instead of working on my book

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.

Thomas: What’d I do?

This is just one of those lonely nights….

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. 

my piano/choir teacher in 6th grade was only around 20-23 whenever she came to our school, and she only stayed for 2 years because all the kids were so awful. one time she told me that me and a few other of my friends were the only ones who hadn’t said a bad word about her the whole time.

in 4th grade, we got an awesome music teacher. he was in his late 20’s at the time, really chill and easygoing (we were in elementary school). some of the kids would just slowly drive him off the edge until one day he ended up throwing pens across the room out of frustration and anger. everybody was either scared of him or laughed at him, and it kinda made it worse. he left 2 years later and teaches a civilized and nice group of kids now.

My fellow classmates were fucking awful to Ms. Burns.  They talked over her when she was trying to teach, they made fun of her appearance (said she looked like man and called her a ‘tranny’, or “It Burns” instead of Ms. Burns), and when a few months into the school year, she broke down and screamed at the top of her lungs at the class before sitting down at her desk and crying, they considered it a triumph and laughed about it for weeks.

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.

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.

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.

you’re really right because as much as I would like to say that I fully understand it, I don’t because I’m Cis

and idk y for some reason like when you don’t understand something it makes it less important/invalid

like goddamn I don’t understand Shakespeare’s line of thought when he wrote fucking hamlet but that doesn’t mean it’s not real/valid you trash bag

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!)

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?”

Vote. I don’t care if you hate both candidates–figure out which one is going to do less harm and vote for them, because that is the only way we prevent things from getting worse. And preventing things from getting worse is the first step on the road to things getting better. Before we can turn this train around, we have to slow it down, and believe it or not, that isn’t gonna happen all at once. There’s no such thing as throwing things into reverse without slowing down and turning around first.

This is already one of the scariest political climates I’ve lived through (and I lived through George W Bush) and it absolutely baffles me when people think they’re taking some kind of a stand by abstaining from voting. Abstaining doesn’t mean the system no longer applies to you. If you are a citizen, then you are a part of this system, and there is no way to be ‘above’ it. These are real policies that affect real people, even if those people aren’t you. They’re people you know, people you love and care about. And if you think that not voting means you are taking some kind of ‘moral high ground,’ you are dead wrong. What you are doing is basically standing aside and telling the horrible people they can do whatever you want because you won’t stop them. 

Voting is where your voice is heard. It’s where you take a stand. It’s where you say, “You know what? No. This isn’t okay.” 

Do not be taken in by Tumblr’s all-or-nothing puritanical ideals. No politician is perfect. Every politician has skeletons in their closets and ideals that may not match yours 100%. That should not keep you from choosing one. Deal with the fact that you have one candidate that has one or two skeletons and one that is literally standing on a mass grave and pick the first one. 

What matters here isn’t finding some theoretical perfect person, because that person will probably never go into politics. What matters is acknowledging the facts: that you are a citizen, that the results of these elections and the policies that come out of them will affect millions of people (and if you can’t bring yourself to care about them, then try to care about the people you know and love who are hurt by these policies, because I promise you you know at least one), that abstaining does not exclude you from the systems and policies that will result, and that voting really does matter. If you can acknowledge these facts, and still somehow think that voting isn’t important, then I am honestly baffled, because you’re basically saying, “I have the ability to influence history and I choose not to.” 

And frankly, if you are able to vote and decide not to? Then you don’t get to complain about the election results. If you throw away your one chance to actually influence the shit that’s going down, then you also throw away your right to bitch about it, because people are literally dying for the right to make their voices heard, and you’ve been handed a microphone and you’re spitting on it. 

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!

Kendall explains that she was born to be a sex slave, as her parents intentionally had her for the trafficker she calls her “owner.” Kendall says that her parents sold her at birth to an elite pedophile ring that serviced some of the world’s power elite, describing her first memories as being passed around groups of rich and prominent men and women for them to “take turns” with her for sadistic sexual pleasure.

Making her first public appearance after escaping from the man she calls her “owner,” Kendall describes being forced to participate in actions that shock the conscience. She explains that she was forced to rape children as young as 5- years-old, and even admits to having been forced to kill a baby by the human trafficker she describes as her “owner.”Kendall says that she can tell the difference between kids born into sexual slavery and ones that have been kidnapped, as the ones born into it are more docile and less upset as it is the only reality they have ever known. When Dr. Phil asks how old she thinks she was when she was first raped, Kendall explains that it was “before I could talk – I was used to it by the time I was 2.”

She says she doesn’t even know her actual age, as she has been a sex slave her entire life, being trafficked around the globe to be molested and raped by the societal elites – including high ranking law enforcement official, major sports franchise owners and even high level U.S. politicians.

She describes having birthed 3 children while in captivity, all of which have been taken from her by her owner/trafficker, and are believed by Kendall to now be child sex slaves themselves.

“I was allowed to get pregnant, because men paid for that,” Kendall said.

Kendall notes that the pedophiles she came into contact with over the years were extremely wealthy – often “pillars of the community” – with some even owning private islands or large pieces of land.

“They would buy us just to hunt us,” she said.

She recalls one of her most fearful memories was that of the pedophiles hosting a “hunting party” on one of their large private plots of lands, making numerous children run and hide in fear, as they were the “prey” to be hunted. The pedophiles would then hunt the children as they ran and hid in fear – raping and torturing them when they were captured.

The activities described by this woman are so profoundly disturbing they can be almost hard to believe, but Dr. Phil confirms that his team not only investigated Kendall’s case for four months, but also consulted with law enforcement experts who confirmed her story. Dr. Phil said he “100% believes” that she is telling the truth.

In a damning indictment of the power-elite, Kendall described how the pedophile politicians would adorn her in designer clothes, well groomed hair and makeup to give the appearance of class and sophistication. She explains that she and other children were often hung from cages suspended from the ceiling, and that they were often drugged before being transported in the darkness of night.

She claims that she was trafficked to pedophile politicians, and taken to political parties attended by high-level politicians who used her for their personal pleasure. The politicians always took great care to hide what they were doing, according to Kendall, who confirmed that there are many elite U.S. politicians that have been engaged in raping children for many years — a reality that has consistently been covered up and completely hidden from voters.

Perhaps the reason these crimes have been so steadfastly hidden from public view, is that high-level law enforcement officials have also been implicated as being part of the elite pedophile network.

This is just the latest case to emerge in what is now being called #PedoGate. #PedoGate refers to an international pedophile ring composed of politicians and other high profile societal elites.

After President Trump held a press conference last month, in which he detailed his plans to go after the victims of the “human trafficking epidemic,” former U.S. Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney weighed in on the subject, noting that going after child predators will lead to the downfall of both Republicans and Democrats in the United States — as this problem goes all the way to the top.

As the Free Thought Project has consistently pointed out, pedophilia among the global elite is rampant.

In December, we reported on the massive child sex ring that was exposed in Norway. That investigation quickly led to arrests of “51 people, all men, (who) are so far involved in the case. 24 of them come from Hordaland and Sogn og Fjordane. Twenty-six come from other areas of Norway, from Southeast to Finnmark in the north. Among the accused offenders, there is also one Swedish national. Two politicians, one Labor politician from Oslo and a former national Progress Party (FrP) politician from Eastern Norway are involved in the case.” One is also a kindergarten teacher, and four of the 51 arrested were perpetrators in the video evidence collected.

In February, the Free Thought Project reported on the fact that the police chief recently came forward and confirmed that the former Prime Minister of England, Sir Edward Heath, had raped dozens of children. The department also noted how those within the government helped cover up these crimes.

We previously reported on the high-profile elite pedophilia scandal that gripped the U.K. – with its thousands of victims – being unceremoniously swept under the rug, which is indicative of the scope and breadth of the actual problem. In fact, the problem is so rampant in England that officials issued an order last month to stop naming streets and landmarks after local heroes and politicians because they could later be exposed as pedophiles.

In the case of the U.K. Inquiry, historical abuse by politically connected elites, celebrities, and politicians was brought to light — with an official inquiry being started — only to have the inquiry “crumble” after heavy pressure was exerted by highly placed power brokers within the U.K. establishment.

This was almost the exact same scenario as what took place in the United States in what became known as the Franklin child sex ring coverup — which involved high level Republicans during the George H.W. Bush administration. Once the FBI took over the investigation from state authorities, it turned into a witch hunt to persecute the child victims – going so far as to charge them with perjury in a successful attempt to scare the other 70+ victims to recant their testimony regarding the child sex ring.

While the story received a small measure of newspaper coverage, there was a complete blackout of the scandal by the mass media, thus most Americans have never heard about this scandal that reached all the way to the White House.

Domestically, there are relatively few high-level arrests, as anytime ‘the elite’ are mentioned alongside the term ‘pedophile,’ the Praetorian guard, aka the corporate media, shout down all those who dare pose any questions about those in power abusing the most vulnerable among us.

For example former U.S. Speaker of the House of Representatives, Dennis Hastert, a known serial child rapist, was never charged for his numerous crimes against children, which the FBI knew about, and had evidence of, for over a decade.

According to FBI whistleblower Sibel Edmonds:

Since 1996 the FBI has had tons of information on Hastert which was gathered in Chicago by the FBI’s Chicago Field Office. The incriminating criminal evidence in those files range from bribery, extortion, fraud, money laundering and embezzlement, to sexual crimes against minors and participation in foreign-operated drug operations.

Since 1997 the FBI has had much hard evidence on Hastert gathered by the FBI’s Washington Field Office. The documented deeds range from espionage to foreign bribery.

But that’s not all. The FBI also has had hard data on Hastert’s sexual violations outside the United States. The involved countries include Vietnam, Thailand, Turkey and Morocco, among others. This also included sexual favors as means of foreign bribery. Interestingly, the CIA had been documenting those sexual activities for many years, and not only on Hastert but on many others; elected and appointed.

So, when corporate media tells you #PizzaGate is fake news and that investigating whether Denny Hastert’s good friend, John Podesta, is involved in some way with pedophilia – given his close friendship with Hastert, proclivity for strange art featuring nude children and strange code words found in his leaked emails — it shouldn’t be shouted down as “fake news,” but investigated instead.

It seems that American politicians and their political cronies are virtually untouchable in the ivory towers of government. Since January of 2017 over 1,500 pedophiles and human traffickers have been arrested. However, the power-elite operating these child sexual slavery rings have not been among them… yet.

Here are the YouTube videos embedded in the article:

Woman Claims Parents Sold Her To An International Sex Trafficking Organization – At Birth – The Dr. Phil Show

Woman Claims Parents Sold Her To Sex Trafficker And Said ‘It Was The Best Thing For Me’    – The Dr. Phil Show

Reported Human Trafficking Survivor Claims She Was Forced To Have Sex Before She Could Talk – The Dr. Phil Show

Why A Reported Survivor Of Sex Trafficking Claims She Was ‘Allowed’ To Get Pregnant Multiple Times – The Dr. Phil Show

Reported Survivor Of Human Trafficking Ring Claims Some Clients ‘Would Buy Us Just To Hunt Us’ – The Dr. Phil Show

Dr Phil - March 21, 2017 - Child Trafficking Victim Comes Forward – The Silentist (full show, 42 min)

I’m going to spread this to some anti-map blogs.

@midoryia-against-pedophiles @antimapyoosung @antimap @anti-map-and-pedophile @antimapprincess

Please share this guys.

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.

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!!

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.

The characterization was spot on as well, none of the dialogue felt out of character, and all in all, it was delight to read.

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.

And roman and logans friendship is adorable. Roman knowing logans patients and like being friends with them is so sweet and nice.