ohnoboho

[ohnoboho]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Winter Winds

Prologue: Crying in the Club

Summary: Remy carries the sting of a thousand small cruelties. But he knows who he is, and he’s not going to change for anyone. After all, he’s never met anyone worth changing for.

Yet.

Warnings: underaged drinking, mentioned drug use, transphobia, enbyphobia, nbphobia, acephobia, arophobia, general ignorant asshattery

Remy is fifteen when he realizes that he has no friends.

Keep reading

[ohnoboho]

Killin it

Virgil: Hey, you fucked up.

Thomas: What’d I do?

Virgil: Shit uh… you [flips coin] said something uh… [spins wheel] out of place [picks from a hat] and it sounded annoying. (Nailed it)

[ohnoboho]

Hnnnng

This is just one of those lonely nights….

Good Times Gonna Come

[ohnoboho]

I am at a cowboy bar in the heart of Texas and I feel like a wildlife photographer in the middle of a lion sanctuary.

They are awful nice, but I'm trying not to move fast to spook them or anything...

[ohnoboho]

Happy Halloween, lovelies

[ohnoboho]

No time like...right this second

*overlapping chatter*

Logan: ...and then after those errands are completed, we should really get to the gym today. That should bring us to about 10 am when we will...

Roman: ...fabulous! A collaboration with them? It may be my best idea yet. Think of the likes! Think of the memes! We'll have to get another onesie, of course, and a...

Virgil:...should have said, instead of that ridiculously awkward laugh. Ugh, and the finger guns? Why? I'm going to snap Prince's fingers off if he does that again. We can never go back to that Chipotle again...

Patton: ...doo doo do do do do DOOO bee ba boo ba boo ba boo ba boo doo doo do do do do DOO GONNA TAKE A LOT TO DRAG ME AWAY FROM YOOOOOOU!!!

Thomas: Guys....GUYS! Can this all wait until I'm done with my shower?

......

All: *in unison* No

[ohnoboho]

Let me tell you a little story about my student teaching. 

I was born and raised in Gaytown Big City and for college, I moved to a conservative state to a smaller town. For my student teaching, the college stationed me in a very tiny, rural town. I had to leave my college town and everything I had finally built to live in a trailer in a kind of town I have never even set foot in before. And I was out of my mind excited.

I couldn’t believe I was so lucky to get such a different and interesting assignment, where I could really challenge myself and my students. 

It turned into a nightmare situation very quickly. 

My second week, one of my very large male students from the wrestling team cornered me on the way out to my car and made several comments about how someone like me wasn’t safe in their town, but he would protect me. I couldn't tell administration since as a star athlete and the vice principal's grandson, he was much higher on the school ladder than me. That was just wondering taste

In class, my students would ignore me at best, harass me at worst. They would pick fights with each other, walk out whenever they wanted, and threaten me. If I ever went to the administrators for help, I was reprimanded for my failures and told to do better.

My lowest point came when a student asked me about suicide in class. I thought it might be my chance to humanize myself to the kids and show them the "other side" of suicidal thoughts, so I shared my own experience. And the class erupted into laughter.

I was floored at the absolute disgusting lack of empathy from these kids. These kids that constantly demanded I extend deadlines for them or stay up grading late work so they could compete the next day or that I give less work (than five pages of reading a night) because they were all so busy. They didn't care about me at all.

Understand, these kids had incredibly rough lives, but does that give them a free pass to treat other humans that way? So miss me with that students are all perfect and it's always the teacher's fault B.S. Teachers are humans just like everyone else.

I never see anyone talking about how kids can abuse adults though. 

Growing up I saw a lot of adult teachers get bullied by students and it sucked. They would purposely push them to their breaking point until they exploded, yelled, cursed, threw desks, and the ones who didn’t have that kind of reaction would just quit or end up fired because the kids would start rumors. One was because our new math teacher was effeminate so the guys thought “obviously this guy is gay and he’s after our dicks” and if he was ever nice to a male student (which… he was nice and friendly with EVERYONE and was the best teacher we’d had that year) they would start whispering behind me, “yo, look at that, did you see that? He’s flirting with his male students, that’s nasty” and so they made trouble for him. 

My mother worked at a Discovery Zone type place when I was little and she would come home and break down crying because groups of little boys would call her names, call her stupid her whole shift.

I had friends in childhood who absolutely abused their parents. They were relentless and mean and hacked them into submission and it made for a lot of awkward moments when I would hang with them, because I couldn’t do anything since… they were my abuser too.

Just because you’re a minor doesn’t mean knives you throw are not sharp and won’t hit someone. The fact that so many kids on this site use their age as a weapon, as a way to say “but nothing I do has any impact because I have no social power” is SCARY and we need to try to make people aware of this kind of stuff from a young age because most people who are like that don’t really realize it and they need guidance and rehabilitation so the cycle can stop. Because those people grow up and have kids and do it to their kids and they don’t learn that it’s not normal or okay, that they cannot deny reality by controlling the people around them. 

But sometimes it isn’t always that way, some of those parents were so nice and kind and I considered like family, and they just had absolute evil villains for kids. 

Check in with yourselves, guys. Especially right now. There’s a lot of upsetting stuff being shoved in our faces all the time and it makes it hard not to get tunnel vision when our emotions get out of control, especially with the pressure to perform by a lot of social circles on tumblr. And if you’re young and a lot of this is new, pace yourself, you’re learning, and you need to be open to the idea of learning more and know that us being adults doesn’t mean we’re just out of touch boring old farts who don’t know anything. We’ve lived things and we have experience and when we say to you that it’s not okay to tell people who like things you do not like to kill themselves, we’re not “apologists”… we’re the survivors too. 

[ohnoboho]

Yes!

This happens to me all the time! I thought it was a leftover from my eating disorder, but I've also heard that it can be a common sensory thing?

I get past it by chugging a bunch of water too, so then I have to swallow, or by tilting my head all the way back so the food slides to the end of my throat and triggers my reflex, or, honestly this is so embarrassing, massaging my throat like you do an animal's when you want it to swallow a pill or something.

I've found also that if I distract myself, like check my phone or get up and wash dishes, sometimes I can trick my mind into forgetting it didn't want to eat it and will do it by itself.

Does anyone else ever have a hard time swallowing food? It’s not physical (at least I don’t think), it’s just like…sometimes my body refuses to let me swallow food? Like it’s in my mouth and I’m ready to go and it’s like, “Nah” and I’m stuck with a mouthful of food I don’t know what to do with? 

this is probably weird, sorry. 

[ohnoboho]

YAS THIS! I appreciate you and "you trash bag", which is fantastic!

Also, if you're non-binary, trans, hell, any LGBTQIA+ magical human beans, YOU DONT HAVE TO EXPLAIN YOUR EXSISTANCE TO STILL BE VALID!

Nobody has the right to demand you educate them if you don't want to. And if you refuse to spend YA PRECIOUS TIME breaking down YA OWN DAMN CHOICES to someone else, everyone should still respect YA DAMN CHOICES.

I mean, if fucking Kyler and Chad don't have to constantly explain their bizarre obsession with football, then you don't have to explain your personal business if you don't want to. (p.s. even if people ask really nicely!)

And if someone doesn't respect you and keeps saying you need to make them understand, you tell them all they have to understand is your middle finger and walk away.

I’m gonna be honest, there is a lot that I don’t understand about gender identity. I’m not super knowledgeable about it, I ask my nonbinary friends stupid questions sometimes, and a lot of times I feel like I just don’t “get it”.

But fuck, if I’m going to let that get in the way of me respecting the heck outta someone’s pronouns and identity. My inability to understand has no bearing on how valid they are.

So that’s a thing.

[ohnoboho]

Also, if you're upset about your choices of candidates...

VOTE IN PRIMARIES

Did you know only about 40% of voters choose to vote in primaries? There are about 250 million eligible voters. 40% of that is 100 million. Now mostly voters can only vote in their parties primaries, so lets pretend its a perfect split (which it is not, because old white evangelicals vote at an astounding 80%+ rate because they understand how powerful their vote is. I digress.), that means there is only 50 million people voting in one parties primary. And then it is even further split by however many candidates there are in the primary, but let's imagine it's two, that means 25 million people chose a candidate like Clinton. That means about 7% of the population (in reality even less because only 16 million people voted for Clinton) chose the Democratic nominee for president.

>7% of the population chose the Democratic nominee for president!

If you don't like your choices, vote in primaries. There was a wave of progressives across that swore to take no PAC money that couldn't make it past that small percentage of old guard establishment voters that always decide primaries. Ground up change starts with us.

The truth is all politicians S U C C

But you still need to vote for the ones that suck a little less because that’s how good change happens. People that bring up how politicians suck and that’s the reason they don’t vote make no sense to me.

I know you didn’t ask but I am just so passionate about politics and a lot of people are always like “Oh, so I’m supposed to choose the lesser of two evils?”

And like… yeah. Yeah you are. You really really are. That’s how democracy works.

[ohnoboho]

I'm gonna be honest, there is a lot that I don't understand about gender identity. I'm not super knowledgeable about it, I ask my nonbinary friends stupid questions sometimes, and a lot of times I feel like I just don't "get it".

But fuck, if I'm going to let that get in the way of me respecting the heck outta someone's pronouns and identity. My inability to understand has no bearing on how valid they are.

So that's a thing.

[ohnoboho]

Okay, I've seen this a few times on my dash, so I need to say something...

First, sex trafficking and child abuse is absolutely horrible and anyone who engages in it is the scum of the Earth. 100%. No question. No debate.

HOWEVER

I don't think many of you that are reblogging it, actually bothered to check the sources. Did you know you are reblogging a post laden with citation from Russia TV, The Free Thought Project, and The Daily Beast? Sites that have major credibility issues, spew propoganda endless, or are known alt-right conspiracy theory websites.

I'm not saying there aren't facts here and there in this post that are true, but that's what is so dangerous about it. It's leads you down a rabbit hole by sprinkling truth in with outrageous lies.

I mean, for god sakes, did you know that the Pizzagate conspiracy nearly killed innocent people? A man was so wrapped up in the theory he shot up the pizza shop with an assult rifle thinking he was going to save the imaginary children stuck in the "sex ring". And in doing so he could have killed actual real children and people just going about their lives.

I don't doubt that some of this is true, and there are horrible things happening in this world, and you all have the best intentions, just be cautious and diligent about what you share. Check and double check your sources. Please.

And if you want to do something about child sex trafficking, consider donating to The Children's Society, Unicef, or the local non-profit of your choosing.

I wasn’t expecting to see this on mainstream TV!

[ohnoboho]

Hi! You're such a great writer! Also, I was wondering if I could be tagged in A Little Sugar, A Little Spice please! It's so cute, thank you!

Hello, friend! Now that its been probably about 5178 years since you sent me this, I will accept the compliment and put you on my taglist! Sorry for being #thetrashbin and thanks for enjoying the stuff that comes out of my brain!

[ohnoboho]

How many monsters? (he’s baack pt. 3)

Oh hey, did you order some pain & suffering? Cause that’s what I got here...piping hot. Anyways, part 3 (pt 1 & pt 2) of my fic with my concept of Fear Sanders. Can Roman and Logan defeat Fear? Will Virgil ever come back from being a weird static monster? WTF is even happening with Patton (I’m so sorry, Pat...)? Well, you might get some answers ahead, dear reader!

* warning: there is also violence & blood (goo?) ahead

“How dare you betray me! You would be nothing without me, you insolent flea! I gave you this form, this power! I made you!” Fear’s words boiled and simmered with rage as he slammed Virgil’s static form into the concrete.

“You’re wrong.” Virgil growled back, his voice echoing sharply. “I don’t have to hurt Thomas. And I don’t have to be a monster like you.” Thick bolts of black and white light erupted from him, engulfing the shadow looming over him. The two horrible figures locked together and staggered backwards. “They’ve taught me that.”

Fear whirled around in surprise to see Roman and Logan, standing side by side. They may have been disheveled and shaky on their feet, but the fire in their eyes was all but raging brightly.

“No!” The shadow wailed, writing grotesquely in the spitting, sizzling bonds that trapped him.

“It’s t-t-time for th-this to end.” Logan lunged forwards, plunging his hand into the darkness of Fear’s side. For a moment, the undulating pitch solidified under his hand. “Th-there, Roman!” He called out to the other side.

“This is for Patton!”

The creative side roared angrily, stabbing wildly at the spot. A mass of inky goo erupted from the spot as an inhuman shriek filled the air. Spurred on, Logan pressed into another spot and Roman swung again.

“This is for Thomas!”

More goo poured from the cuts and Fear stumbled backwards. Dark tendrils around his feet wriggled wildly, grasping and whipping at Virgil in a crazed desperation. The crackle of Virgil’s form grew louder as he wrapped tighter around Fear. Once more, Logan reached out to touch the dark side. He noticed too late that his hand was actually against Virgil and not Fear. He could not stop Roman in time.

“This is for Virgil!”

Roman screamed with effort, rocketing his sword high over his head and bringing it down with massive force on the two figures. The dealing howl that came from Virgil shook Roman and Logan. The sides reeled, clapping their hands over their ears, as black and white static surged from Anxiety’s form. It drained from his side in a sputtering stream.

Fear, seeing his opportunity, swept up behind Virgil. His dark form convulsing with the effort, though he managed to grip the other side’s shoulders harshly with his long, horrid claws.

“Well, well…” The dark side panted out heavily with a snarl. “Aren’t you all so smart? The valiant heroes slaying the devilish monster.”  Roman and Logan jumped forwards, looking for an opening to get Fear. With a half-growl, half-laugh, Fear pulled Virgil closer to him like a shield and back up against the wall. “Oh, my dear, idiotic aspects, you’ve calculated wrong. You see? I’m not the only monster here.”

“You’re wrong! Virgil is no monster!” Roman shouted angrily. His voice was joined by Logan’s. “Yes, he’s one of-of us!”

“No…” Virgil’s voice scraped across the other side’s skin as he spoke. “He’s right. I can see now.” He gestured to his own abnormal form with a dark sigh. “I’m not one of you. This is what I was meant to be. I am a monster and you are the heroes. We must play our parts, each on different sides. Let’s end this.” Though his tone grew harder and darker with each word, somewhere behind the hazy, unfocused filter of his face, Virgil’s eyes were there; familiar, melancholy, and pleading.

Fear’s laughter pealed through the alley, as his fingers crawled like bizzaro spiders along Virgil’s distorted frame.

“Finally, little Anxiety comes to his senses and sees the world for what it is. The powerful versus the weak. Why should we of such monstrous and terrible power, bow before you? You who choose to live by a “moral code” decided by such a pitiful creature as Morality. Now it is time for nature to take its course! It’s time to take what is ours!”

Fear, embroiled in his passionate speech, failed to notice Logan reach forwards hesitantly and place his hand on Virgil’s chest. He looked up, searching for Virgil’s eyes in the static. Virgil gave a small nod as the jumping static on his chest calmed to a solid grey. Then, they looked to Roman.

“No..” The creative side could only whisper, shaking his head over and over.

“Roman. Play your role. Slay the monsters.”

Before Fear had a chance to react, Virgil’s hands snapped out and forced Roman’s sword directly through his own chest. He let out a sharp gasp as the blade slid easily through his form and trust deeply into the dark figure behind him, pinning them both to the wall.

Fear’s screams of pain intertwined with Roman’s howls of despair.

to be continued...

Taglist:

@nervous-collection @funsizedgremlin @wildhorsewolf @bunny222

[ohnoboho]

please reblog if you’re a writer for the sanders sides fandom

it’s for a big masterpost coming out soon, so please don’t reblog if you aren’t a writer or if you aren’t comfy being on the list! thank you!!

(p.s. you can be a writer and do something else, just as long as you write!)

[ohnoboho]

I’m blushing like mad, thanks so much! Trust me, it was incredible hard to write without my stomach growling too... I’ve eaten sooo many cookies...

You’re on my taglist for the rest!

a little sugar, a little spice (pt. 1)

Oh hello again, dear readers! @misty-the-mysterious, this is for you, lovely! Based upon your fluff prompt “I didn’t agree to this much adorableness” from approximately five billion years ago. 

Summary: Logan, the optometrist, is awful at giving gifts. Most years, he doesn’t even try, but when he does, a trail of happenstance leads him to a bakery that will open his eyes like never before. You like bad puns, fluff, and cliches? Great, dig in, because they are all baked right in to this story. Get your fill(ing). Sorry, I’ll stop.

“Loooogan! No cookies today?! How the hell am I supposed to make it through the day without that sweet, sweet chocolate?” Roman draped himself lazily across his friend’s desk, knocking a pair of glasses onto the floor.

“Tsk, Roman!” Logan huffed, snatching the glasses up quickly and studying the lenses carefully. “The last thing you need is sugar. These are Mrs. Hubbard’s new glasses and you can be the one to explain to her what happened if they are scratched.” He glared down at the other man and swiped at the lenses with a cloth.

Roman peeled himself from the desk slowly and threw an arm across his eyes dramatically. “Oh, Mrs. Hubbard would absolutely understand once I explained my tragic collapse due to chocolate withdrawal.” Under his hand, he winked cheekily. “She’s a fellow cacao-lover.”

“Why would you even know that? How is that relevant?”

“Well, because, unlike you, Dr. Grump, many people actually enjoy some small talk as they have to sit and wait for you to do whatever it is you do back here. I know lots of things about your patients. Do you want to know who is getting divorced?”

“Jesus, Ro, no.” Logan couldn’t help but laugh a little as he gingerly placed the glasses and case back on his desk. He didn’t even have to look up to know the smug smile that Roman wore; it was a familiar feeling. A distant beeping cut into their conversation. “Isn’t that the phone ringing? You keep up this poor job performance and I’ll have to fire you.” The tone was serious, but the teasing glint in his eyes gave him away.

“You wouldn’t last a week without me, specs.” Roman shot back with a barking laugh as he slipped back through the door.

Logan pushed his glasses further up his nose with a scoff and returned to the stack of form piled up on his desk. Prescription forms, inventory forms, new patient forms, claim filing forms. Before, he all but cherished that time of day. After their dizzying lunchtime rush of patients, Logan could retreat back to the calm of his office and turn his mind off with paperwork. The slick glide of his pen, the mechanical repetition of signatures, the effortless organization. Now, the absent tapping of his pen filled the little room. He puzzled at how empty his desk looked without cookies. He let his head drop onto the stack of papers with a groan.

Three weeks prior, the chain reaction leading to the cookies had been set in place by a spring rain. Logan had traced it back often in his mind. It had been a morning like many others, but in the mental motion picture he played back again and again and again, he found those markers of change. Little pinpoints that would eventually lead him to those cookies.

It had rained that morning as Logan rode his bike to work. It often did that time of year. No different than any day, except the construction next door forced him to find a different place to park his bike. He found a suitable, covered bike rack across the street. Pinpoint one.

Roman barged into the office particularly boisterously that morning. Logan groaned quietly as he closed the drawer he had been filing away papers in. Fifteen minutes of quiet that morning, not too bad. His hand was already on the doorknob when an unfamiliar sound gave him pause. Roman was giggling. Not laughing or cackling like he normally did, but giggling. Logan frowned. From the other side of the door, Roman’s voice lilted and rang. There was talk of some kind of dinner plans at an exotic sounding restaurant with the mystery person on the phone. Roman said he was excited for the champagne with gold flakes the person would definitely be bringing him, since it was his birthday, and giggled once more. Pinpoint two.

Possible Gift Ideas for Roman De la Vega. Logan found himself staring down at the empty list again. Three patients had come and gone. Simple check-ups, which, unfortunately, gave his mind plenty of room to continue to agonize over this strange thought. He had never given Roman a birthday gift before. After all their years of knowing each other, they had just come to an understanding. Logan was terrible at giving gifts and even worse at receiving gifts. Casual birthday dinners and rounds of drinks had always been fine. So why was it suddenly not fine this year? Pinpoint three.

By the end of the day, the list was still empty and Logan had turned to Google to tell him what to get his own best friend for a birthday gift. He nearly hurled the monitor across the room when Roman popped his head through the door to say goodnight. They shared an awkward goodbye. When the door finally closed, Logan slumped down onto his desk with a frustrated groan. Graduating third in his class from Pacific U. apparently proved nothing about his intellect if he couldn’t figure out something as simple as the perfect gift for Roman. After angrily scrolling through blog post after blog post about gifting watches and sports memorabilia, he finally gave up and slunk out the front door. Pinpoint four.

This trail of pins all lead up to the faithful moment when Logan, struggling to unwrap the lock from his bike, looked up to curse whoever might be “up there” and suddenly noticed the shop in front of the bike rack. It was a bakery, warm and inviting as they usually are, with a large chalkboard sign in the window that had caught his eye. Delicate pastel flowers and smiling pastries curled around the edges encircling the beautiful, curling calligraphy of possibly the worst collection of puns Logan had ever seen. “Knead a loaf-ly gift for your sweetie pie? Crumb on in and check out our hot-crossed buns!” And that was the last pinpoint.

Small bronze bells above the door frame tinkled as Logan pushed the door open slowly. The air that was kicked up around his feet seemed to dance lazily about, heavily aromatic with some spice he couldn’t place. Logan remembered thinking the place was like a reverse TARDIS, so much smaller than it seemed on the outside, as he bumped into a table stacked tall with vibrant boxes of intricately painted chocolates. In every available space, there were mismatched pieces of furniture covered in baskets, boxes, and dishes displaying a dizzying array of goodies. Even more, lush plants of all shapes and sizes squeezed in corners and draped atop shelves. Logan found himself drifting in small circles, lost in the waves of colors, more colors than he had ever seen in once place. By all logic, it should have been overwhelming, but it was something else. Charming, maybe, or whimsical, he thought as he studied a row of glassy chocolate planets under a glass dome. They seems to catch and shimmer in the light as he tilted his head from side to side slowly.

“Umm… can I help you with anything?”

Logan rocketed up and scrambled to adjust his tie. One wayward elbow jostled a nearby shelf; a pit thudded down into his stomach as the flower pot at the top tipped dangerously towards the edge. Two pale, delicate hands shot forward to steady it, replacing it gently with a extra tender tap.

“I’m- I’m very sorry. This place is very crowded. Many objects in here. I shall have to keep a better eye on my elbows. I apologize.”  Logan stuttered awkwardly as he spoke, clutching the offending joint in one hand.

“It’s fine. There is a lot of junk in here.” The other man shrugged as he spoke, shifting his dark hoodie further up on his shoulders. His flat composure told Logan that kind of thing happened often. “So, do you, like, need anything?” He asked again.

“Oh, uh, I just noticed the sign in the window…”

“And you ‘kneaded’ a gift for your ‘sweetie pie’?”

Logan flushed brightly at the slightly mocking tone and the dark smirk of the other man. Stupid, he knew it was stupid, and now this man knew how stupid he was for being pulled in by a sign filled with puns. “I-I’ll just go.”

“No, no, geez, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I just have to look at that silly sign every day and I swear it’s stuck in my brain.” The man chuckled sheepishly, rubbing comically at his forehead like he was trying to scrub the bad puns out of his memory. 

Logan sighed in hesitant relief and chuckled too. “Yeah, that sign was…something. I just need a gift for a friend.”

“Sure, totally. Let me go get our baker. You’re lucky you caught him in, he’s a master at gifts. And awful puns.”

Logan nodded a silent thank you as he disappeared back behind the counter. The big glass case at the counter was bursting with the golden glow of pastries and Logan stepped closer to examine them as he waited. The goodies seemed to crowd up against the glass, vying for his attention as they glistened and shone. Rows of plump cream puffs, pillowy croissants, and glistening fruit tarts filled his vision in a sugary hurricane. His stomach seemed to whine as it reminded him of how empty it was. A few muffled footsteps on the other side of the case brought Logan back from his pastry daze. He straightened up slowly this time, making sure to move cautiously as he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. By the time the baker came out from around the corner, Logan had positioned himself, casually perusing a basket of what seemed to be handmade potholders.

“Hi, welcome in to For Goodness Bakes! I’m Patton. Virgil said we might need some help today?”

“Ah, yes, I’m Logan and I need a gahh…ift.” Logan could hear the gears of his brain falter and screech against each other as he glanced up. For a moment, he was sure he had somehow stumbled into a cartoon world as the man that stood in front of him surely wasn’t from the real world. From the unruly mess of silky curls to the tri-colored sweater tucked under his bright pink apron. The wide, charming grin and his impossibly smooth, tawny skin. The bakery seemed to be built around him, a perfect, cozy habitat. When Patton giggled at Logan’s stumbled words, it took a tremendous amount of willpower to stop himself from turning and sprinting out the front door.

“A gift? That’s great! Would you like some suggestions?” Patton smiled warmly, reaching up to flip a stubborn curl from his face. But before Logan could even answer, the baker gasped sharply.  “Oh, sugar sprinkles! Hold that thought!”

“I’ve already got the chocolate for the almond horns going, Pat.” Virgil called from around the corner, answering the request before Patton could even put it into words.

“God bless you, you fantastic, little shadow bunny!” Patton called back around the corner. His only response an unintelligible grumble. “I would definitely lose each and every one of my remaining marbles if I didn’t have that delightful cupcake.”

“Sorry, did he say almond horns?”

Patton nodded vigorously, curling bouncing. “Yes, I had a customer request them specially for her daughter birthday. It’s my first time making them, but they aren’t coming out quite right. I think I’m missing something.” The small frown that crinkled his lips made Logan’s pulse leap.

“Are you using marzipan or almond paste?”

“Almond paste.”

“Well, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, of course. I mean, nevermind, it’s unimportant. You probably don’t want to hear any of my feelings- I mean, advice.” Inside his mind, Logan pleaded with his mouth to just stop talking. That was a new thought.

“Oh, jam tarts, my grammaw always said ‘everybody got love and recipes and we should learn to share both of them more’!” Patton chuckled fondly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his apron and rocking back on his heels.

Logan barely managed to croak out his answer. “Rosewater.”

“What’s that you said?”

“Marzipan is traditionally made with rosewater, while almond paste isn’t. The rosewater will add another flavor to them, which could be what you think you are missing. My grandfather would make almond horns for holidays when I was a kid. I would consider them my favorite sweet, but not many places around here seem to make them.”

Patton clapped his hands together under his chin; his eyes dancing in a way that reminded Logan of a mad scientist or a crazed artist. “OH! FANTASTIC! Viiiiirge, remind me to go get rosewater from home in an hour!”

“I’m not Siri, Patton…”

“Please, compadre pal friendo?”

“Yeah, fine….”

“Thanks, puff pastry! Wow, and thank you. Logan. What fantastic timing you have wandering in here at just the right time to help me out of my little dilemma like some kind of baking fairy godfather!  I’ve got to do something for you… What could I do…. Wait! You needed help with something!”

“Yes, a gift for my friend.”

“Right, right, right, yes, yes, yes.” Patton tapped the frame of his glasses, old plastic lenses with a few small cracks in big wire frames, Logan couldn’t help but notice. “All right, what kinds of things does your friend like?”

Logan shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. The question he had been dreading. “Let’s see…” Tapping his phone awake, Logan studied the tiny list he had managed to scrape together. “He drinks far too much coffee, so that’s one thing…. He always says his favorite holiday is the day after Valentine’s days for some reason. I don’t really know if that counts. His favorite color is red possibly. And he sings. A lot. Is that helpful? I’m not sure how this all works.”

When he looked up from his phone, the baker was gone. Logan took surprised step backwards and looked around in confusion. A quiet tapping helped him spot Patton again. Standing up on his tiptoes, Logan could just see the top of the other’s head where he knelt on the other side of the glass case. His plump fingers rapped quickly against the surface as he glanced over the pastries inside. He seemed to be muttering rapidly to himself.

“So, is he extra?” Patton called up to him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your friend? Is he fun, fab, fancy? Extravagant? A little dramatic maybe?”

Logan chuckled a little. “Yes, very much so.”

“Does he dress well?”

“Does that help you pick what kind of pastry he’d like?”

“Oh, absolutely, sugarcane! Is he fashionable? And is it like classically fashionable or more modern and trendy kind of fashionable?”

Logan tried to picture Roman in his mind. His face came through clearly, with his trademark smug grin and bright amber eyes, but when he tried to imagine an outfit, it was just a blur. Was that something people really noticed? He furrowed his brow. “He, um, wears blazers often, I suppose? And he went to that large fashion convention in New York one year, I think.” That was all he could manage.

“New York Fashion Week? He must be a bit of a trail-blazer then, eh?” Patton laughed to himself as he popped up from behind the case, his head barely clearing the top. “Okay, I’ve got some ideas bouncing around in the ole’ noggin for a gift. When do you need this gift by?” He leaned his arm on the top of the glass case and rested his chin on his wrist. His fingers left a smudge of flour across his nose. Logan pretended to intensely consider the calendar app on his phone.

“Is tomorrow too soon? I apologize for the short notice. I will pay any extra fees you need.”

Patton waved him off with a shake of his hand and a cheery wink. “No way, muffin, not for my baking fairy godfather. I’ll have it ready tomorrow morning for you, okie dokie?”

“Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you for accommodating me.”

“Oh, cream puffs, it’s nothing. But now you’ve got to swiss roll on outta here, ami-dough, because I’ve got baking to do!”

“Wow.” Logan whispered, looking up at Patton with a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “That was truly, truly awful.”

The other man only gave a silly shrug in response and shooed him out.

As the door to the bakery swung shut behind him and Logan stood in the heavy night drizzle, he didn’t feel cold at all. In fact, he felt positively warm. As he rode home, he made a mental note to check his temperature when he got home. Logan mumbled to the buzzing streetlamps he hoped he hadn’t caught anything.

But, of course, Logan hadn’t known then that he was the one that was caught.

[ohnoboho]

Aw, I love baker Patton too! I’m so glad you picked up on his accent! He’s based off a friend of mine whose family is from Louisiana and he’s such a Patton.

You are definitely on my taglist for the next part, Alex!

a little sugar, a little spice (pt. 1)

Oh hello again, dear readers! @misty-the-mysterious, this is for you, lovely! Based upon your fluff prompt “I didn’t agree to this much adorableness” from approximately five billion years ago. 

Summary: Logan, the optometrist, is awful at giving gifts. Most years, he doesn’t even try, but when he does, a trail of happenstance leads him to a bakery that will open his eyes like never before. You like bad puns, fluff, and cliches? Great, dig in, because they are all baked right in to this story. Get your fill(ing). Sorry, I’ll stop.

“Loooogan! No cookies today?! How the hell am I supposed to make it through the day without that sweet, sweet chocolate?” Roman draped himself lazily across his friend’s desk, knocking a pair of glasses onto the floor.

“Tsk, Roman!” Logan huffed, snatching the glasses up quickly and studying the lenses carefully. “The last thing you need is sugar. These are Mrs. Hubbard’s new glasses and you can be the one to explain to her what happened if they are scratched.” He glared down at the other man and swiped at the lenses with a cloth.

Roman peeled himself from the desk slowly and threw an arm across his eyes dramatically. “Oh, Mrs. Hubbard would absolutely understand once I explained my tragic collapse due to chocolate withdrawal.” Under his hand, he winked cheekily. “She’s a fellow cacao-lover.”

“Why would you even know that? How is that relevant?”

“Well, because, unlike you, Dr. Grump, many people actually enjoy some small talk as they have to sit and wait for you to do whatever it is you do back here. I know lots of things about your patients. Do you want to know who is getting divorced?”

“Jesus, Ro, no.” Logan couldn’t help but laugh a little as he gingerly placed the glasses and case back on his desk. He didn’t even have to look up to know the smug smile that Roman wore; it was a familiar feeling. A distant beeping cut into their conversation. “Isn’t that the phone ringing? You keep up this poor job performance and I’ll have to fire you.” The tone was serious, but the teasing glint in his eyes gave him away.

“You wouldn’t last a week without me, specs.” Roman shot back with a barking laugh as he slipped back through the door.

Logan pushed his glasses further up his nose with a scoff and returned to the stack of form piled up on his desk. Prescription forms, inventory forms, new patient forms, claim filing forms. Before, he all but cherished that time of day. After their dizzying lunchtime rush of patients, Logan could retreat back to the calm of his office and turn his mind off with paperwork. The slick glide of his pen, the mechanical repetition of signatures, the effortless organization. Now, the absent tapping of his pen filled the little room. He puzzled at how empty his desk looked without cookies. He let his head drop onto the stack of papers with a groan.

Three weeks prior, the chain reaction leading to the cookies had been set in place by a spring rain. Logan had traced it back often in his mind. It had been a morning like many others, but in the mental motion picture he played back again and again and again, he found those markers of change. Little pinpoints that would eventually lead him to those cookies.

It had rained that morning as Logan rode his bike to work. It often did that time of year. No different than any day, except the construction next door forced him to find a different place to park his bike. He found a suitable, covered bike rack across the street. Pinpoint one.

Roman barged into the office particularly boisterously that morning. Logan groaned quietly as he closed the drawer he had been filing away papers in. Fifteen minutes of quiet that morning, not too bad. His hand was already on the doorknob when an unfamiliar sound gave him pause. Roman was giggling. Not laughing or cackling like he normally did, but giggling. Logan frowned. From the other side of the door, Roman’s voice lilted and rang. There was talk of some kind of dinner plans at an exotic sounding restaurant with the mystery person on the phone. Roman said he was excited for the champagne with gold flakes the person would definitely be bringing him, since it was his birthday, and giggled once more. Pinpoint two.

Possible Gift Ideas for Roman De la Vega. Logan found himself staring down at the empty list again. Three patients had come and gone. Simple check-ups, which, unfortunately, gave his mind plenty of room to continue to agonize over this strange thought. He had never given Roman a birthday gift before. After all their years of knowing each other, they had just come to an understanding. Logan was terrible at giving gifts and even worse at receiving gifts. Casual birthday dinners and rounds of drinks had always been fine. So why was it suddenly not fine this year? Pinpoint three.

By the end of the day, the list was still empty and Logan had turned to Google to tell him what to get his own best friend for a birthday gift. He nearly hurled the monitor across the room when Roman popped his head through the door to say goodnight. They shared an awkward goodbye. When the door finally closed, Logan slumped down onto his desk with a frustrated groan. Graduating third in his class from Pacific U. apparently proved nothing about his intellect if he couldn’t figure out something as simple as the perfect gift for Roman. After angrily scrolling through blog post after blog post about gifting watches and sports memorabilia, he finally gave up and slunk out the front door. Pinpoint four.

This trail of pins all lead up to the faithful moment when Logan, struggling to unwrap the lock from his bike, looked up to curse whoever might be “up there” and suddenly noticed the shop in front of the bike rack. It was a bakery, warm and inviting as they usually are, with a large chalkboard sign in the window that had caught his eye. Delicate pastel flowers and smiling pastries curled around the edges encircling the beautiful, curling calligraphy of possibly the worst collection of puns Logan had ever seen. “Knead a loaf-ly gift for your sweetie pie? Crumb on in and check out our hot-crossed buns!” And that was the last pinpoint.

Small bronze bells above the door frame tinkled as Logan pushed the door open slowly. The air that was kicked up around his feet seemed to dance lazily about, heavily aromatic with some spice he couldn’t place. Logan remembered thinking the place was like a reverse TARDIS, so much smaller than it seemed on the outside, as he bumped into a table stacked tall with vibrant boxes of intricately painted chocolates. In every available space, there were mismatched pieces of furniture covered in baskets, boxes, and dishes displaying a dizzying array of goodies. Even more, lush plants of all shapes and sizes squeezed in corners and draped atop shelves. Logan found himself drifting in small circles, lost in the waves of colors, more colors than he had ever seen in once place. By all logic, it should have been overwhelming, but it was something else. Charming, maybe, or whimsical, he thought as he studied a row of glassy chocolate planets under a glass dome. They seems to catch and shimmer in the light as he tilted his head from side to side slowly.

“Umm… can I help you with anything?”

Logan rocketed up and scrambled to adjust his tie. One wayward elbow jostled a nearby shelf; a pit thudded down into his stomach as the flower pot at the top tipped dangerously towards the edge. Two pale, delicate hands shot forward to steady it, replacing it gently with a extra tender tap.

“I’m- I’m very sorry. This place is very crowded. Many objects in here. I shall have to keep a better eye on my elbows. I apologize.”  Logan stuttered awkwardly as he spoke, clutching the offending joint in one hand.

“It’s fine. There is a lot of junk in here.” The other man shrugged as he spoke, shifting his dark hoodie further up on his shoulders. His flat composure told Logan that kind of thing happened often. “So, do you, like, need anything?” He asked again.

“Oh, uh, I just noticed the sign in the window…”

“And you ‘kneaded’ a gift for your ‘sweetie pie’?”

Logan flushed brightly at the slightly mocking tone and the dark smirk of the other man. Stupid, he knew it was stupid, and now this man knew how stupid he was for being pulled in by a sign filled with puns. “I-I’ll just go.”

“No, no, geez, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I just have to look at that silly sign every day and I swear it’s stuck in my brain.” The man chuckled sheepishly, rubbing comically at his forehead like he was trying to scrub the bad puns out of his memory. 

Logan sighed in hesitant relief and chuckled too. “Yeah, that sign was…something. I just need a gift for a friend.”

“Sure, totally. Let me go get our baker. You’re lucky you caught him in, he’s a master at gifts. And awful puns.”

Logan nodded a silent thank you as he disappeared back behind the counter. The big glass case at the counter was bursting with the golden glow of pastries and Logan stepped closer to examine them as he waited. The goodies seemed to crowd up against the glass, vying for his attention as they glistened and shone. Rows of plump cream puffs, pillowy croissants, and glistening fruit tarts filled his vision in a sugary hurricane. His stomach seemed to whine as it reminded him of how empty it was. A few muffled footsteps on the other side of the case brought Logan back from his pastry daze. He straightened up slowly this time, making sure to move cautiously as he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. By the time the baker came out from around the corner, Logan had positioned himself, casually perusing a basket of what seemed to be handmade potholders.

“Hi, welcome in to For Goodness Bakes! I’m Patton. Virgil said we might need some help today?”

“Ah, yes, I’m Logan and I need a gahh…ift.” Logan could hear the gears of his brain falter and screech against each other as he glanced up. For a moment, he was sure he had somehow stumbled into a cartoon world as the man that stood in front of him surely wasn’t from the real world. From the unruly mess of silky curls to the tri-colored sweater tucked under his bright pink apron. The wide, charming grin and his impossibly smooth, tawny skin. The bakery seemed to be built around him, a perfect, cozy habitat. When Patton giggled at Logan’s stumbled words, it took a tremendous amount of willpower to stop himself from turning and sprinting out the front door.

“A gift? That’s great! Would you like some suggestions?” Patton smiled warmly, reaching up to flip a stubborn curl from his face. But before Logan could even answer, the baker gasped sharply.  “Oh, sugar sprinkles! Hold that thought!”

“I’ve already got the chocolate for the almond horns going, Pat.” Virgil called from around the corner, answering the request before Patton could even put it into words.

“God bless you, you fantastic, little shadow bunny!” Patton called back around the corner. His only response an unintelligible grumble. “I would definitely lose each and every one of my remaining marbles if I didn’t have that delightful cupcake.”

“Sorry, did he say almond horns?”

Patton nodded vigorously, curling bouncing. “Yes, I had a customer request them specially for her daughter birthday. It’s my first time making them, but they aren’t coming out quite right. I think I’m missing something.” The small frown that crinkled his lips made Logan’s pulse leap.

“Are you using marzipan or almond paste?”

“Almond paste.”

“Well, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, of course. I mean, nevermind, it’s unimportant. You probably don’t want to hear any of my feelings- I mean, advice.” Inside his mind, Logan pleaded with his mouth to just stop talking. That was a new thought.

“Oh, jam tarts, my grammaw always said ‘everybody got love and recipes and we should learn to share both of them more’!” Patton chuckled fondly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his apron and rocking back on his heels.

Logan barely managed to croak out his answer. “Rosewater.”

“What’s that you said?”

“Marzipan is traditionally made with rosewater, while almond paste isn’t. The rosewater will add another flavor to them, which could be what you think you are missing. My grandfather would make almond horns for holidays when I was a kid. I would consider them my favorite sweet, but not many places around here seem to make them.”

Patton clapped his hands together under his chin; his eyes dancing in a way that reminded Logan of a mad scientist or a crazed artist. “OH! FANTASTIC! Viiiiirge, remind me to go get rosewater from home in an hour!”

“I’m not Siri, Patton…”

“Please, compadre pal friendo?”

“Yeah, fine….”

“Thanks, puff pastry! Wow, and thank you. Logan. What fantastic timing you have wandering in here at just the right time to help me out of my little dilemma like some kind of baking fairy godfather!  I’ve got to do something for you… What could I do…. Wait! You needed help with something!”

“Yes, a gift for my friend.”

“Right, right, right, yes, yes, yes.” Patton tapped the frame of his glasses, old plastic lenses with a few small cracks in big wire frames, Logan couldn’t help but notice. “All right, what kinds of things does your friend like?”

Logan shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. The question he had been dreading. “Let’s see…” Tapping his phone awake, Logan studied the tiny list he had managed to scrape together. “He drinks far too much coffee, so that’s one thing…. He always says his favorite holiday is the day after Valentine’s days for some reason. I don’t really know if that counts. His favorite color is red possibly. And he sings. A lot. Is that helpful? I’m not sure how this all works.”

When he looked up from his phone, the baker was gone. Logan took surprised step backwards and looked around in confusion. A quiet tapping helped him spot Patton again. Standing up on his tiptoes, Logan could just see the top of the other’s head where he knelt on the other side of the glass case. His plump fingers rapped quickly against the surface as he glanced over the pastries inside. He seemed to be muttering rapidly to himself.

“So, is he extra?” Patton called up to him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your friend? Is he fun, fab, fancy? Extravagant? A little dramatic maybe?”

Logan chuckled a little. “Yes, very much so.”

“Does he dress well?”

“Does that help you pick what kind of pastry he’d like?”

“Oh, absolutely, sugarcane! Is he fashionable? And is it like classically fashionable or more modern and trendy kind of fashionable?”

Logan tried to picture Roman in his mind. His face came through clearly, with his trademark smug grin and bright amber eyes, but when he tried to imagine an outfit, it was just a blur. Was that something people really noticed? He furrowed his brow. “He, um, wears blazers often, I suppose? And he went to that large fashion convention in New York one year, I think.” That was all he could manage.

“New York Fashion Week? He must be a bit of a trail-blazer then, eh?” Patton laughed to himself as he popped up from behind the case, his head barely clearing the top. “Okay, I’ve got some ideas bouncing around in the ole’ noggin for a gift. When do you need this gift by?” He leaned his arm on the top of the glass case and rested his chin on his wrist. His fingers left a smudge of flour across his nose. Logan pretended to intensely consider the calendar app on his phone.

“Is tomorrow too soon? I apologize for the short notice. I will pay any extra fees you need.”

Patton waved him off with a shake of his hand and a cheery wink. “No way, muffin, not for my baking fairy godfather. I’ll have it ready tomorrow morning for you, okie dokie?”

“Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you for accommodating me.”

“Oh, cream puffs, it’s nothing. But now you’ve got to swiss roll on outta here, ami-dough, because I’ve got baking to do!”

“Wow.” Logan whispered, looking up at Patton with a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “That was truly, truly awful.”

The other man only gave a silly shrug in response and shooed him out.

As the door to the bakery swung shut behind him and Logan stood in the heavy night drizzle, he didn’t feel cold at all. In fact, he felt positively warm. As he rode home, he made a mental note to check his temperature when he got home. Logan mumbled to the buzzing streetlamps he hoped he hadn’t caught anything.

But, of course, Logan hadn’t known then that he was the one that was caught.