prone to wearing socks indoors (or to sleep)?
my first thought was that maybe kin-chan has bad circulation, but he’s an archer… idk if that would help the circulation in his feet, but in any case i’ve changed my mind about that hc altogether. so probably atsushi if anyone
26. Who has bigger cravings?
…. en and kin-chan. possibly kin-chan feels it the most if he goes without tea but like en needs his manjuu ;;
27. Who reminds the other to put on sunscreen before going to the beach (or pool)?
atchan. kin-chan might tell en but he has faith in atsushi’s ability to remember for himself. (atsushi reminds everyone tho including kin-chan)
28. Who carries all the important documents while traveling?
kin-chan
29. Who sneaks in cookies in the shopping cart?
en a;sljkdf
30. Who cooks at 2 in the morning?
n .. o one. i was going to say this sounds like smth en would do but then i was like… why tf would en be awake at 2am…
31. Who gets extremely competitive playing Mario Kart?
…ok so here’s an image for u. en and atsushi are getting intense over mario kart and kin-chan comes in and kind of shakes his head at them but then en invites him to join in and won’t take no for an answer so kin-chan is like ugh fine. but he doesn’t really put any effort into it at first except then he comes in 12th place in the first race whereas en and atsushi come in 1st and 2nd and it is an insult to his pride so he’s like… ok. let’s do this. and en and atsushi are startled! but in the other races he makes it up to like ……….8th place maybe. …which still isn’t good enough for him but he chooses to be disgusted w/ the game rather than w/ himself
32. Who takes longer getting ready?
probably kin-chan? idk i don’t think en or atsushi put unusual effort into getting dressed/getting dressed up. kin-chan might take a little extra time to make sure he looks 100% classy and put together but even he’s not gonna spend an hour or even half an hour getting ready
33. Who likes doing the dishes?
???????????????? none of them. atsushi ends up doing them most often but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it
34. Who points at a dog when they see it?
… no one, but en is the one who says “ah a dog”. but! kin-chan is the one whose face quietly lights up the brightest at the sight of the cute animal. ..as long as it doesn’t get to close bc dogs are slobbery and undignified
35. Who’s prone to road rage?
…kin-chan. why can’t all these imbeciles follow basic traffic laws D
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xjhhfwejr · 8 years ago
Text
6 geese a-laying
De' woke up.
It was morning like it usually was, but she lay there for a few seconds anyway, a grin growing on her face as she strained her ears and heard nothing. Had she done it? She'd done it! She'd actually woken up before Lucifer!!
The girl flopped out of bed and scuttled across the floor, cramming cold feet into the fuzzy slippers by the door -- and after some hesitation, to the window, parting the curtains reaaaalll slow so no-one would notice, peeking out at the sky. She didn't know what time it was (there was a princess clock on the wall but she couldn't read it properly yet; the teacher hadn't taught them what the little hand meant!) but the sun was up, hiding behind all the rain clouds. Maybe it would fool her brother into staying in bed late? She hoped so -- she needed all the time she could get to get The Surprise ready!
The Surprise was very important. She'd been planning it for ages.
De' ran back to the door and took a deep breath, jumping for the dressing gown on the hook; she had to try a few times to get it down and then it only came because the hook broke, but there was no time to worry about that now! She shrugged her little arms into the big ol' sleeves, wiggling at the sudden warm. They pooled down at her elbows as she reached out and sloooooowly turned the door handle, but she was used to that.
The creak sounded real loud, but if she did it it slow, there was no chance of Lucifer hearing -- she'd learned that off the cartoons! As soon as the crack was enough to slip through she did, but her sleeve caught on the corner and pulled it with her. She tried to tug free and lost her balance, yelping as she fell over and bopped her head on the wall. The door slammed open and into the wall behind her, but stuck in the hole it made in the wallpaper, so at least she didn't have to close it again!
There was still no sound from the rest of the house, but of course it wasn't -- she was practically a ninja!
She skipped down the hall, her grin even bigger now, and held the banister real tight as she plonked her way down. Lucifer got mad when she didn't, in case she was going to fall over or something (which she practically never did!), and she didn't want him being mad instead of excited.
He got mad way too much and worried about way too many things, so to make things easier, she was going to... make! him! breakfast!
De' was rather proud of this plan; she'd thought and thought and thought about how she could make his day better, and this was it! He was most tired in the mornings and yawned lots, so if she took care of breakfast, he'd have even more time to wake up, right?
She thwip-thwipped her way into the kitchen confidently, her fuzzy slippers opening and closing their mouths with every step, and she knew he was going to be just so happy when he saw what she had done!
===
Lucifer was pretty sure there was a demon in the kitchen. He stood outside the closed door, dully considering the inhuman sounds coming from beyond, and sighed.
Fuck it, they could take him -- making coffee was way too much effort, anyway. After he'd managed to slog through the task he'd have to be a mature adult and sweep the floor and take De' to the dentist and do the laundry and all sorts of other bullshit, so being stolen away by infernal creatures of the underworld was kind of the best case scenario.
And after he gave in and pushed the door open, there was no kind of about it. The little goblin in the center of the mess -- which didn't just cover the bench, but also the floor and the walls and -- somehow -- the door -- spun around, startled.
"You can't be in here!" squealed De', tumbling off the chair in her haste to get down; she left a trail of something white and gooey in her wake, and he grimaced, expecting tears but getting none. She didn't even seem to notice what was probably going to blossom into two dark bruises on her knees and rushed him, slamming sticky hands into his stomach and trying to force him back. "I'm not done yet!"
"You are definitely done," growled her brother, not budging an inch. He hoped what was now smeared all over his shirt was just flour, considering it was also all through her hair, but it seemed unlikely he was that lucky.
"Nuh-uh!" De' protested, letting go off him and crossing her arms. She scowled and huffed, hard -- where had she learned that behavior from? It was terribly unladylike. "Out!"
"I think you've forgotten who the grown-up is here, De'."
"And you've forgotten who is making breakfast!"
Lucifer faltered -- had he heard her right? Surely he hadn't heard her right.
"I--"
"Out!" De' commanded, and almost burst into tears as she stamped her foot.
It would be a mistake to leave, Lucifer acknowledged. There was no way she was on top of this, and it was all going to end terribly. She could barely get herself a cup of water, she was probably going to kill herself if she was unsupervised.
...But she was so proud of herself. Could he really tell that face no?
Her brother groaned. The deep despair of the sound went completely unappreciated by the small monster in front of him, and he walked out with his head in his hands and his eyes closed. If he couldn't see it, it couldn't hurt him.
She didn't even notice when he walked into the door-frame.
===
The acrid smoke alarmed Lucifer, but before he had a chance to go and see what was burning, the kitchen door opened -- De' trotted in, proudly bearing a tea towel-covered plate in both hands, smoke trailing in her wake. He craned his neck to see what else was in flames, but the door closed.
It was nothing. It was probably nothing. Don't think about it, and it can't hurt you.
"Bomb-a-papeep!" flourished his little sister, brimming with all the wisdom and confidence a day-away-from-five-year-old usually possessed. She dumped the plate in front of him, and something sloshed onto the table.
He tried very hard not to notice.
"Smells delicious," lied her brother, not smiling -- she would have thought he was lying if he did, because he never smiled on purpose.
"I know!" agreed the brunette, and fixed him with a stern look that made it clear she expected him to mean it. Then she grasped the cloth, went dun-dun-dunnn! under her breath, and whipped it away.
She took his silence to mean he was in awe, and he wasn't about to correct her. She would have been crushed if she had known.
"I worked really hard!" chirped the girl.
"Yes," agreed her brother, stoically.
"I made you toast!" She pointed at the pile, which she clearly saw as carefully cut pieces of toast. What he saw was a clumsily dismembered, smoldering pile of dead bread. "I know how much you love toast!"
"I do," he agreed.
"And I squeezed you orange juice!"
It came with pulp, just the way he liked it. Lucifer knew it was fresh because she had squeezed it directly on top of the toast, and there were seeds in it. The seeds turned funny if they were in the air for long.
"I see," he said.
"And bacon, too!"
One day he would have to teach her that not all pink meat was bacon. Spam, for example, was spam.
"I...."
"And eggs!" De' was the most proud of this; he could tell, staring hard at her chubby, beaming face, that nothing was more important than knowing she had made eggs for her big bro. "I didn't even use the stove, 'cause you said I wasn't old enough yet!"
Of all the things he had ever said, this was what she had listened to -- but true to her word, she hadn't put a hand anywhere near the heat. The eggs hadn't gone near it, either; six perfect ovals teetered precariously on the plate, surrounded by soggy mush and flakes of could-be-meat-in-another-life.
Jesus Christ, what had he done to deserve this?
"Well." Lucifer cleared his throat and picked up his fork, covering his hesitation by looking at her. "I'm very... proud of you. Thank-you."
She almost exploded right then, and it was worth the lie -- right up until her face crumpled.
"Wait!" De' blurted and spun around; there were stains on the sleeves of her robe and her ponytail was thick with-- "I forgot your coffee!"
Her brother was wisely silent. He hadn't heard the jug, and he would have known if the jug had come on. He had no idea what she had created that she thought was coffee, but was it really worth the danger of finding out? This time her concoction might actually be fatal -- it wasn't like they kept the dish wash in a locked drawer or anything.
It went without saying she was never being let into the kitchen again. The only choice that remained was did he tell her this now, or later?
Staring down at the carnage before him, Lucifer's shoulders slumped. His despair came out as a tiny, unbearably deep sigh.
"Why aren't you eating?" complained his little sister, and he didn't have to turn around to know the sloshing was a pitcher. The big pitcher. The really big pitcher, filled almost to the brim with something that was going to be brown and watered down. Visions of leftover grounds from the day before swam behind his eyes -- and that was the best thought he had. "I worked so hard on it. Don't... don't you like it?"
One of these days they were going to look back at this and laugh, he knew -- laugh and laugh and laugh about all the horrors she had subjected him to. Unfortunately, for future!Lucifer to get any entertainment out of this, the Lucifer of the present had to suffer through the story.
He picked up the fork.
"Don't be silly," he uttered, and his voice didn't waver in the slightest, despite the dread he felt. "You did great."
He deserved an Oscar. He even swallowed.
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