#nd his floppy hair nd floppy eyebrows

[euyrdice]

PS Bonus Kise in the park bench bc he looks so cute

KI-CHAN!!! look at him!!!!!!

he does look so cute look at his little :] face hehe

[livetogether--diealone]

Soooo is that fic you're writing about Chalex as the blond power couple? 👀

No, but in the mean time can I offer this?

[edited because it needed so? it was a bit rushed yesterday]

“So, Charles, crazy drive today! Pole yesterday, only for the glory with your engine penalty, and now from tenth to first, that move in turn 6, very risky but you made it stick. Any merit to the new hairdo? Spent some time in sun by the sea?” 

So typical of Seb to try and embarrass him in the post-race interview, with his silly moustache and wiggly eyebrows; Charles was ever so grateful to have him back in some capacity into the paddock so he could run and get advice and praises from him anytime he wanted, but this was one of the moments he would have preferred for the german to remain hidden in the mountains. Seb never missed a chance to make him flustered. He could hear Lewis trying to contain a laugh very poorly next to him, he finished 2 nd, but since Seb was doing the interview Lewis stuck around. Why are these two always in cahoots?  

He scratched the back of his neck, “Actually Alex did this. It’s called a dye Seb, you would know”. Charles let out a nervous laugh, he didn’t know why he said that or why he had to make it sound so mean. Maybe the blond was making him a bit of a little shit for real.  

But to his surprise Seb actually enjoyed it? He grinned at the Ferrari driver, in that Seb’s way which if Charles was at all honest with himself still made his knees weak. “Ouch. Careful or Marko is gonna come looking for a new recruit” spat out the german, winking at him. 

Charles couldn’t believe it. Being compared to his ex-teammate was one thing and something he greatly appreciated, but being compared to the pathetic attempt at the Seb clones factory that was the redbull academy, full of floppy blond men with anger issues, was horrifying. He was gonna murder Alex.  

- 

“Can you stay still?” Alex groaned, he was so done with Charles, who spent the last 30 minutes restless sitting on the hotel tub and the last five bent in said tub. He had to dig one hand on the other’s shoulder to prevent him from running away, again. He never realised how muscular Charles’ back was. So maybe this wasn’t only for practicality and if he lingered there for too long than it was needed, nobody was here to judge him. “You’ll go blind if this gets into your eyes”  

Charles’ voice was masked by the running water, which was probably a blessing since the few words Alex did understand were italian profanities.  

Not long after he was standing in front of the mirror staring at a very, very blond Charles, who hadn’t stop touching his hair and fixing them in twenty-five different styles. He kept fisting his new locks, pushing them down, up, pulling at the front pieces. Alex kept thinking he could also do other thing with those hands, if he could only manage to pull Narciso aways from his pond. “You look hot, come on let’s go” 

Charles turned bright red, redder than his ferrari, and the contrast with his hair was... well it was a contrast for sure. “You think I look hot?” he stumbled on the words, his accent thicker than ever. And Alex thought dyeing Charles blond would make him little more forward, it had worked with Seb.  

Or maybe he was right indeed. Charles’ gears were turning while he kept checking himself out. His usually delicate features seemed sharper, his expression more confident. Not even under the most vile of tortures Alex was going to admit that angry Charles turned him on. Didn’t matter that George heard him sigh with frustration while watching Charles pulling off his gloves and balaclava, throwing them hastily in his car and strutting back in his box after being pushed off track, hair a mess, red-faced, something animal in his eyes. 

Alex watched as Charles kept checking himself in the mirror, watched with hunger as the other was nodding at his reflection. No, he was not going there again. Alex get a grip it’s late tomorrow, tomorrow there was fp3 and quali, and more media duties, and-. 

Suddenly Alex was being pulled and pushed against the bathroom tiles, something quite heavy was pressing him to the wall. And yes, he was definitely being kissed by Charles Leclerc. Not that this was the first time it had happened, even if Alex didn’t like to classify as kissing the one time he - after by some weird constellations alignment managed to qualify third - was pushed into one of the rooms next to where the press conference was being held by Charles, who grabbed him by the opened race suit and practically crushed their lips together “What you did was brilliant” and then ran away. This time, despite the towel hanger digging in his back, it felt more deliberate. Charles’ mouth was soft as he remembered and maybe dreamed about, not that he was admitting any of this. Fuck George was going to have a field day. But right now there was only his hands around Charles’ tiny waist, and Charles’ needy hands in his hair, on his jaw. 

Okay so maybe the blond dye was actually getting to Charles’ brain, because his hands were already working on the buttons of his jeans. And when he pulled away, he looked a little feral, but Alex was not complaining. Charles’ lips were now to his neck, one hand under Alex’s shirt. 

“I’m gonna get pole tomorrow” the last button of Alex’s pants was freed. 

“And then on sunday I’m winning this race” and he was already on his knees. 

Well then Alex was not gonna qualify at all at this rhythm.  

[uhzuku]

[ type of hybrid they’d be ] • t. kamado, n. kamado, & i. hashibira

synopsis— what type of hybrids three characters would be.

rating— nsfw ; minors dni.

warnings— hybrid au, pet names ("puppy", "bunny", "kitten"), oral sex (fem receiving), collaring, smut, fluff, angst.

— puppyboy { t. kamado }

behavior rank • 7/10 • bright eyed, happy, desperate to please under any circumstance

he whimpered quietly at the feeling of her fingertips ghosting over the back of his left ear before moaning softly as she cups her fingers on the underside of his ear while rubbing the soft furred top with her thumb.

“oh, i wish you’d been a good boy for me tanjiro,” she laments quietly, ignoring the sharp whine he let out and the tears that sprung up in his eyes at her words.

“b-but i have been good!” he whimpers, “i p-promise — been so good, i played only during playtime except the toys you said i could have when it wasn’t playtime ‘nd i put up my toys when playtime was over ‘nd when i spilled my water i cleaned that too ‘nd i went to sleep at naptime just like i was told!” the tears start rolling down his cheeks. “‘m sorry, i don’t know what i did bad on, please let me fix it — i can do better, i promise!”

y/n looks down at where he was knelt at her feet with a raised eyebrow, the beginnings of a smile making the corners of her mouth twitch. turning away from him, she strides over to the couch before sitting down and spreading her legs, making sure that tanjiro was watching from where he was still knelt on the floor as she hooked a finger in one side of the crotch of her panties before pulling them aside and revealing her slick shiny folds.

“make me cum on your tongue, puppy, and we’ll see if that makes it better,” she says simply, and her pet puppyboy practically lunges over before burying his face in her hot, wet snatch, darting his tongue out to taste everything she had to offer. her eyes cross a little as he suckles at her clit excitedly and slurps up the juices flowing from her cuntasfast and as pleasureably as he can, the poor puppyboy absolutely desperate to have his master’s approval again even though he still didn’t know what he did. he licks a long stripe up the length of her folds, the tip of his tongue burying itself ever so slightly into her tight hole before flicking up to circle her clit, drawing an endless array of moans reserved just for hun from her lips until she came hard all over his tongue, the puppyboy hybrid desperately cleaning up her pussy with his tongue afterwards as she lay there basking in the afterglow of her orgasm.

“g-good boy,” she stutters through gasps for air, “such a good puppy for mommy.”

— bunnygirl { n. kamado }

behavior rank • 9/10 • soft-spoken and demure, loves cuddles during naps and at bedtime.

y/n was in bed working on a paper when the bed shook a little as her pet bunnygirl she’d gotten from the hybrid shop a year or so ago climbed up on it. y/n tried to ignore her in favor of working as the pretty little thing tucked her legs under herself and sat back on her feet, her soft hair and long floppy ears framing her face perfectly and both arms wrapped tightly around her giant plush carrot. y/n wanted her to make the first move; the bunnygirl was always so shy and quiet and never told her master what she wanted or needed (which meant that when y/n got the giant carrot plushie and the bunnygirl fell in love with it she’d lucked out, considering she’d not said a word about wanting anything)

“mommy?” came a soft whisper, and y/n raises an eyebrow. she holds up a single finger in response and the bunnygirl goes quiet, playing with a lick of her hair until her owner finishes the paragraph she was working on and looks at her.

“yes, nezuko?”

“c-can — u-um…” she goes quiet and looks down shyly, too unsure of what she wanted to say to actually let it out.

“use your words, bunny,” y/n reminds her softly, her fingers flying across the keys as she starts up another paragraph while waiting for her pet to find her voice.

“i — i — i want cuddles!” it comes out in a higher volume than y/n had ever heard nezuko express, and it had clearly come out a lot louder than the bunnygirl had meant for it to since she released her carrot plushie just to slap her hands over her mouth in shock. y/n just looks at her in surprise before chuckling a little at her, more than amused at the entire situation. she doesn’t notice when nezuko drops her hands from her face a little as her lower lip trembles and her eyes fill with sudden tears.

“‘m sorry, i promise i didn’t mean to yell,” she whimpers, sniffing a little. y/n just shakes her head a little.

“don’t worry about it bunny. come one over and mommy’ll give you what you want.”

— kittyboy { i. hashibira }

behavior rank • 4/10 • wild, aggressive, knocks shit down on purpose.

“inosuke — don’t you fucking dare!” y/n hisses angrily. the kittyboy looks her dead in the eye, his own sparking with some form of a challenge, before he deliberately slapped the plate of cookies y/n had told him he couldn’t have off the kitchen counter, the plate shattering on impact with the floor and the sound making him jump in shock; he’d thought the heavy plate wouldn’t break. he looks back at his master with wide, slightly apologetic eyes but stiffens at how absolutely deranged she looks.

“that’s it! i’ve had it!” y/n shrieks, burying her hands in her own ha and fighting the urge to rip it out. inosuke’s triangular ears pin themselves back against his head as he hops down from the counter and rushes off to hide, flinching a little when a loud ‘fuck!’ echoes through the house as his owner assumably cuts herself on some glass.

he creeps out from his hiding spot hours later and tenses up at the sight of his old cheap $2 plastic collar and leash provided by the hybrid shelter sitting on the same counter he’d knocked the plate off of; he’d not seen it in the several months he’d stayed with y/n after she’d picked him up from that terrible place and given him a home. she comes into his like of sight and he cowers down, worried she’d start yelling again; he’d never heard her yell before tonight, so it had really shocked him. instead of yelling, however, she speaks in a steady tone. “come here, inosuke. now.”

he does as told silently, creeping forward hesitantly and flinching when she roughly grabs his collar. he sits there and lets her fiddle with it, hoping that it would make her less angry, but instead he’s shocked to find her unbuckling it and putting the shelter collar in its place. he starts thrashing around when she clips the leash on, whining and wailing and trying his hardest to get away from the stinky plastic around his neck.

“no! i don’t want to go back again!” he was a reject hybrid case, he knew it; this was the longest he was in a human home before, normally he was taken back within a week — but he’d been here for the better part of a year, he didn’t want to go back now, he loved it here. “just wanted attention — don’t take me back!”

“inosuke—“

“i’ll be a good kitty! i’ll be the best kitty! please, i want to be with mommy!” tears are popping up in the corners of his eyes as y/n pulls him towards the garage where she kept the car. she’d paused for a second at his use of ‘mommy’ (seeing as he’d only ever used it twice, both times in the same three day time span when he’d gotten sick and felt terrible) before going back to her original task, getting him in the car and shutting the door behind him hard.

she climbs in the driver’s side seat and sits there for a second as inosuke cries in the back, repeating how he didn’t want to go back to the shelter and that he was sorry, that he’d be good from now on if she just gave him another chance! she ignored it all though, backing out of the garage and driving to her friend’s house, where she shoved the leash and attached kittyboy into his hands. he looks up at her in shock, wondering why on earth she was handing off her pet kittyboy that she’d absolutely raves about for the past several months.

“y-y/n??” he asks questioningly, but she just shakes her head and turns around, storming back towards her car while ignoring the kittyboy’s wails for her to come back.

“master! mommy! c-come back, i’ll be good, i’m sorry! mommy!”

she doesn’t come back.

her friend leads a crumpled, sobbing inosuke inside, trying his hardest not to make things worse for the currently abandoned kittyboy by asking about what happened, instead choosing to let the hybrid mourn while he had the option and leaving him in the guest bedroom, where inosuke curled up on the floor in the corner in to a crying ball.

she may have not taken him back, but she’d still left him alone.

tags— @cherryackerman

copyright © { 2021 } by erenscockslut. do not modify or repost.

[cedric-stories]

The Ball (Cedric x reader)

Word count: Around 1,700

warnings: fluffy fluff fluff, and idk, they kiss? LOL

Reader pronouns: he/him

Plot: You just got hired to work as a waiter in the castle. (I’m crap at summaries, lol)

Author’s note: This was a request from @pap3r-fl0w3rs . It was my first request ever and I about fell out of my chair when you gave it to me, lol! Thank you so much for asking! I enjoyed writing this so much (even if it took forever for me to finish it, lol). Hope y’all enjoy it!!

The Ball

You were so excited. It’s the first day of your new job at the castle. You had seen an ad in the paper by chance about a waitering job. You didn’t ever think you’d actually get it, but next thing you knew, Baileywick was giving you an interview for the position. It had been a rough few days though. You had to move all your stuff up to the castle by noon yesterday. You were unpacking till 3am. Even though you were sleepy, it was worth getting the extra things done before getting started on your real job.

Orientation started at 8am and lasted till 5pm. Yes, 9 hours of sitting in a plastic chair listening to a gray old man rant about policies was tiring. The only good thing that came out of it was meeting a new friend.

“Hey, can I sit here?” A blond, slender young man asked. He had his arms crossed and looked rather uncomfortable.

“Of course,” you grinned, trying to seem as friendly as possible, “I’d love to have the company.”

He sat down quickly. “Thanks,” he paused then leaned in next to you. “Are you nervous?” he whispered.

“Oh yeah. I’m shaking,” You laughed, lifted your arm up to show him.

He looked comforted by your agreement.

“Yeah. So, what’s your name?”

“I’m y/n, what about you?”

“I’m Tyler, I came from the village.”

“So did I! Where at?”

You two continued talking till the lecture started. After, you walked out into the ball room to begin setting up.

Forks, napkins, plates, and tablecloths were flying everywhere. It was a race against the clock to get everything ready for the big night. Before the actual event started, you had to get changed into something more formal.

           Running back to your room, you ripped open your wardrobe to find an outfit. The castle staff had certain clothes you were able to wear for formal events, and since this was going to be one of the biggest balls of the year, you had to follow this exactly. Grabbing your newly ironed, black pants, you slipped them on along with your white button up shirt. You ran your belt through the loops and slapped on your suspenders. You were about to run out the door when you remembered your bow. Grabbing it out of your drawer, you snapped a raven black bow around your neck, fixed your collar, and ran for it.

           When you got back to the ballroom hall, you took a left into the employee doors. Fixing your hair, you tried steadying your breath and walked into the kitchen, trying not to appear too winded.

           “Once the royal sorcerer sets off the ceremonial fireworks, we will begin serving drinks. We will not start bringing out food of any sort until 11pm. Alright, let’s get ready.” The manager of the serving staff shouted over the clanking of pots and pans.

…

“Everyone, I’d like to thank you for being here,” The King began, standing on the golden ballroom stage.

Your heart was wildly pounding. This was it. This was your big chance to impress the King and staff by how well and efficient you could work. You could actually learn to love this job and living in Enchantcia’s castle would just be the cherry on top. Roland continued on and you were zoned out until you heard the word ‘fireworks.

           “My wonderful royal sorcerer, son of Goodwyn the Great and Winnifred the Wise, also known as Cedric the Sensational, will be lighting the ceremonial fireworks with magic this year.”

           As the crowd cheered, you saw a figure stepping out behind the curtain. He was average height and had dark hair. You could see he was wearing a long, plum robe with a large, floppy bowtie. His light bangs swayed as he walked up to center stage and his narrow shoulders were slightly scrunched together. Shaking, he took out his wand and said something quietly.

           Within seconds, lights spewed from every corner of the room. The Enchantcian colors filled every eye and the guests cried out with joy. One, then two, then the whole room began to applaud in the fireworks’ honor.

           Even though the room lit up like a candle, and the fireworks were clear and bright, the only thing you could focus on was that still-shaking man on the stage. You could see him running back and forth, making sure everything was going as planned. He looked to the King with his eyebrows raised and eyes big. King Roland gave him an approving nod in return, and you saw Cedric stand up a little taller. He was adorable.

You noticed him look your way. You caught his glace and locked eyes with him. His eyes were kind and full of a questioning look. You felt your cheeks heat up and you put your hand to your face to hold back a giggle. Suddenly, the fireworks began to crack and rumble.

“Cedric! What is going on?” The king yelled over the crowd’s fearful screams.

“I-nothing, sir! Let me fix it!”

You were horrified and ran to the backroom.

Once you got there, Tyler noticed your concerned look and the way you were gripping the table.

“Dude, are you okay?”

You looked up with a pale face.

“Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“First off, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Second, you were running for your life.”

You looked up at him.

“Well,” you hesitated, “I was looking at the royal sorcerer and- “

“Wait, like looking like ‘oh, he’s lighting off fireworks’, or looking like ‘oh, that guy’s really sexy’?”

You felt your cheeks heat up again and Tyler laughed.

“It’s okay, we all think people are hot. Okay, now go on.”

“Okay, well, I was checking him out when he looked back at me. We made eye contact for a minute then the fireworks started going nuts.”

“Oh,” Tyler paused, “well, maybe he got distracted by you.”

“What? No-I mean-he’s so him and I’m just a server. We don’t even know each other.” You laughed nervously.

“So? You should try to talk to him.”

“Try to…okay, I will.” You said, nodding your head.

“Good luck.”

Next thing you know, you’re out serving to the guests.

…

You continued to serve guests for around an hour. You reached a group on young women and waited until they had stopped talking to politely interrupt.

           “Hello, would any of you care for some drinks?” You asked, trying to sound as polite as possible.

           They all looked at each other and smiled. As conversations normally go, two went to reply at once. This stopped both of them from replying and led them to get into a quiet “go ahead” “no, you go ahead” fight until finally they all started too giggle, and all declined the offer. You were about to walk away when you heard footsteps behind you.

           “H-hello, I’m Cedric.”

Your shoulders stiffened. Turning around, you saw the same man that was on the stage a few hours ago.

“Hello,” you answered, “my name is y/n y/l/n.”

           Cedric stared at you for a moment before saying anything. That moment felt like it lasted a year. His eyes were tightly fixed on yours as you began shifting.

           “Are you the same man that was standing by the servant’s doorway? During the fireworks.”

“Yes, I am. I didn’t know if you saw me or not. I was just-um-I thought,” you paused, unable to formulate your sentences correctly. He was so handsome, you had to try your hardest not to get too lost in his looks. “I thought you looked very attractive up there and I guess I was just staring.” You laughed, regretting how forward you had been.

           Cedric looked shocked.

“You thought I looked- “

           “Yeah.” You cut him off, sighing.

“Y/N! Why aren’t you serving guests? Go back to your job!” You heard your supervisor yell, marching over to you.

           “I’m sorry, sir. I was just- “

“I could fire you over this!” He shouted, giving you a menacing scowl.

           “Please, I’ll get back to work right away- “

“Actually,” Cedric interrupted, “I think he’s done enough work for the night.”

           Your supervisor shot Cedric an infuriated look.

“Cedric, he is my employee, he was employed to work for me.”

           Cedric cocked his head.

“Yes, I understand that, but I am above you in my services to this kingdom, so I think you, in a way, are my employee.”

           “Cedric- “

“So that being said, you are letting him off for the rest of the night. Understood?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

           “Fine.” The supervisor said, waving his hands in the air and walking off.

           You didn’t know what to say. You just stood there, frozen in time.

“Mr. y/l/n, would you care to dance?”

           You smiled.

“I’d love to.”

           The night was filled with dancing and talking. You began to get to know the sorcerer quite well.

You had guided Cedric out the door towards the gardens by the end of the 2nd hour of the morning. The two of you broke apart and you decided to walk towards the beautiful greenery.

           Walking along, you noticed his hand down at his side as you two walked.

“Cedric,” you said in a questioning tone.

           “Yes, y/n?”

“Can I hold your hand?”

           Cedric’s eyes widened.

“If you’d like to.”

           Without waiting another minute, you reached down and slid your hand around his. It was a weird feeling. You didn’t expect his gloves to feel cold and apparently, they were made of leather.

           Finally reaching a lush, secluded place, you stopped walking and looked up at Cedric.

“So, is it just me or is there something between us?”

           You laughed nervously.

“Well, I don’t know,” you slid your arms around his waist, “you tell me.”

           Cedric leaned in closer to you, pressing his body against yours.

“It would seem that maybe the two of us have some kind of- “he was cut off when you closed the gap.

           A soft kiss began, slowly continuing as you lifted a hand up to meet his cheek. You felt him shift, repositioning your other arm to wrap around his neck. Things began to heat up when you opened your mouth to see how he’d react. He was hesitant as first but gave in to letting your tongue enter.

           A few minutes had passed, and now you two had found a spot on the ground, you are hovering on top of him.

           Breaking the kiss, you looked into his hazel eyes and smiled.

“I think this should become a new habit of ours.”

           He leaned up to kiss you again.

“I believe that’s a wonderful idea.”

 Author’s note: so funny story. I don’t have someone to read any of my fics before I post them. This one meant a lot to me, so I decided I’d try my best not to have so many problems with my misspellings and grammar. To help make sure it flowed, I decided to turn on the read aloud setting on my document (I use Word to write my fics), and it was read to me in such a choppy, dry voice I was laughing my head off the whole time! Think of the most boring teacher reading a Cedric x reader fic! I think I’m gonna use it more often. It helped with the flow, but it also gave me a little happiness in the middle of these trying times. Love y’all! Hope you liked this!

           I want to post again soon, but honesty I don’t know when. I had a few things in the works that I really couldn’t connect to. I have new ideas, but I haven’t even written outlines yet

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Magic of Las Vegas

Day 9 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas.  Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: Snowflake

Rating: T for sexual situations; nothing explicit

Pairing: 11xRose AU

Summary: A snowstorm in the US Midwest delays eastbound flights just before Christmas, leaving rival children’s novelists stranded in Las Vegas for the night.  A single, shared drink leads to far more than the intended one-night stand.

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist

AO3

---

Standing in the ladies restroom at McCarran International Airport, Rose blinked rapidly as she waited for the eyedrops to take effect.  She’d had a full day in Las Vegas, and not the kind that made for good telly.  The last stop on her book tour, she’d soon be on her way towards home and Christmas - provided her flight could stop getting delayed.  The tree was up, presents wrapped neatly beneath it, and if the loved one waiting anxiously by the door was her mother rather than a boyfriend… so be it.  If nothing else, Jackie made the eggnog strong.

Gathering her things she returned to the gate, hopes falling - it was even emptier than it had been five minutes before, and in fact, only one potential passenger remained, arguing with one of the attendants at the counter.  I must have missed an announcement.  Shit.  Hurrying up to the check-in desk herself, she gave the unoccupied woman her best, kindest smile.  “Hi, sorry, is there any update?”

“Cancelled.”  The woman, Madison according to her nametag, didn’t look up, typing away at her computer.  “The storm in the Midwest is just getting worse, so they’ve decided to try again tomorrow.”

She tried not to groan.  Fucking snow.  All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed.  “Ohkay…  Can I get a seat on that flight?  Or the next one to London, really.  I’m not picky.”

“Boarding pass.”

Rose handed it over, trying not to be irritated; the woman was just trying to do her job, and while her customer service could use some work, it was after one in the morning.  Everyone was exhausted.

“Oh!” Madison let out, scanning Rose’s boarding pass.  “I’m sorry Miss Tyler, let me find you the next available flight.”  Attitude doing a one-eighty, she gave Rose a smile.  “My niece is a huge fan of your books. I’m actually the one who introduced her to them.”

Rose merely gave a polite smile in reply; while such a sentiment usually warmed her heart, she’d heard some variation of it from nearly everyone she’d met over her fifteen-day book tour throughout the States.  Now, though, she just wanted to go home.  I should be halfway to New York by now.

“All set, same seat, leaves at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon with a layover in LA.”

“LA?”  Her brow furrowed, trying to picture a map of the country.  “Isn’t that the wrong direction?”

Madison nodded, already printing off the new boarding pass.  “Yeah, but it’s that with a one-hour layover or Miami, with an eight-hour layover and a plane change.  It’ll be fine, and actually does save you time.”

It only took another minute to finalize the transaction, and soon enough Rose was headed for the airport exit, lugging her carry-on with her and so, so glad she’d taken her mother’s advice to keep a set of clothes with her and not check it all.  She hadn’t liked the idea of keeping the small rolling suitcase with her when she checked in, wanting to be less bogged down, but now, she was glad to have resisted the urge.  Thanks, Mum.

Footsteps behind her caught her attention, and a moment later, the man who’d been talking to the agent next to her pulled astride.  “Terribly unlucky, aren’t we?” he lamented in a slightly posher version of her own accent. “Best case is home for Christmas Eve.”

“The storm should be over tomorrow, so it’ll be fine,” she replied politely, taking him in out of the corner of her eye.  Roughly her age, he nonetheless had the distinct look of a sixty-something maths professor, complete with tweed jacket and elbow patches.  But his eyes were kind, and he was attractive in that tall, lanky sort of way, with floppy brown hair and a bowtie.

“Hope so.  I promised my niece I’d be there.”  He seemed to deflate slightly, before rallying.  “Listen, this may be terribly forward of me, but- would you like to get a drink?  I realize it’s ‘Las Vegas’, but the idea of drinking alone at Christmas just seems… sad.”

They reached the escalator then, and Rose took the opportunity of the ride down to consider the idea.  And the likely outcome.  He was reasonably handsome, if in a dorky way, and certainly seemed kind enough.  She could use the release of an anonymous shag – if nothing else, it would probably make for a good story once home.

“Sure.  Why not?”

-

Beep. Beep.  Beep.

The bleating of the alarm startled Rose awake, her head feeling as though it had been split open, her mouth dry and fuzzy.  A lucky swat silenced the alarm, none too soon.  “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, sinking back into the mattress and squeezing her eyes shut against the brightness.  “Ow.”

A pitiful sound of agreement came from her right, reminding her of how she’d gotten into such a sorry state.  As she’d predicted, one drink had turned to two, then three, then…  Damn. I actually take the chance on a one-night stand, and don’t remember the actual sex?  Just my luck.

“Why is it making that noise,” her bedpartner mumbled, sheets rustling as he shuffled around; a moment later, the heavy weight of his head settled on the dip in her bare back.  “Wanna sleep.”

“Flight home.  Miss it, and won’t be home ‘til Christmas.”  She took another chance at opening her eyes, managing to keep them that way this time despite having to squint.  “Better get ready.”

He grunted in reply, instead pressing kisses to her lower back.  “I can think of much more enjoyable things we could be doing.”

Rose merely swatted him away, rolling out of bed and managing to land on her feet, if somewhat shaky.  I hope I remember his name soon.  This might get awkward.  “Lovely as that sounds, ‘m not missing Christmas for it.”  She stretched her arms overhead, pleased at the lingering ache in certain muscles as her body started to wake up.  She might not remember their escapades, but it appeared she’d more than enjoyed them.  “Shower.”

He didn’t try to join her, which she was equally happy and disappointed with; she needed some time to let the warm water bring her back to vaguely-human levels of processing ability, but a quickie sounded good too.

This sent her mind down a warm and steamy path, and by the time she’d toweled off and donned a dressing gown, she was very much interested in a morning shag, strolling out to the bedroom to tell John- his name had come to her in the shower, thankfully- about her change of opinion, only to find him standing naked at the desk, hands on his hips.

Taking a moment to let her eyes linger on his generous assets, she didn’t immediately recognize his tense posture. “Something wrong?”

He jumped, turning to face her, eyes going wide and one hand scrambling to cover his package.  “NO!”  His gaze darted down to the desktop, expression growing a bit more fearful. “Well…”

“What?”  Concerned now, Rose stepped up to his side, distracted at first by how good he smelled.  How’s that possible, after a night of sex and drinking and hours spent at the airport?  Then she looked down, and her heart stopped.  “Please tell me that marriage license doesn’t belong to us.”

“Uh…  I dunno about you, but, yeah… that’s me.”

Rose read it over again, unable to comprehend what her eyes were telling her.  Certificate of Marriage… 22nd of December… Rose Marion Tyler…  John Matthew Smith…  “I don’t believe it,” she said faintly, looking up at him. “This isn’t- I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Neither do I!” John protested. “Erm, is that- are you- the Rose Tyler, of the Bad Wolf books?”

Hesitantly, she nodded.

“Ah.”  He shifted uncomfortably.  “I didn’t know.  It’s just- well- I’m…” He took a deep breath, anxiety clawing at Rose’s stomach as she waited.  “I’m J.M. Smith.  I write the ‘The Doctor’ series.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck me.”  Rose closed her eyes, groaning.  Of all the people in the world, I hook up with my closest competitor.  They’d spent the last three years dueling on the bestseller’s lists, fighting for first in children’s fiction.  It was infuriating, and now here they were, post-coital, and married.  This cannot be real.  “How?”  Then, realizing what she said, her eyes snapped open.  “Don’t answer that.”

He nodded.  “What… do you want to do?”

“You’re on the same flight I am, right?”

Another nod.

“Let’s just… get ready and go back to the airport.  I can’t even begin to think about dealing with this yet.”

-

Upon arrival at the airport Rose was able to slip away from him, pulling a beanie on and parking herself at the next gate over; close enough to hear the announcements, but hopefully harder to spot.  When he rolled up to the gate several minutes after her, obviously looking around, she just sank lower in her chair; thankfully he seemed to overlook her, choosing a seat that put his back to her, and she relaxed marginally.

Pulling out her mobile she connected to the airport wifi, a quick search confirming that marriages in Las Vegas were legal, and worse, were recognized by the British government.  Shit.  An annulment appeared to be reasonably possible, thankfully not requiring Nevada residency.

Right.  So.  Once we get home, file for annulment, and if we’re lucky, no one ever needs to know. Including Mum.

-

Still stowing her carryon bag under the seat in front of her, Rose paid no attention to the person who plopped into the seat beside her, resettling herself before turning to look at who it was – and sighing heavily.

“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me.”

John arched a paper-thin eyebrow in response.  “I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“Oh, gee, what gave you that idea?” Huffing, she turned away from him, lifting the window shade to peer out the window.  There wasn’t much to see other than the plane at the next gate and blue skies, but she’d spend every second of the flight staring out if it meant avoiding her seatmate.  Husband.

Thankfully, he left her alone until take-off, but the reprieve was short-lived.  As she pulled out her laptop to keep working on the next draft of her story, John made a noise beside her.

“Don’t you think we should talk?”

“No.”  With more force than necessary, she pecked out her password one-handed, using the other to hide the keys.  “What’s to talk about?  We go home, we file for annulment, and with any luck, by New Year’s this will be a distant memory, and someday, perhaps even a funny story.  But today- today, this is nothing.”

Opening her manuscript, she glanced over to find him staring at her, and angled her body- and the screen- away from him. “Now you’re being creepy.”

“But aren’t you curious?”

“About what?”

“What happened?  And why?”

Rose looked at him blankly.  “We got drunk.  In Las Vegas.  And apparently have watched too many movies with that very premise.  End of story.”

“I don’t believe that,” John shook his head, fringe falling across his brow.  “What if there’s more?  What if it was fate bringing us together?”

“God, do you hear yourself? It was a terrible coincidence.  We’re competitors.  End of story.”  She glared at the screen.  “It was nothing, it meant nothing, and it will be nothing once we’re home and able to call a lawyer.  Now piss off, I have a deadline due.”  Shoving earbuds into her ears and cranking some music, she did what she could to drown him – and herself- out.

Focus on work. That’s all that matters right now.

-

The flight to LA was short, and given that she didn’t need to change planes, she didn’t have to move, though she was given the option to deplane.  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed John leave, which relaxed her somewhat; by the time passengers started boarding she’d put the earbuds away and was sitting back with her eyes closed.

A small voice chattering away caught her attention, particularly at the words “and that’s why I like the Bad Wolf books more!  Sorry.” Opening one eye to see, she found to her amusement the child, a girl around eleven, was talking to John, settling herself across the aisle from him as he reclaimed his seat.

Her eyes snapped shut, and she kept her breathing deep and even, curious as to his response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Rose squinted, and was positioned in such a way she could see the girl nod.

“I like the Bad Wolf books too.”

“You do?”  For being a pre-teen, the girl had skepticism down pat, and Rose had to hold in giggles.

“Oh, very much so,” John said seriously. “There are lots of books out there like mine for boys- though I try to write so anyone would enjoy- but the Bad Wolf books are special.  I think it’s so cool to see a character like that – when I was your age, pretty much all the books of the genre were about boys.  But the Bad Wolf books… anyone can connect with Thorn, and see themselves in her- she’s so real.  She’s not perfect, and she doesn’t always get it right, but who does?  In Book 3- did you read Book 3?  Good, I don’t want to spoil it- but at the end… I had almost the same thing happen to me, only it was both of my parents, and Thorn reacted exactly as I did.  And above all – never apologize for liking something more than something else.  Your opinion is exactly that – so as long as you’re not trying to hurt someone, then don’t be ashamed of what you like. Okay?”

The girl nodded, staring at John in fascination.  “You really like the books then, huh?”

“I really do.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

John inhaled through his teeth. “Ooh, that’s a difficult one.  I think- the one scene I keep coming back to is when Thorn realizes she’s grown apart from her childhood friends.  It’s really sad, yeah?  But that’s life- nearly everyone experiences that at some point, everyone drifts away from people they loved.  I’ve never read of another series or character that makes that moment so visceral.  But what about you?  What’s your favorite part?”

Turning over so her back was to them, Rose half-listened to the conversation as her mind raced.  The scene he’d referenced was fairly small, and by its nature, would only be known by someone who had read the book.

Does John Smith read my books?

-

Once they were underway and the conversation between her seatmate and the girl had long since stopped, Rose started moving around as if just waking up, complete with yawning and stretching.

“Hi.”

“Oh!”  His yelp drew her gaze; he’d been reading, the book snapping shut and quickly tucked out of view, but not before she recognized her own artwork for her most recent release; in fact, the very book she’d been crossing the country to promote.  “Hello.”

“Hi,” she repeated, sitting up and looking at him curiously.  “Were you reading my book?”

His cheeks flushed, and after a moment, he returned the book to the tray table; based on the bookmark, he’d started it before they’d met, as he hadn’t done much (or any) reading since.  “Erm, yeah.”  He gave her a sheepish smile.  “You’re a fantastic writer.”

“Thank you.”  She’d had time to think, about what he’d said about her books, how willing he’d been to discuss them- and not his own- with the young girl who appeared to be flying solo.  It had softened her approach towards him- somewhat.  “I think there’s a chance we got off on the wrong foot.”

“I agree.”

When he just stared at her, she knew she’d have to make the first move.  I was kind of a bitch to him, wasn’t I?  “Hi, I’m Rose.”

“John.”

They shook hands, Rose’s skin tingling where they touched.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

He arched a skeptical eyebrow.  “I thought you didn’t care, that we’ll just pretend none of this happened.  Harder to do knowing things about the other.”

Rose bit her lip, eyes darting down to her lap.  “Like Thorn, my dad died, only when I was a baby.  Mum always said to hold on to precious moments.  And… I don’t trust easy, so clearly, something about you made me give you the benefit of the doubt.” Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again.  “You’ve got until we land in London to convince me to- to extend that faith.  If you want to.  We’ll see from there.  What do you say?”

Green eyes searched hers, and she kept her expression soft, nervous despite her words.  They would both be interviewing the other for position of spouse, and suddenly, it was one she wanted to pass with flying colors.

“All right,” he agreed slowly. “Let’s see what happens.”

-

The next book in each series was a cross-over, where secret agent Thorn, codenamed Bad Wolf, is rescued by an unlikely hero, The Doctor, and his strange-looking timeship, and it is only through a combination of their unique skillsets they’re able to save the day. With cover-art by Rose Tyler and a foreword from John Smith, the book was an overachieving best-seller, outdoing the previous books in each series and earning an armful of awards.

The picture on the back featured the authors with their arms around each other, he in a suit, and she in a white dress.

Both bios, at the end of the book, ended with the same phrase.

And they lived happily ever after.

[youtuberswithalex]

Chalk Me Down

Summary: Virgil just wanted to show Patton his drawing, but a little mishap has him running elsewhere. (The next installment in the A Little Anxious series)

Word Count: 3,523

Warnings: Blood, Minor injuries, graphic description of a minor injury, lots of crying

A/N: With the end of finals comes the first fic I’ve posted since returning to college! (I think?) And what better way to celebrate than with another Toddler Virgil fic? I hope yinz enjoy!

Writing Masterpost – Ko-Fi - A Little Anxious Masterpost (Coming Soon!)

The midday sun cast a soft warmth onto the ground below, just comfortable enough to go without a jacket and without feeling like you could fry an egg on the pavement. Clouds dotted the bright blue sky as birds sang and flew around; a gentle breeze rustled the trees just outside of the fencing for the backyard.

Roman had really outdone himself in creating an outside to their house in the mindscape, Patton thought.

He was kneeling in the grass in the backyard right now, just a few feet away from the back porch at the bare dirt lining the walls. A floppy sunhat shaded his face while he dug with the spade in his gloved hands. There was a box next to him half-full of plastic containers carrying the same freshly-planted pansies that sat in the garden between him and the porch.

It was quiet. Almost quiet enough that he might have forgotten about the toddler-sized anxious trait playing on the asphalt driveway just around the corner.

It wasn’t as if Virgil was making a lot of noise. When he’d woken up to tiny hands and a large jacket that morning, he had begged Patton to let him stay with him for the day, promising he’d be quiet so as not to disturb his already planned morning of gardening. Patton had told him not to worry about it, but Virgil went Roman anyway to ask for a piece of chalk to draw with. Roman, being as extra of an older brother figure as always, gave him a whole box with a rainbow of colors instead before going off on a quest in his realm.

They had been outside for a few hours by now. Virgil had done his best not do make any noise or bother Patton, but as he put the finishing touches on his drawing, he wanted nothing more than to show his dad what he’d made.

At the far end of the driveway, closest to where the road would be had there been one, the asphalt was covered in pastel colors left and right. There were hearts and storm clouds and rainbows and books, and stars and swirls and basic shapes—pretty much everything that Virgil could think of to draw was on the driveway. In the middle of all of the chaos stood two stick figures with a messy line drawn at the top of each of their heads. The tall one had glasses and a big grin, while the small one had smudges under the eyes and a smile. The figures held hands as a heart floated between them.

Virgil stood and looked over his masterpiece once more. He wanted to add more drawings to it, to impress his dad even more, but he really wanted to show him now! What if it rained and the chalk washed away?! Daddy would never see it, and all of this would have been for nothing!

No. Virgil wasn’t going to let that happen.

…At least, he wouldn’t, as long as Daddy wasn’t going to be upset about him interrupting him.

Virgil looked towards the backyard, his grip tightening on the piece of blue chalk. Daddy wouldn’t be mad if he was showing him a picture… right?

He would be happy!

Unless he thought it was terrible and yelled at him.

But Daddy wouldn’t yell at him! He hasn’t yet!

But that didn’t mean he never would.

Virgil lifted a sweater paw to his mouth and bit down. His gaze snapped back to the driveway.

It wasn’t… that bad, was it? He just wanted to make his dad smile.

The image of Patton’s huge, beaming grin popped into Virgil’s mind, and that was enough for him to steel his nerves and push forward. He turned towards the backyard with his chin up. His sleeves fell back to his side, and he began to run forward.

The next thing he knew, his shin hit something sharp, and with a big crash!, Virgil was on the ground.

He lay there for a moment in shock, a numbness spreading over his limbs. The chalk box! How could he have been so stupid to forget he’d left that there?! Now Daddy was going to come see what was wrong before he could get him, and the surprise would be ruined!

Holding back tears was already a struggle at the wave of emotions that hit him all at once, but then set in the pain! His palms felt like they were on fire, and his shin was throbbing, and his other knee burned!

Virgil rolled over and stifled a sob. He couldn’t let Daddy hear this, couldn’t let the surprise be ruined, but it hurt, hurt, hurt—

Holding back a wail, Virgil stood and limped as quickly as he could onto the front porch and into the house. Each rubbing of fabric against his knee felt like he was ripping a bandaid on and off again, so he reached down and lifted his pant leg away from his leg as best as he could.

He knew exactly who to go to.

------

 Wednesday:

               -Edit next Sanders Sides script                                -Edit Joystick Joyride until 6:45pm                                -6:45, prepare for dinner with Joan and Talyn                                -Return home by

Logan snapped out of his work as frantic knocking pounded on his door. He blinked steadily as he became aware of his surroundings; the moment he realized what was happening, he huffed and shot a glare at the door.

“Patton, I thought I told you not to disturb me today,” he stated. “I have plenty of work to do, and very little time to do it. Please, unless it is an emergency, wait until later to speak with me.”

He turned back to his work without a second to spare. The knocking started up again almost immediately. He sighed.

“I am being serious. If you want me to observe your gardening, it can wait.”

Silence. Logan began to relax.

And then he heard a thick sniffle, and a tiny sob.

He was on his feet in an instant, eyes glued to the door. “Virgil?”

Another sob sounded, this one louder than the first.

“Papa…!”

Logan was yanking the door open a second later, dropping to a crouch as soon as he saw Virgil bent over and clutching his leg. “What happened? Are you injured?”

Virgil sniffled and swiped at his eyes, his hand snapping right back to his knee as soon as it was able. He forced himself to nod through his grimace.

“Let me see,” Logan commanded.

Whimpering, Virgil shook his head. “It h-hurts!”

“I understand that, Virgil, but it is important that I look at it,” he said. “I need to see how severe it is so that I can best treat it and help the pain cease.”

Virgil looked at him warily, tears dripping off of his cheeks and onto the carpet; after a moment, he hesitantly lifted one hand away to reach for him. Logan’s chest tightened as he gently scooped the child into his arms and stood, paying very careful attention to make sure his knee didn’t come in contact with anything.

He wasted no time in whisking them down the stairs and towards the bathroom. As Virgil shook and cried, Logan rubbed his back and did his best to reassure him that he was okay.

“Can you tell me what caused this?” he softly asked.

Virgil sniffled and clung to him. “I-I fell…!”

“You fell? Where did that happen?”

“On the driveway,” he whimpered.

On asphalt. Of course. Roman didn’t listen to him about the benefits of a dirt driveway, and now they had an injured child on their hands. Of course.

When they passed the kitchen, Logan spared a glance inside, only to find a battered Roman staring right back at him. Logan raised an eyebrow at the lock of hair that was smoldering, but his stride lost no speed. Roman took a step away from the running microwave as they passed.

“What’s happened, is Virgil alright?” he asked.

“Oh, he only fell on the driveway that you insisted was the most aesthetically pleasing and injured himself,” Logan huffed. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

Guilt slapped across Roman’s expression, but Logan only caught a split second of it before he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.

Gently, Logan placed Virgil onto the counter and swiped some of the tears away with the pad of his thumb. “It’s going to be alright, Virgil. Let’s take a look at that knee, shall we?”

Virgil sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes. “A-Am I gonna die?”

Logan stared at him for a beat, eyes wide; a moment later, his expression softened, and he put his hand on Virgil’s uninjured knee.

“No, Virgil,” he firmly reassured. “You’re going to be just fine. I would never let anything like that happen to you, alright? It’s just a small injury. I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

Hanging his head, Virgil nodded slowly. Logan kneeled down and reached into the cabinet under the sink to grab the first aid kit before turning back to him.

“Now, let’s get you fixed up. May I see it?”

Virgil nodded again, lifting a sweater paw to chew on as Logan took his pant leg and began to roll it up. He was extra gentle when he reached the knee, lifting it high over the—

“Oh, dear,” Logan breathed.

The skin on Virgil’s knee wasn’t just scraped up, it was simply… gone, almost. Nearly his entire kneecap was covered in a thin layer of blood; Logan was shocked it hadn’t ended up anywhere else. Carefully, he raised Virgil’s calf in an attempt to get a better view, but he dropped the idea when he let out a whine.

“That is… quite the skinned knee you’ve given yourself there, Virgil,” Logan slowly stated. “What happened that caused you to fall?”

“I-I drew on the driveway and wanted to show it to Daddy,” Virgil answered, “’Nd I fell over the chalk Ro let me use.”

“Were you running?”

“Mm-hm…”

Logan nodded, his eyes still glued to the injury. “Virgil, I’m going to change you out of your jeans and into a pair of shorts, okay? It will make it much less cumbersome to treat this if I don’t have to worry about your jeans falling and causing you any more pain.”

He waited for Virgil to nod, and then he snapped, putting him in a set of black basketball shorts. Logan was about to reach for the first aid kit, but another streak of red caught his eye; his gaze snapped to Virgil’s left shin, where a long, shallow gash bled lightly.

Raising an eyebrow, Logan looked up at him. “Virgil? Is there a reason you made no mention of this?”

Virgil’s head hung, eyes darting away from Logan; Logan held back a sigh and a lecture as he inspected the new wound.

“Are there any other injuries you’ve hidden?” he asked, as softly as he possibly could.

Virgil hesitated, but after a moment, he lowered his sweater paws and wormed his arms out from inside. He opened his palms to reveal bright red, scraped up skin—but, to Logan’s relief, no blood.

He let out the sigh and gently took the tiny hands into his own.

“Virgil, if you’re injured, you need to tell us about it, okay?” Logan quietly reprimanded. “No matter how big or small it is, or if you have another that seems bigger and more important. Neglecting to tell someone could cause it to get infected and hurt a lot more. No one will be angry; we just want you to be healthy. Okay?”

Virgil sniffled and nodded. His lips twitched down, but he appeared to be forcing them away from that. Logan watched as tears started to roll down his cheeks again.

He climbed to his feet. “Would a hug help you believe me?”

Eyes screwing shut, Virgil stifled a sob and reached for him. Logan quickly leaned forward and held him close.

It was a long moment later before Logan ran his hand up and down Virgil’s back, asking, “Was this satisfactory?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Good.” Logan pulled away and offered a soft smile. “Then let’s finally get you cleaned up.”

He took a washcloth and wet it down, rubbing a bit of soap into it before he kneeled back down and began gently wiping away at Virgil’s wounds. When he flinched at the contact, Logan wordlessly offered a hand, and Virgil took it and held it tight. They worked in silence for a long moment.

“You’re being very brave, Virgil,” Logan said.

Just as Virgil appeared to be calming down, the front door slammed open; despite it being on the other side of the closed bathroom door, Virgil practically jumped out of his skin and began to shake. Logan quickly squeezed his hand and shushed him.

“Has anyone seen Virgil?!” Patton’s voice yelled as it passed them. “Please tell me someone’s seen Virgil!”

“Relax, Padre, he and Logan are in the bathroom,” called Roman’s voice.

“Why are they—Oh, my goodness gracious, what happened to you?!”

“Fire ostrich.”

“Your hair is on fire!”

Rolling his eyes, Logan set the washcloth aside and picked up a roll of gauze from the first aid kit. “Honestly, the things he comes up with…”

Virgil giggled, his voice still thick, but the smile on his face real. Logan carefully pulled his hand away and used it to hold Virgil’s leg in place as he wrapped the bandages around his knee.

Not a moment later, a gentle knock sounded against the door. Patton quietly poked his head in without waiting for a response. He took a moment to glance at the scene in front of him, and then he offered Virgil a sympathetic smile.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he said. “Heard you had a bit of a tumble, huh?”

Virgil’s lower lip began to wobble, but he bit down hard on it as he nodded. Patton let out a coo and stepped in, leaning his hip against the counter as he wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

Tucking his face into Patton’s chest, Virgil sniffled. “Mm-hm…!”

“Well, it’s a good thing you went straight to Doctor Logan then, isn’t it?” Patton replied, shooting Logan a thankful smile.

“No one in this mindscape goes straight anywhere!”

“Thank you for your unnecessary input, Roman,” Logan hollered.

“You’re just upset because I’m right!”

Logan sighed and shook his head as he secured the bandage in place and started on his shin. “I’m not wrong about it being unnecessary…”

Patton snorted and slapped a hand over his mouth. Logan glanced up and raised an amused eyebrow.

All of a sudden, Virgil burst into tears.

Patton and Logan snapped their heads towards him. “Virgil? Honey, what’s wrong?” Patton asked, pulling away to join Logan kneeling in front of him.

“Are you in pain? Is there another injury? Is there a new injury?”

Sucking in a mighty sob, Virgil shook his head. He lifted one hand to rub at his eyes while the other reached for Patton. He took the tiny grip without a second thought.

“What’s the matter, kiddo?”

Through a string of choking breaths, Virgil managed out one sentence.

“I-I di-idn’t get to sh-show you my p-p-pictu-re!”

Patton blinked. “The one in the driveway?”

Virgil wailed and nodded. “A-A-And it’s gonna—gonna be gone ‘cause it’s gonna rain or Ro’s gonna make the driveway dirt and you-you’re never gonna get to see i-i-it!”

“Oh, Virgil!”

Patton shot to his feet and wrapped Virgil in a tight hug; he rubbed small circles in the bawling toddler’s back as he rocked them back and forth. Softly, he shushed him and pressed a kiss into his hair.

“Virgil, I did see it,” Patton whispered. “When I was looking for you, before I realized you were missing, I stopped to look at it, and boy, was I amazed! You did a really nice job with it!”

Virgil sniffled. “Really…?”

“Absolutely! I especially loved the little swirls everywhere! Oh, but not as much as the little self portrait of me and you! I really liked the hair you gave us!”

In the moment of distraction, Logan swiftly taped the strip of gauze over the shallow cut and began to pack up the first aid kit. He sat back and watched for a moment as Virgil slowly calmed down, and as the worry in Patton’s eyes slowly faded.

A smile rested on Logan’s face before he climbed to his feet and brushed the dirt off of himself.

“Well, Virgil, it seems you are good to go,” he stated. “I will come change your bandages accordingly, but please do your best to—”

“Nu-uh! My hands!”

Logan blinked at the interruption. Virgil pulled away from Patton to show off the scrapes on his palms.

Oh. Of course.

Logan hesitated for a moment. True, there wasn’t much that could be done for a skin abrasion as minor as this one, but he also couldn’t just brush Virgil’s concerns off, especially after he’d just reprimanded him for not telling him about it in the first place…

“Um… well,” Logan slowly said, “I… Believe the best way to treat this sort of injury is…”

He glanced at Patton. Patton tilted his head, listening intently. For a moment, Logan couldn’t understand why he would be so interested, but then he realized that it was only natural in a father’s nature to—

Oh!

Logan straightened his posture and adjusted his glasses. “Well, it is a common myth that the best treatment for this sort of injury is to apply a parent’s kiss as needed to soothe the pain!”

An amused grin nearly split Patton’s face in half. He turned to Virgil and nodded with a hum.

Virgil blinked at the two of them with wide, puffy eyes. His gaze darted between the two of them before he raised his right palm up towards Patton, who quickly pecked a gentle kiss onto the scratches and reached for his left.

“No!”

They paused.

“No?” Patton asked. “Does it not hurt?”

Virgil violently shook his head. He stretched his left hand out towards Logan.

“I want Papa to do it!” he whimpered.

Heat rushed to Logan’s face just as rapidly as his heart swelled. His mouth opened and shut for a beat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patton’s hands fly over his mouth as his eyebrows shot into his hairline.

Virgil’s bottom lip poked out into a pout.

“Please?”

How could Logan deny such a polite little request?

He gently took Virgil’s wrist and lifted his hand, looking the toddler in the eye as he pressed a soft kiss to his palm. Virgil gave a weak smile before he pulled his hand away and reached for Patton.

“And what do we say to Logan?” Patton asked, strategically lifting Virgil into his arms without jostling the bandages.

“Thank you, Papa.”

“Thank you, indeed,” Patton added. He looked at Logan with the most grateful expression he could muster. “Seriously, thank you so much.”

“You are very welcome. I’m glad I was able to help,” Logan replied.

The two smiled at each other.

Virgil tugged at Patton’s cardigan. “Daddy, can we go back outside?”

“Sure, kiddo,” he laughed, “But how about we stay in the backyard this time, okay? You can help me plant some flowers!”

Virgil bit his lip, curling in on himself a little. “Am I allowed…?”

Patton grinned and pressed a kiss into Virgil’s hair. “Of course you are! I’d love for you to garden with me!”

Giggling, Virgil pressed his face into Patton’s shoulder; Patton mouthed one last thank you to Logan before he turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Before they turned the corner, Virgil peered up and waved. “Bye, Papa!”

“Have fun,” Logan called.

He ended up standing in the bathroom for a few minutes long than he’d intended, simply processing the event and the emotions that accompanied it. A soft smile grew across his lips the longer he remained.

This had definitely been worth the time lost on scheduling.

Just before Logan crouched to put the first aid kit in its usual location, Roman hesitantly poked his head around the corner. Logan straightened his posture and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

Roman clicked his tongue. “Hey, you, uh… seemed to do pretty well, bandaging Virgil up like that,” he said.

“Well… Yes. It is crucial to know first aid in case of emergencies,” he replied. “Thomas has taken many classes on it. You should know this.”

“Right, right,” Roman laughed. He pressed his lips together and avoided Logan’s gaze, hovering in the doorway.

Logan sighed. “Was there something you needed, or are you just going to block me from exiting and getting back to work?”

“Oh! Yes, I was… Um. I was just wondering.”

Roman played with the edge of his sleeve for a beat, and then he slowly rolled it up, revealing his arm to be covered in talon scratches and burns.

“Could you do me next?”

[tyrwinthyr]

Episode 2, act 1

A reminder - you can get the full first episode here to catch up - https://www.patreon.com/posts/23638142 and the second episode is available fully for my patrons!

The apartment building across the street glared down at everyone and everything near it.  The roof had caved years ago, causing the windows near the top to form furrowed brows.  Each of its twenty-four ‘eyes’ gave Sheila the blame for its condition.  To her, the entire area felt filled with irate buildings, vexed street signs, and the cars were downright indignant.

She didn’t blame them for their anger.  In the latter part of the Crusade, when the then-governor had discovered a community of aggressive Fae in Jersey City, the Guard were sent to drive them out.  The 42nd National Guard division, ironically enough known as the Rainbow Brigade, was not ready for the resistance they encountered. Everyone had heard stories about trolls and bridges, but few understood just how protective of their territory they truly were.  Yearly memorials for the 113 human lives lost in what the papers called a ‘military debacle’ reminded the people just what the Folk were capable of.

Since soldiers hadn’t done the trick of routing the ‘monsters’ from such a key location (right outside the Holland tunnel), bombs were dropped next.  Whoever had constructed the ‘anti-Fae’ bombs hadn’t bothered to reduce their destructive capacity. The goal was to spray a chemical mix of iron and silver in all directions; it would have been devastating enough for the Folk if they’d stopped there.  Multiple ordinance explosions ensured that what would have been a slower death by iron inhalation was, instead, instantaneous.

Those who bothered to count the bodies of fallen Fae discovered 9 families, a total of 35 Folk.   With millions of the Good Neighbors destroyed in similar acts of violence, the location Sheila stood on now was one of the few where human lives lost were greater than their enemies’.  

She had decided to stop walking only a short time ago, instead finding a street light to lean on.  The iron and silver had sunk into the ground. With every step she could feel the bone cold pain of that horrid mixture sapping her strength.   She could feel it through the layers she wore; jacket, gloves, leg warmers, even the rubber ‘shoe’ wrapped around her hooves.  The weather was chilly, but it wasn’t the air that made her clutch her arms to her chest.

“I would really, really like to get out of here,” she reminded Zbrozek for the third time since they had entered the city.  It had been hard for her to create the portal they used, but he had insisted. “I’m not getting siderosis for you!” Her voice echoed past the furious buildings from across the street.

“Actually, siderosis is caused by inhalation of iron-oxide exposure after many years of contact,” Alois mansplained while checking the back seat of an abandoned car. “We aren’t going to get it from a short jaunt into a dusty area.”

“Well, you aren’t Folk,” Sheila pointed out, though quieter, not crossing the street to join them. She was the only one of the nonhumans the lieutenant had brought on the mission; she felt a bit outnumbered. Zbrozek had enlisted a pair of BNC commandos dressed in full riot SWAT-style gear, saying it would ensure their ‘safety.’ The satyr did not feel the least bit safer with them around.

To the north, a group of cars waiting to enter the tunnel started honking.  ‘Tall soldier’ lifted his MP5 towards the noise nervously.  Sheila remembered their names, and was mostly sure that one was ‘Chatfield,’ but she had nicknamed them anyway.  Closer to her, ‘Box Warrior’ (what did Bohag mean, anyway?) made a cautionary noise.

“Easy, brother… area free of hostiles as of oh-eight-hundred this morning,” Boxy said, patting Talls on the shoulder.  With a flick of a thumb over his shoulder, Boxy indicated Sheila, “They wouldn’t take a chance with the princess.”

“I asked them to do the sweep,” Zbrozek corrected, loudly, before the satyr could express her dissatisfaction at being referred to as a ‘princess.’ “Because we have to have noncoms with us.  Stay focused, and leave the princess be.”

After closing her shocked mouth, she stomped her hoof once before looking away from the humans, chin upwards.  A moment later, she smiled to herself, remembering the awed faces of the soldiers when she had opened the portal.  It had taken most of her strength to bind the trod, but that moment had made it all worth it.

“We’ll do this in a grid pattern,” the lieutenant continued, making motions. “We’ll have to check all of this before we can return. The sighting was right by the Hess station there, so our intelligence is that the creature lives close by.”

Sheila walked across the street towards them at a determined gait, chill or no chill.  She drew attention to some graffiti on the side of the glowering apartment building by rapping on it with her knuckles.

“They’d be in here,” she said, her face a rare combination of pride and nausea.

“Explain,” Zbrozek demanded as he moved up next to her, examining the wall.

“Most of this is street tags,” she answered, stepping away from the wall. “Some of it is quite good… see the colors in the young woman’s face up there?” A glance back at the lieutenant was all it took to get her back on focus. “Anyway, that bit there isn’t paint, it’s spit.”

The symbol in question was dayglo green, smeared like a finger painting into a rough ‘X’ shape.

“How can you tell?” the doctor inquired, reaching gloved fingers up to touch the substance.

“Smell,” she replied bluntly in an effort to close that particularly line of questioning down quickly.

“Okay, by the numbers then,” the lieutenant moved towards the door, pulling his service pistol out of his jacket holster.

“You’re going to take her word for it?” Talls said, adjusting his helmet.  Sheila figured he was the youngest of the humans present. “How do you know she’s not setting us up, sending us into a trap?”

“Not that I need to explain it to you, kid,” Zbrozek growled. “But I know my people.  Now, line up and let’s do this!”

It was obvious the soldier wasn’t convinced, but he fell into line regardless.  They moved into the building, leaving Sheila and the doctor outside.

“Smell, you say?” Alois asked as soon as the three were out of sight. She sighed inwardly. Blunt hadn’t worked.

“Yeah.”

“I had noted that a lot of you have keener senses,” he commented, removing a pad from his satchel to scribble in. “That whole ‘I smell the blood of an Englishman’ thing.  Can you actually do that, tell region or genetics through smell?”

The only answer he received was folded arms and a raised eyebrow.

“I only ask for science, of course.”

The sound of the MP5 rifles firing rapidly inside the building might have stopped her from answering, had she meant to in the first place. They stepped away from the building, looking up at the windows for any sign of their quarry.  They could see the muzzle flashes moving from room to room on the third floor, followed by barely heard shouting.  A sound like distant thunder responded, followed immediately by more gunfire.

Right above the two on the street a window exploded outward.  A huge, dark form fell, surrounded by a storm of broken glass.  With a quick kick, Sheila punted the doctor out of the way. Shards fell on her head and cut her raised arms; she escaped the largest mass by mere inches.

Like most people of the current age, Sheila had only ever seen trolls on the TV.  Unable to hide at all after the protection lifted, anyone with a smart phone was soon capturing their enormity.  The being that landed on its back next to her was quite definitely a troll.  It was a giant of a being, ten feet tall if it was an inch standing yet having proportionately tiny eyes nearly lost under densely matted hair.  Its nose, shaped like the back of a shovel, parted its long mane in the middle.

A massive hand nearly the size of Sheila’s torso pushed it upward to sit.  It growled, a bear’s voice echoing from a larger throat, then shook off the glass like the same animal shaking off water.  Even sitting it towered over her. She realized it had on thick furred pants, but was otherwise shirtless.  Red welts were visible over a large amount of its dark bare chest and arms.

Her body shook with a desire to run, but she held her ground.  His, for now she was sure he was male, tiny eyes showed a glint of intelligence.  

“You are forest folk,” he rumbled, raising his arm over his eyes to block out the fading daylight as he stood. “And you are very pretty. Don’t make me harm you.”

Shots fired from the third floor above shook him a little, but he kept his gaze on her.

“They are using rubber bullets,” she pointed out as she stepped closer to him.  His scent was musky, he didn’t stink. His matted hair was clean, his breaches freshly washed. “They don’t want to kill you, just move you someplace safer.”

“Safer,” he grunted, eyes blinking slowly, “For who?”

“Everyone,” she responded, taking another hesitant step towards him.  Cautiously, she lifted a comparatively tiny hand up towards his chest: “I know you are great and strong, but you cannot fight bombs.”

His growl caused her to back off quickly.  When his rumbling laugh reached her, she frowned up at him, “Hey now!”

“You are right to be scared,” he rumbled, taking one step to match the few she’d taken away from him, “I’m not your friend, just because we’re both monsters.  You think you can blink your lamb eyes at me, and maybe I won’t make you into lamb chops?”

Sheila lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I’m part goat, thank you very much,” she began, much to the troll’s amusement. “You’re surrounded by iron, ash and bad memories. Why would you want to stay here?”

He wasn’t as amused by the question, frowning deeply. Pushing his hair away from his long, floppy ear, he flicked a gold earring on the tip.

“My wedding ring hasn’t melted away,” he rumbled, dropping his hand. “My wife’s body was never found.  If I leave… how will she find me?”

The sudden eruption of soldiers from the building gave Sheila little time to react to the answer.  When they raised their weapons, she raised her arms and stepped in front of him.  Her sudden yelp at being shot in the hip by Talls made the large being behind her growl again.

“Stand down, dipshit,” Zbrozek commanded, lowering his own pistol. “She’s obviously got the situation under control.”

“No thanks to you shitheads,” she reprimanded them while rubbing her thigh.  She really wanted to sit down from the pain, but she wasn’t going to give them free shots at the troll. “Lieutenant… fuck that hurts… can you come here, please?”

The soldiers didn’t really ‘stand down,’ not fully. They kept their weapons raised but at least they weren’t firing.  As her boss walked towards her, Sheila gave the troll a smile, hoping to keep him calm.

“He is looking for his wife,” she started immediately as the lieutenant drew close. “Can’t we just let him go?”

Zbrozek’s gaze went up to the trolls even as he shook his head.

“After that debacle with the baobhan?  You know we can’t do that, Red.” Sheila still winced at their choice of code name, but she nodded anyway.  The tongue lashing all of them had received from Captain Golder still stung her pride.

“Him is right here,” the troll said, settling his weight on his heels. “I prefer you not to speak about me like I don’t have a choice.”

“What choice do you think you have?” the lieutenant demanded, stepping to Sheila’s side to square off against the giant.

“I could have broken you all in half,” he mused, tapping the tip of his nose with a meaty forefinger. “Still might.”  Nervous chatter from the two soldiers by the door caught the troll’s attention.

A hoof hit the large being’s knee with a solid thud. “Stop it, doofus!  You aren’t helping.”  Ruefully, the troll rubbed the offended knee.

“Look, we need to get you out of this area.  Urban renewal starts here on Monday, and they’ll send in a seek and destroy group to clear any Fae left.” Zbrozek  tapped his ring finger on the side of his pistol, thoughtful rather than threatening. “There’s a place in the Catskills where you’ll be safe.  A… sort of…”

“Do NOT say reservation,” Sheila demanded, glaring at him.

“There’s a very rich man who owns a huge amount of property,” Zbrozek explained. “He’s allowing us to house creatures like yourself there.  He says you are an endangered species…”

The satyr’s face started turning red at ‘creatures like yourself,’ and became scarlet when she heard ‘endangered species.’  Curling her fingers into fists, she stomped a hoof as she prepared to dole out some ‘corrective language.’

“This creature,” the troll said quietly, before she could begin her tirade, “is named Gint. Until a handful of years ago, I was as much a man as you… or them.”  He waved a hand at the soldiers, still near the door. “The glamour made us equal, to your eyes anyway.  I immigrated here from Sweden at the turn of the last century, lured by the promise of a better life for my wife, and my kids.  My family has maintained Ellis island proudly for the better part of a hundred years.”

Sheila turned away, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

“I found the bodies of my children before your scientists could take them away. All of their tiny bones had been broken in the blasts that killed them." He continued despite? because of? the flinch that the humans listening couldn't quite hide. "Their ears were rent from their heads. Trophies by the soldiers, I think. Their souls had seen enough, so I buried them in a place no one will ever think to look.”  His sniff was loud, and full of phlegm, “Then I waited for my wife to come.”

“She hasn’t come back, has she,” Zbrozek said, finger still tapping the side of his gun. “Maybe she’s at the rese… the safe space?  I know there is one other troll there. I don’t know if it is a girl troll, though…”

“Trollkoner,” Alois said, coming forward.  His hands clutched his side, reminding the satyr of how she’d moved him out of the way. “Trollkoner are female trolls.  Gint, you are lucky man to have such a wife, if I am to believe the lore.”

For the first time, the troll showed a hint of a smile, his mouth curling upwards. It was an impressively sized mouth, spreading from the edges of his jawbone.

“Ibsen is lucky to have me as her troll,” he said, “but I am profoundly lucky to have her as a wife.” The soldiers had started to calm and lower their weapons, but his grin set them on edge again. Gint waved a hand at them dismissively, “What if it isn’t her?”

“Then I give you my word that we will continue to look for her,” Zbrozek replied, putting his own weapon away.

“HA!” the troll slapped his belly with humor, small eyes glittering darkly. “The word of a human.  Pshaw.”

“I don’t see that you have a choice but to trust me,” replied the lieutenant, motioning for the armed pair of soldiers to stand down. “You come with us, take a chance that I will continue working to find her, or you stay here and die when they level everything.”

Sheila held her breath while the giant considered things. Her fearless leader wasn’t bluffing, but there was no way Gint could know that.

“Shake my hand, and I will believe you,” he said, lowering his massive mitt. “Man to man.”

Zbrozek didn’t hesitate, placing his very small palm against the troll’s.  But only a slight wince escaped when the grip was accepted; both men nodded at each other.

 At the debrief a few hours later, Sheila slumped in her chair, staring upwards.  The lieutenant had demanded she open one portal after another for days, and there seemed to be no end in sight.  After she refused to open the one beyond the huge iron door, she'd been forced to acknowledge she could open one on any door.  There were now five different doors painted with oils, ready to be open to places he felt were necessary.  Then to top off the weariness, because she was on site for the encounter with the troll, she had to sit in while Golder asked too many questions and made too many insulting assumptions.

“You will receive no assistance from the BNC,” he fired off, adjusting his tie for the tenth time since he’d entered the room.  She had counted, able to tell when she wasn’t looking because of the ‘uhm’ noise he made while doing so and the glint of light against the ceiling. “If you decide to look for this female creature, it will not be sanctioned.”

“I’m well aware,” Zbrozek responded, hands folded, knuckles white.  

“You are a smart man, (uhm) so I know you will do the right thing here.”

“The troll was delivered to the Fae preserve by trod,” the lieutenant released his fingers, stretching them a few times before clamping them back together. “We’ve been using the portal exclusively for such movements.  It cuts down on transportation costs, as well as public contact.”

A groan brought both of their attentions to the satyr, who slumped forward in her chair dramatically.

“Don’t wear out the Trodwalker, Michael,” Golder’s face pinched up in distaste. “I hear they break down (uhm).  Is there anything else about the incident I need to know?”

Sheila glowered at Zbrozek through her lashes.  Was he going to let her be referred to in the same context as the SUV they used?  Unfortunately, she found Alois and the lieutenant exchanging a look.  Not wanting to interfere with that situation, she put her head down again.

“Nothing that comes to mind, sir,” Zbrozek lied. Not entirely convinced, Golder turned his attention to Alois, eyebrow rising expectantly.

“I’m still working out a few medical questions with Nurse Brown,” the doctor said. “You can expect a full report in the morning?” The question seemed to be directed at the lieutenant, who nodded slightly.  

“I’ll expect it then (uhm), and hopefully it will pair up with Michael’s report (uhm).” After a moment spent looking between the men, Golder gathered his brief case and walked out.

“Fourteen,” Sheila muttered into her arm, which she had put under her head as a pillow.

“Pardon?” Alois asked, coming closer to her.

“Nothing.  Just… meh, nevermind.”

“Lieutenant,” the doctor asked, placing an unwanted hand against the satyr’s forehead, “when do you plan on giving our dear Trodwalker some time off?”

“We’re all tired, Dr. Uhl,” Zbrozek replied as Sheila swatted the hand away from her face. “We’re a small unit, and not getting much bigger after that crap in Denver.  She can rest when the rest of us do.”

“Julien may be… out of touch with the modern Fae, but he was right about one thing,” Alois said, patting her on the back.  He received an indignant growl from her in return. “Their magics are not endless.  You can actually break them.”

“Explain it in a way that I’ll understand.”

The doctor blinked incredulously at the other man, then tapped his chin while he thought of a better way to put it.

“Ever give blood, lieutenant?” he asked, leaning back on the table, hands behind him.  When the other man nodded, he continued, “Know how you feel uneasy, dizzy, so they give you a cookie and tell you to take it easy?  Imagine that opening the portal is like giving blood for Miss Whitehart here.  You’ve been withdrawing blood for days without even giving her a cookie.”

Sheila lifted her head fully, offering the doctor a puzzled look.  His analogy was pretty spot on.  The process of opening the gates was draining.  She just didn’t understand how he knew what it was like.

“That right, Sheila?” Zbrozek asked, sounding more or less concerned.  When she noted dolefully, he clucked his tongue. “Damn.  I admit, I had no idea.  I thought you were still giving me grief because I wouldn’t let you grab your conditioner.”

“Do you see this?” she replied, gripping the ends of her ratty pony tail. “Look at my ends?  See all the frizz? The flyaways?  This is entirely your fault!”

The lieutenant rolled his eyes and turned away from her, “Fine!  Spend the rest of the day and night at your apartment.  Do not get in any…”  

Sheila had both hands on either side of Alois’s face before either of them realized she’d gotten up.  After kissing him hard on the lips, she darted to the door.  When she pulled it open, Whipple fell into the room, rolled to a chair, and sat like he’d been there the whole time.

“Hey, so… we get a night off?” he asked, playing idly with a pen like he wasn’t invested in the answer.

“For the love of Pete… fine!” Zbrozek raised his hands in exasperation. “All of you, get out of here until tomorrow.  I’ll research Gint’s…” With the doctor the last one at the door, the lieutenant trailed off, “Wife.”

After cleaning up the cups on the table, filing the paperwork, and heading to his office, Michael sat looking at his door. He chuckled, opening his laptop.

“I didn’t even get a kiss.” An odd smile tilted his lips when he kissed his ring finger before getting to work.

Sheila smiled her own secret smile, watching her boss from the door to the bathroom. Every time she caught him doing something ‘normal,’ it caught her off guard.  She thought she could almost like the man.  After dramatically blowing him a kiss he’d never catch, she bounded towards her night off.