#-attacks him with a belt sander- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years ago

Text

Protected

Prompts: If prompts are open still, can I request a follow up to Protector? Like some fluffy aftermath or the others comforting Virgil after a nightmare? Love your work!!! - anon

I request a sanders side fic with the tag "comfort no hurt." (No pressure I just thought it would be funny) - anon

if you're still taking requests, would you be interested in writing a sequel to Protecter with Virgil learning about the other's magic? - anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: nightmares, panic attack

Pairings: DLAMPR

Word Count: 6716

Virgil has rules when it comes to interacting with magic users. First, if someone is a magic user, find the quickest and politest way to exit conversation with them as fast as you can. Second, if you have to ask for a favor from the magic user, ensure that you name your price beforehand. Third, if you find that you’ve pissed off a magic user, don’t.

Just fucking don’t.

It’s worked out well for him so far, he’s been able to keep most of the magic users he’s come up against on the friendly side, if not been overlooked entirely. In some ways, he prefers that. Now and then there are…exceptions to the rule, but those are few and far between, and getting rarer.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep himself well-stocked. You don’t have to be a magic user to know basic precautions you should take. He keeps himself on good terms with Viseyne in the town nearby, the apothecary. Brings her the plants he can grow in the richer soil outside of the farmland and she keeps him supplied with the basics. Not enough to cast any spells, not enough to set off any warnings, just enough to keep his head above water for a split-second longer. He needs to go make another trip to her, he’s almost out of moonsleek scales.

He sighs, pushing himself back from the table as he grabs his hunting knife to slip into his belt. He pulls on his coat and makes to go out the door, pausing when he sees the rain.

“Damnit.”

It’s not the worse thing in the world to make the walk in the rain, but it does make his boots squeak.

The water keeps rising. His ankles are chained tightly to the stone wall, he reaches and reaches—

“Nope,” Virgil mutters, squeezing his eyes shut, “not today. You get back.”

He wraps his hand around the warm, dry wood of the door and breathes, tracing the grooves with his fingers until he can open his eyes. He tilts his head back, letting out a long slow breath and rolling his shoulders a few times.

“Alright,” he mutters, grabbing the pouches, “let’s get this over with.”

He opens the door and pauses, not expecting the figure on his doorstep.

“Uh…can I help you?”

“Virgil,” they say, turning around and oh shit, it’s one of them. Logan—that’s right, this one’s Logan, smiles at him. “I was wondering when you’d come outside.”

“Uh…” Not now, gay panic! “I, um…what’re you doing here?”

Internally he winces. That’s rude. Never be rude to a magic user.

Luckily, Logan doesn’t seem to take it as rude, simply turning his gaze back to Virgil’s garden.

“I remember you tending to your plants,” he says off-handedly, “I wanted to see how they behaved in the rain.”

“You…” Virgil swallows. “You remember my plants?”

Logan hums. “Your garden is quite spectacular.”

Virgil will be honest, he’s a little grateful for the rain now. The air outside is chilled enough that he can pretend the flush to his cheeks is from that, and not because Logan remembers his plants and thinks his garden is spectacular.

“What do you grow?”

Virgil blinks. “Huh?”

Logan chuckles, gesturing to the plant beds. “What do you grow? You seem to have a wide variety of food and non-foods, do you not try for self-sufficiency farming?”

“No, I get, uh, most of my food I get from the market in town.” Virgil scratches the back of his head. “Some of it I grow to eat. Most of it’s, uh, well…”

Logan furrows his brow, turning to him and tilting his head. “Most of it’s what?”

“Um…”

“Are you alright?”

Virgil swallows. When in doubt, be honest. “I’m trying to decide how much I want to tell you.”

“Oh.” Logan blinks. “Alright.”

“Wait, really?”

Logan nods. “Take your time, I will be admiring your garden.”

And then he just…turns and does that. Huh. Virgil may or may not spend a little too long staring at him before he makes up his mind.

“The soil out here is better for some of the plants the physicians and apothecaries need in town,” he explains, “so I grow them out here and then bring them to the village.”

“How considerate of you.” The low note of approval in Logan’s voice does not make him smile, thank you very much. “Is that where you’re going now?”

“No, uh, none of those are ready to harvest quite yet.” Virgil attaches the pouches to his belt. “I’m going to go collect pillow moss before I visit the apothecary.”

Logan turns, alarm written across his unfairly pretty face. “Apothecary? Are you ill?”

Virgil takes a step back, flattered by the concern. “No, no, I—I just ran out of something I need to go get more of.”

Logan frowns. “Then why do you need pillow moss?”

“To trade.” He shrugs. “Not very wealthy in the realm of gold.”

The frown deepens. “You’ll have to walk to the river and collect it, and you’ll get all wet.”

“That is how rain tends to work, yes.”

“Is there not something else you can trade?” He folds his arms. “What are you out of?”

“Moonsleek scales.”

“Moonsleek—oh goodness,” Logan sighs, “I can get you those. There’s no need for you to go scrambling all over a river.”

Virgil blinks. “Wait, what?”

“How many do you need?” Logan holds out his hand. “I can fill one of the pouches for you.”

Hold up. Back up. Is Logan—Logan is seriously offering to just give him moonsleek scales? From where? His own supply? Or is he offering to go gather them? Either way, no. Not just like that.

“It’s…” Virgil swallows. “I appreciate your offer of generosity, but I am afraid I already have a deal with the apothecary.”

Logan blinks. His face softens a little. “You really are a representation of your profession, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not a member of the fair folk, Virgil,” Logan says, laughing a little, “you don’t have to be so formal.”

Virgil still holds himself a little warily. Fair folk maybe not, but magic user most definitely.

“You can say no,” Logan offers when Virgil doesn’t speak again for a few moments, “I may not understand why you’d rather drench yourself collecting pillow moss, but I will respect it.”

“…no, then.”

Logan sighs. “Well, then I’m going to come with you.”

“Aren’t you going to get all wet too?”

In response, Logan simply smiles and spreads his arms a little.

Only then does Virgil realize that he’s been standing in Virgil’s garden, not under the cover of the roof, and there’s not a single drop of rain on him. The rain seems to coalesce into a sphere around him, a shield.

Magic user, right.

Logan slowly offers him a hand and Virgil watches as the rain veers to avoid it. The little bubble extends as Virgil reaches out and steps down into the garden. He looks around.

“Huh.”

Logan chuckles. “Come on. You can show me where the river is.”

Viseyne is very pleased with the amount of pillow moss Virgil brings and he leaves with his moonsleek scales completely replenished. His boots don’t squeak that night as he takes them off.

———————————

Virgil startles awake and has to forcibly still himself as something scratches against the wall just by his head. A few more seconds of consciousness and he realizes it’s on the outside, not the inside. He sighs, heaving himself out of bed and moving quietly to peer out the window.

There’s a small shadow thrashing about just under the sill. As he watches, it thrashes again, something flailing out and striking the wall.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Virgil mutters, already pulling on his boots and coat, “alright, let’s see what we got here.”

He drops to a crouch as soon as he gets out of the door, blinking to adjust his eyes to the level of darkness outside. He glances around, looking for predators, hunters, anything else moving. He can’t see or hear anything after a few minutes so he takes a deep breath and begins to edge closer to the thrashing mass.

“Easy,” he murmurs under his breath, “easy. I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help.”

He holds his hands up, leaning against the side of the house to make himself look smaller as he gets closer and closer, wary of approaching something he doesn’t know. He keeps up the litany of reassurances and it seems to do the trick. As he nears, the mass begins to settle, no longer thrashing as much, twitching on the ground.

“There you go,” he whispers, finally within arm’s reach, “I’m just gonna take a look. Don’t worry, I won’t touch you without letting you know it’s gonna happen.”

Carefully, one hand on his knife in case something goes wrong, he pulls gently at the fabric around the mass. The mass shudders once more as he guides it away to reveal a wolpertinger fledging, shaking and huddling for warmth.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Virgil murmurs, “what’s the matter? Are you alright? Where’s your mother?”

He looks around. It’s unlikely he’s going to find it, it’s night time and they’re far too close to his house. He bites back a curse, taking his lip between his teeth.

“I don’t want my smell to get all over you,” he says quietly, “but you’re hurt, aren’t you?”

The fledgling huffs pathetically.

“Alright, let’s…let’s get you into the light. I’m going to wrap you back up for a moment, okay? Shh, shh,” he soothes as the fledgling starts to wriggle, “it’s okay, it’s okay, shh…you got this.”

He manages to get them settled on the steps, opening his lantern to let some of the light flicker out onto the wood. The fledgling looks a little calmer now that the light is there, blinking up at Virgil with wide brown eyes.

“Hey, there,” he murmurs, beginning to unwrap the fabric again, “let’s have a look at you.”

The fledgling lets him gently poke and prod, carefully stretching and relaxing the wings. Its fur is soft over its head and its belly but only on one of its sides.

“Can you roll over for me? Very good, there you go.” Virgil muffles a gasp at the sight of the gash on the fledgling’s leg. “Oh, no, what happened to you?”

The fledging huffs again.

“Don’t you worry,” Virgil says, stroking its tummy with his thumb, “I think I can help you with that.”

He glances at the cut. It’s deep enough that it’s bleeding a little sluggishly, but not so deep that the fledgling can’t move it. It probably won’t need stitches, just a wrap and some salve, but everything he needs is inside.

Which means he’ll have to leave the fledgling here. Alone. In the dark with a spotlight on it.

The child’s grip tightens on his pant leg as they cry. “Please, please don’t leave me here.”

His grip tightens on the sword and he—

“That’s quite enough,” Virgil mutters to himself as the fledgling lets out a tiny yelp. He strokes its fur, calming it back down as he takes a few deep breaths. “There we go.”

He glances back at his door. There really is no way for him to get the supplies without leaving the fledgling here, is there?

Footsteps.

He swivels into another crouch, his head pointed toward the direction of the noise, one hand on his knife.

“Virgil? Is that you?”

Virgil blinks. And immediately flushes when Patton’s face splits into a huge grin at the delight of seeing him.

“It is you!” Patton tilts his head to the side. “What’re you doing up so late?”

Virgil swallows. “I could, uh, ask you the same thing.”

In response, Patton holds up a little basket. Small white petals glow from inside. He’s been collecting glowdaisies from the field through the trees. Virgil’s hand slowly leaves the knife. There’s no danger here.

The fledgling chirps, making itself known. Patton gasps, one hand covering his mouth.

“Oh, no! What happened?”

“Dunno.” Virgil looks back down. “Cut its leg somehow. It isn’t too bad, but I need to get my supplies from inside and I can’t exactly just leave it here.”

Patton comes closer, setting down the basket and crouching so he can see. The fledgling lies on its side, breathing heavily as Patton peers at the cut.

He reaches into the basket and takes out one of the petals, folding it in half. Virgil watches, wide-eyed as Patton begins to gently wipe the petal along the fledgling’s leg. The cut closes under the petal as soft glowing streaks replace the blood and dirt in the fur.

The fledgling rolls over, shakes itself a few times, then promptly nuzzles its head into Virgil’s arm.

“Whoa, hey,” Virgil says as Patton chuckles, “I’m not the one that helped you, buddy.”

The fledgling chirps and does it again.

“Okay, okay, you’re welcome.” Virgil pats its head. “Now run off home, okay? It’s not safe out here.”

They watch the fledgling streak off into the darkness. Patton hums, relaxing against the wooden steps.

Shit.

Patton just used magic to help Virgil.

Virgil turns his head slowly to see Patton already smiling at him. He swallows and opens his mouth to say something when Patton reaches up and slowly strokes a thumb across his cheek.

Well, now Virgil’s mouth is dry for a very different reason.

“I think it likes you,” Patton murmurs, smiling at the way Virgil blinks and stammers.

“It’s not good for them to be around people, they’re—the scent will—the others—“

“Relax,” Patton chuckles, “it’ll be fine. It seemed more than happy to get more of your scent on itself at the end, I doubt it risks anything awful.”

Virgil glances away, back in the direction the fledgling ran off. “You think it likes me?”

“I think it’s not the only one.”

And before Virgil can do anything with that, Patton stands up and bids him good evening, the small glow of the basket fading into the woods.

Yeah, Virgil’s gonna have a hard time sleeping for the rest of the night.

———————————

Virgil makes a point of not spending too much time in a tavern.

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the warm food or drink, or even that he despises the smell of so many brews and ales in one place. He doesn’t mind the noise, doesn’t mind the music, or the crowd if the night is right.

It’s the tables.

He can’t blame the tavern owners or barmaids, it’s hard work keeping a place like this running as ship-shape as they do. And he’s not one to talk, he can barely work up the energy to properly clean his own table, let alone the twenty-something there are in the tavern.

But they always feel tacky. His hands stick ever so slightly to the wood. Even when he just rest his arms on them, he can feel his tunic stick slightly as he tries to pull away.

He never can stay in a tavern for very long. Not when he’s not working.

And he isn’t, not tonight. No, tonight one of the villagers got her acceptance to a fancy music school in a big city and they’re throwing her a going-away party. She asked Virgil if he wanted to come, just for a little. He’s never been very good at saying no to children.

So he’s here, nursing a pint of ale, keeping his arms off the table.

It isn’t all bad. The food is good, the wine and spirits are flowing, and no one seems to want to bother him. Sure, they all said their hellos when he came in and a few of them struck up polite conversation, but they know Virgil doesn’t come to the tavern very often, so they’re keeping their distance.

Virgil smiles at the thought into his tankard.

Then something jolts into his table and he looks up.

“Oh, sorry,” someone says, smiling as they take a seat, “didn’t mean to startle you.”

Virgil blinks. He doesn’t recognize this person. They’re not from the village. He’d remember a shawl with blue markings like that. He just takes a long drink from his tankard.

“You’re awfully quiet,” they laugh with the air of someone who has a problem with that, “I haven’t seen you up and about at all.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything.

“I hear you’re the adventurer who lives outside of town,” they say, leaning forward onto one of their hands, “is that true?”

“Who’s asking?”

They laugh. “Oh, you can call me Fremor.”

Virgil nods. “Fremor, then.”

“You’re Virgil, aren’t you?”

“I am.” His hands start to stick to the table. “Do you have a job for me?”

Fremor laughs, trailing a finger along the wood, their skin unsticking. “Of sorts.”

They look up at him again and he tenses. Oh. Oh, it’s this kind of tavern visitor. Virgil swallows and takes another drink.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady, “you would be better off looking elsewhere for it.”

Fremor laughs and it sticks to Virgil’s skin. “Oh, come now, I’m sure you can help me out, can’t you?”

Ale slaps him across the face as the man leers at him. His grip is messy and uncoordinated but the strength in his hands is enough to—

“I believe I’ve said no,” Virgil grits out, trying to remain polite and calm his racing heart at the same time, “now, please, I’d like to be left alone.”

Fremor pouts, leaning closer. “Come on, why can’t you—“

“I believe,” a smooth voice cuts in, “that the gentleman has asked to be left alone.”

Virgil’s head jerks up and his mouth drops open.

Janus stands there, looking way too immaculate for this tavern as he raises an eyebrow at Fremor. Fremor glances at Virgil one last time before they get up and leave, vanishing back into the crowd. Janus watches them go before turning to Virgil, his expression softening slightly.

“Hello,” he says as the noise of the tavern fades, leaving just the two of them in a quiet bubble, “had they been bothering you long?”

Virgil shakes his head, hand still tight around the tankard. Janus smiles.

“Good.”

“Why, uh, why’re you here?”

Janus waves a hand. “Oh, I was passing through, heard the ruckus. Thought I’d at least check to see what was going on.”

…sure.

Janus winks and gestures to the seat next to Virgil. “May I?”

“Uh, yeah, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Janus sits with all the dignity and grace of a noble as Virgil shuffles over a little more.

“Did you…need something?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, simply a place to rest.” He gestures around. “It’s a sea of chaos out there if you aren’t careful.”

Virgil has a sneaking suspicion he isn’t just talking about the tavern.

“Besides,” he says, softer this time, “you looked like you needed the help.”

The words wash over him with such warmth it’s as if he physically made Virgil’s shoulders relax. He bows his head for a moment, then lifts it again.

“I appreciate it.”

Janus chuckles. “Logan was right, you do treat us like we’re fair folk.”

That startles Virgil enough to make him turn. “What?”

“You can say ‘thank you,’” Janus murmurs, reaching out to lightly knuckle Virgil’s shoulder, “it won’t kill you.”

“…thank you.”

Janus pats his arm. “See? There you are, nothing to be afraid of.”

Virgil huffs, letting his gaze return to the tabletop. His hands start to stick a little less.

“Why do you treat us like that,” Janus asks softly as Virgil takes a drink, “when you know we aren’t?”

The tankard lands back on the table with a thud. “You’re magic users.”

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “Which means…?”

“In my experience,” Virgil says with a huff, “it’s better to treat all magical peoples with the same level of caution.”

Janus hums, propping his chin on one hand. “Does that not sometimes come off as…rude?”

“By design, no.”

It startles a laugh out of him, which is unfair because he has no right to be this attractive.

“And, uh,” he stammers, trying to cover up the flush to his own cheeks before Janus notices, “they don’t tend to expect much…refinement from my kind anyway.”

“Ah, yes, real rough-tough-save-the-world types, I see.”

Virgil does not choke on his drink, thank you very much, but he does give Janus a look. Janus, of course, doesn’t even flinch because why would he?

“You certainly seem to have attracted your own stream of admirers,” he adds, indicating the direction Fremor vanished to, “so clearly something must be working.”

Now Virgil chokes on his drink. Janus just watches in amusement as he sets the tankard down with a flush.

“Not my type.”

“And what is your type?”

Hold up.

Go back.

Need a moment.

Excuse me?

Virgil blinks. And blinks again. Then slowly turns to look at Janus.

“Are you…flirting with me?”

Janus laughs again, tilting his head. “I’m just trying to learn more about you, Virgil. You don’t talk about yourself that much.”

Virgil blinks at him.

“Besides,” he murmurs, leaning closer, “if I were flirting with you, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

Virgil needs another drink.

———————————

Virgil gets about three paces into the forest proper before he stops. Slowly, he crouches down, making to tie his boot when, really, he’s making sure his knife is still on his belt and his dagger is ready to draw. Breathes slowly…in and out.

The forest is quiet. Only the smallest calls of faraway birds. He breathes in again and lets his head drop.

Teeth. Teeth at his throat. Bark digging into his—

Not now, please.

He breathes out.

His would-be attacker is slammed into a nearby tree with Virgil’s dagger at his throat.

“Ooh,” Remus says, looking far too comfortable with something sharp pressed against his neck, “this is cozy.”

“Re—what the fuck,” Virgil shouts, letting Remus go like he’s been burned, “I could’ve hurt you, don’t do that!”

“Oh, please, I’ve been stabbed before,” Remus says, lazily waving a hand.

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to stab wounds!”

“Maybe you don’t.”

No, Virgil sure as hell doesn’t. He’s got the many late nights of situating himself very carefully on a bedroll to prove it. He swallows the bile in his throat and quickly sheaths the dagger as he crouches on the ground.

He just pinned a magic user to a tree and held a knife to his throat. Holy shit.

He should be asking for forgiveness, he should be running, he should be getting ready to defend himself.

And yet, as he looks up at Remus, still panting, Remus just tilts his head and looks at him.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I just pinned you against a tree,” Virgil manages.

“Yeah, I’m the one that had the stabby thing held against me.” Remus frowns. “Why’re you freaking out?”

“Because you’re a magic user.”

“Uh-huh.” Remus comes over and plops down next to Virgil. “And I’m not gonna use my magic against you.”

Hold on, what?

“I’m not, Virgil,” Remus says, a note of seriousness helping to slow Virgil’s pants, “none of us are.”

“…I’m hesitant to ask why not.”

“Well, first, you haven’t really done anything except help us,” Remus sniffs, flopping down onto his back, “you’re pretty boring.”

Virgil huffs out a laugh at that. When he’s considered boring, that’s how you know you’re in deep shit.

“And second,” Remus continues, lightly swatting Virgil’s leg, “we like you.”

Virgil’s chest stutters a bit. “…and?”

“And that’s that.” Remus sits up and knocks their shoulders together. “I know magic users and adventurers don’t always get along—“

“That might be a slight understatement.”

“—but we can,” he finishes, leaning his head onto Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil shudders a little at the contact. “You’re a good one, Virgil.”

Virgil lets out another huff, letting his head hang. The adrenaline is only now wearing off, helped by the fact that the magic user he just pinned to a tree at knifepoint is currently snuggled against his shoulder.

“So you’re not pissed at me?”

“Huh? No way.” Remus sits up. “That was the most entertaining thing that’s happened to me all week.”

A smile of disbelief comes across Virgil’s face, even if it slowly morphs into a real one as Remus smiles back.

“Did you need something,” he asks as they stand up, “or did you just come and scare the shit out of me for no reason?”

“It was my turn.”

Virgil blinks. “Your what?”

“My turn,” Remus says, already bounding toward the other end of the clearing, “come on, we’re going hunting right?”

“Wait, Remus—“

“Huh?”

“What do you mean your turn?” Virgil follows him warily. “Turn for what?”

Remus slows, turning to let Virgil catch up. “You, uh, you don’t really trust magic users and there’s five of us. We, uh…”

Is Remus…blushing?

“We figured it might be a lot if all of us were to visit each time.”

Oh. That’s…that’s really considerate, actually.

“But!” Remus claps his hands. “It’s my turn again! So, come on, let’s hunt.”

“Thank you.”

Remus waves him off. “I told you, we like you.”

Virgil shakes his head, slowly following. “Should I be worried what happens if you don’t like me anymore?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I do something that makes you not like me anymore.”

Remus turns back to him. “Honestly? At this point, I don’t think you can."

———————————

“I should’ve guessed,” Virgil says as he walks into the clearing by his house to see Roman sitting on a log.

Roman just laughs and stands, coming to meet him. “Perhaps you should’ve.”

He nods toward the trees from where Virgil just came.

“Though I can’t say it wasn’t thrilling to watch you work.”

“The fact that you could see me isn’t exactly how it’s supposed to go.”

“Well, most people aren’t looking the way I do.”

Virgil has to take a second to recover from that. Roman smiles.

“So,” Virgil sighs after a moment, “it’s your turn then?”

Roman hums. “If you’ve got time?”

“Sure,” Virgil says, going back to the house to set down the goods from the village, “it’s not like I have much of anything else to do.”

“That’s right.” Roman follows him in, leaning against the doorpost as Virgil starts to put things away. “You’ve never had this long of a break, have you?”

Virgil’s hands slow as they close the cabinets. “What do you mean?”

Roman nods to the shelf where his sword and pack are. “You’ve not had a task in a while. Even from the villagers.”

Virgil frowns. “And you would know this…how?”

“I do talk to people, you know, I don’t just exist in some nebulous world where my only interactions are with you and the others.”

Alright, that’s fair enough. Virgil allows himself a self-deprecating laugh as he finishes packing everything away. He turns to see Roman watching him with a fond smile. It…does something.

“Seriously, though,” Roman says, “I can’t imagine that all this…mundanity is as pleasant as you make it seem.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little quiet.”

“I never said there was,” he replies without missing a beat, “but there’s also nothing wrong with admitting you’re bored.”

Is he bored?

Sure, maybe toiling day after day in his garden is getting a little rote, and it never hurts to get better exercise than just walking from here to wherever he needs to go and back.

And it is true that the, uh, the restless voices in his head get more restless when there’s nothing else to do. That happened earlier on his walk. He’d had to rest against a tree stump for a moment until he could keep walking.

“…maybe.”

Roman’s smile is more than worth the slight ding to his pride. He pushes off the doorframe, motioning for Virgil to follow.

“Tell me,” he calls as he walks back to the log he’d been sitting on when Virgil arrived, “when was the last time you sparred with someone?”

Virgil blinks. “It’s been a while.”

Roman pulls out two sparring swords, where did he even get those? He tosses one to Virgil who just manages to catch it, if only with the reflexes honed over years of having to have them. He looks back up at Roman.

“You want me to spar with you?”

“I do.” Roman gets into a starting stance. “Come on, then, show me what you’ve got.”

Virgil blinks. “Roman—“

He brings the sword up just in time to block Roman’s strike.

“I really don’t—“

Another clack of the wood as Roman advances.

“Listen—“

But Roman isn’t listening. No, he’s—this is definitely a sparring match. Virgil adjusts his grip and brings the sword up, quick steps to avoid Roman’s attacks. He doesn’t try and attack back, just blocks the blows as they come.

“Come on, now,” Roman teases, not winded at all, “surely that can’t be all of it?”

“All of what?”

“Your supposed skill with a sword.” Next series: attack, defend, attack stronger, defend faster. “Are you all bark and no bite?”

Virgil huffs, quickly ducking a slash and lightly knocking Roman’s knee with the butt of the sword. “When have I ever barked?”

Roman laughs. “What would you call that, then? Dirty trick.”

“Who cares about dirty when you’re trying to survive?” Virgil blocks another blow, the trailing sabers crossed between their faces. “Doesn’t matter about politeness when one of you is dead.”

Roman hums, lowering his sword. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you won’t kill me, hmm?”

“I’m not sure if I could.”

They rest for a moment, Roman tilting his head. “Then it’s a good thing we won’t have to find out.”

“I agree.”

Roman smiles. “Well,” he says, lifting the sword, “shall we?”

“…sure.”

The smile sharpens. “Wonderful.”

Virgil barely has time to blink before he’s on the defensive again. Roman is good. Virgil’s had to fight a lot in his years of doing what he does, and yeah, Roman’s good. He barely has time to think as they whirl around each other, adjusting for the purpose of not actually trying to kill each other but not dialing back their moves either.

“That’s what I was expecting,” Roman pants when Virgil successfully disarms him for the fourth time in a row, “you’re magnificent.”

Virgil lets out a breath, reaching down to pull him to his feet. “You learn or you don’t.”

“Come, now, don’t sell yourself short,” he teases, patting Virgil’s cheek and laughing at his flustered face, “I’ve never seen someone go from dashing knight to blushing courtesan so quickly.”

“Oh, please, I’m hardly a courtesan.”

“And yet you don’t deny being a knight.”

Virgil rolls his eyes to hide how bubbly that comment makes him as they ready themselves to go again. He’s never liked being compared to knights, their strange obsession with hypocritical morals and self-sacrificing making the compliment seem more like an insult.

And yet…not when Roman did it.

“Am I boring you?”

Virgil blinks, dodging a blow. “Huh?”

“You seem a little lost, there,” Roman says as he takes a swipe at Virgil’s side, “is something distracting you?”

“Believe me,” he says, taking a swipe of his own, “if I would be distracted by anything here, it’d be your pretty face.”

Roman stumbles and only Virgil’s grip around his wrist keeps him from falling face-first onto the dirt.

Huh.

“Oh, come on,” he says as Roman turns to him, expressionless, “it’s can’t be that no one’s ever told you that you’re attractive, I can’t really imagine you being shy—“

Roman takes all of two seconds to jump up and strike. Virgil brings the sparring sword up to defend against it only for Roman’s to run sharply over the back of his knuckles, just hard enough to make him lose his hold as something pushes powerfully against his chest.

Virgil’s knocked swiftly onto his back, letting out a groan as he lifts himself up onto his elbow only to be stopped mid-rise by Roman’s sword aimed at his chest. He lifts his head and the tip follows his movement, raising to level at his face. It brushes the hair from his forehead without grazing his skin.

Virgil looks up without moving an inch and his breath catches in his throat.

Roman stands in front of him, sword still pointed at his face. He’s seen looks like that before, at courts, at taverns, directed at many people. Never before has he had half-lidded eyes, a crooked smirk, and that kind of stare directed at him. The light falls in the clearing, just enough to make Roman glow.

The tip of the sword moves to gently tilt Virgil’s chin up, Roman’s gaze boring directly into Virgil’s.

“Pretty little knight,” Roman murmurs, and he winks.

Virgil’s elbow gives out and he crashes back to the ground. His chest feels tight. His stomach feels weird.

Roman chuckles as he lowers the sword, one hand giving lifting in a lazy salute as he turns to walk away.

Virgil takes a long time to get up from the ground.

———————————

Nightmares, Virgil has decided long ago, are the fucking worst.

It’s another bad one. He’s caught in a mess of memories that weave tighter, screams becoming screams becoming screams until his head pounds and his hands shake and everyone dies.

He comes to shaking, a scream caught in his throat by the many years he learned how to be quiet and not draw attention to himself in a forest somewhere. He bites back a curse as he scrubs his hands over his face. Ugh.

There’s a knock on the door.

Panic ices in his veins, cooling to pure solid awareness as he slides slowly out of bed, dagger tucked into his waistband. He carefully peers through to see what it is.

And promptly freezes when he sees all five of them.

“Virgil?” Logan knocks softly on the door again. “Virgil, can we come in?”

“I��m gonna break the door down.”

“No, Remus, you are not going to break the door down.”

Virgil doesn’t want his door broken down. He opens it cautiously.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Patton mumbles, reaching out for him, “you’re okay.”

“Uh—“

He only has a few seconds to look around at them to ask what’s going on before Patton’s arms wrap completely around him and oh.

When…when was the last time Virgil was hugged?

It’s been a while.

“Patton,” he hears someone chide, “let us get in before we make him fall over.”

“Fine.”

Virgil has to stifle a noise as Patton pulls away, only for him to be hushed as they spill inside.

“What—why—huh?”

“Something was wrong,” Logan says softly, guiding Virgil back to sit on his bed, “we felt it. You were upset.”

“I had a nightmare,” he replies automatically, only to frown. “Wait, what do you mean you felt it?”

“This.” Janus reaches out and lightly taps Virgil’s chest. “We felt that.”

“You—“ Virgil shies away from his touch— “did you put a spell on me?”

“No, no,” Paton says, raising his hands, “we’d never do that, not without your consent. No, what Janus is talking about is the residual curse energy.”

“The what?”

“Easy,” Logan soothes, gently rubbing Virgil’s back, “give it a moment. It’s nothing to be afraid of—shh, shh, it isn’t, just take a moment, alright?”

Virgil tries. He tries to take a moment, but he’s slightly overwhelmed at the moment. Be it the nightmare, the fact that there are five magic users in his house that are talking about curse energy, or the fact that there are five really pretty people in his house.

You pick.

“…curse energy?”

Remus taps his own chest. “When we broke the curse—or when you helped us break the curse, the magic had to go somewhere. It’s one of the rules. It can’t really just vanish.”

Virgil nods. Sure.

“Some of it—“ he gestures around— “went into us.”

“And some,” Janus says, gently patting Virgil’s chest again, “went into you.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Does…” Virgil swallows and looks up at them weakly. “Does that mean I’m…tied to you five?”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so disappointed,” Janus teases, lightly flicking his chest, “but yes.”

“Shh, shh,” Logan hushes when Virgil lets out a frustrated noise, “it’s okay. It’s okay, the magic doesn’t really do anything. It’s just there, it just…means we have a little more awareness of you.”

“We can’t use it to do anything, Virgil,” Patton continues, sitting on the bed next to him, “I promise.”

Virgil just wants a break. He wants to not have to worry about absolutely everything for one goddamn second.

And as soon as that thought crosses his mind, a warm hand slots gently under his chin and a kiss is pressed to his forehead.

“Let us take care of you,” Roman whispers, “please?”

Fuck, he said please.

He’s tired of being the protector tonight.

Patton wraps him up again as soon as he nods, Logan’s hand rubbing his back as they lie him down. Janus and Remus sit near the foot of the bed, one watching the window, the other the door. Roman cards his hand through Virgil’s hair, murmuring softly as Virgil’s eyes begin to grow heavy again.

“What…what magic is this?”

Roman chuckles. “No magic, my friend, just touch.”

“Why…why does it feel like this?”

“You haven’t been touched in a long time,” Logan says, rubbing his back a little more firmly to demonstrate, “you’re not used to it.”

Unbidden tears spring to the corners of his eyes as their gentle touches begin to overwhelm him. Patton lets out a soft noise, shifting so Virgil can bury his head in his shoulder.

“You can put down your strength,” Logan murmurs, “we’re here with you in your home, it’s alright.”

It’s been so long. So long since Virgil didn’t have to be aware all the time. Even here, when he’s not out on a task, he has to be on guard. He has to wait with the knife within arm’s reach and be tense and it’s so, so much.

Hands. Warm hands on his arm.

“Shh, shh,” Roman murmurs as Virgil fidgets a little, “it’s okay, I’m just going to borrow this.”

He drapes Virgil’s arm carefully over his lap and begins to run his fingers lightly up and down the length of it. It’s barely firm enough to raise goosebumps to the skin and yet he shivers, but not daring to pull his arm back.

“Just relax, it’s okay,” Roman says quietly, “focus on this, for me?”

“Hn?”

“Close your eyes, focus on this. Try and sleep, if you want.”

He continues to run his hand up and down, up and down. Virgil’s eyes follow it slowly. He can focus on this. Just this. Just on the slight tickle of Roman’s fingers on his arm. Just on the soft haze of light coming from the lantern. Just on the warmth of Logan’s hand in his hair. Just on the solid weight of Patton’s arms around him. Just on Janus and Remus keeping watch.

Just on being safe and warm, here. Just on the five magic users that won’t use their magic against him. Just on the friends he has here that will keep him safe. Just on not being the protector right now.

Just on Roman’s fingers going up and down, up and down.

Virgil drifts slowly off to sleep.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer @insanitori @warcats-cat

if you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders #patton sanders

169 notes · View notes

askfacultystaff · 3 years ago

Note

Well Rama, what do you think of The Croods?

Rama: One word: Adventurous! Because this is great movie i watched as a little kid, and everything is plain adventurous!

The Croods was released on the 22nd of March (American release date) and the 28th of March (Australian released date). It was produced by DreamWorks Animation SKG and distributed by 20th Century Fox, it is one of DreamWorks Animation's computer animated movies.

Eep (Emma Stone) is a girl in a family of Neanderthal Cavemen (Homo sapiens neanderthalensis) living and hunting in pre-historic times, talking about how her family is one of the few to survive, mainly due to the strict rules of her overprotective father, Grug (Nicolas Cage). In their cave home, Grug tells a story to the family, which includes his wife Ugga (Catherine Keener), his daughter Sandy (Randy Thom), his son Thunk (Clark Duke), and his mother-in-law Gran (Cloris Leachman) with a character who mirrors Eep's curious nature. He uses this story to warn the family that exploration and 'new things' pose a threat to their survival, and says to never not be afraid. This irritates the bored and adventurous Eep, and when the family falls asleep after dark, she ignores her father's advice and leaves the cave when she sees a light moving outside. Seeking the light's source, she meets Guy. Guy is a cro-magnon and is afraid of the dark. He gives Eep a shell to call him when Eep refuses to leave with him because of the end of the world. Grug comes and brings Eep back to the cave after they barely escaped from a Bear Owl and got Eep grounded for leaving the cave. the earth quake erupts and destorys the cave and the croods are forced to jump off a cliff to escape a bear owl.

The Croods encounter a "Macawnivore" (a large, macaw-colored machairodont later called 'Chunky') and attacked by a swarm of "Piranhakeets" (deadly red-furred, piranha-like birds). In panic, Eep sounds a horn similar to that which Guy gave her. Guy hears this and rushes to her. Thinking quickly, he creates a torch of fire, which scares the birds away. The other Croods are captivated by the fire, having never seen it before. They steal Guy's torch and accidentally set the land around them in flames. Some giant corn is also lit, which rockets up to the sky, prompting a display of fireworks. Popcorn then falls on them.

During the next day, Guy attempts to run away but then gets caught by Eep. After being told by Gran that the family needed his fire, Grug bottles him in a hollow log to carry him in, then suggests that they take solitude in the cave of a nearby mountain mentioned by Guy. Guy is forcibly persuaded to lead the way and learns of the Croods' way of living, which he thinks of as unusual. After an unsuccessful hunting attempt, Guy, his 'pet' sloth, Belt (Chris Sanders), and Eep build a puppet to fool and lure a Turkey Fish. After the attempt failed, Eep saves Grug from running towards the trap Guy and her set, whilst trying to Eep. The Turkey Fish gets going into the sky and falls to its doom. After that, the family greedily devours the Turkey Fish while Guy terrifyingly watches them while eating his food like a 'proper human'. Grug then tells another of his morale-lowering tales, this time mirroring the events of their day. Guy then tells a story of his own about a paradise he nicknames "Tomorrow".

The next day, the family reaches a path coated in spiked rocks. A freed Guy presents one of his inventions called shoes. He makes some out of all the resources he can find for each family member. This gains him some respect from the others except for Grug, who feels jealous of Guy's cleverness. During the journey however, Grug gets unlucky while attempting to break Guy and Eep up. After Guy's ideas help the Croods on their journey, the family members gain something. Ugga, Gran, and Sandy have their first idea to get past carnivorous plants by hiding under flower heads as they pass, Thunk encounters a Crocopup he calls Douglas, and Eep and Guy grow closer while Grug is stranded in a ravine, forcing Ugga to go back for him. The next day, Grug shows the others some of his ideas (like a snapshot that involves the family being slammed with a flat rock), which fail and humiliate him. They soon reach the mountain, where Grug is unable to convince the family that settling in a nearby cave is a better option. Angry, he attacks Guy. The two become stuck in tar and Guy reveals his family died drowning in it and their last words inspired his traditions of "Tomorrow." Grug has a change of heart towards Guy, and he and Guy trick Chunky into freeing them by pretending to be a female "Macawnivore" in trouble.

As they are about to reach their destination, an earthquake opens a deep ravine in their path. Grug throws each of them across the gap and reconciles with Eep while creating the first hug with her. Grug then throws her across the ravine and is left behind. He takes shelter in a cave and makes a torch. After seeing a blank rock face, he paints a large cave-drawing of the Croods and Guy together. He then encounters Chunky, who attacks him until Grug's torch is accidentally blown out, panicking them both. The newly reformed Chunky lies near Grug, who has an idea. He uses a skeleton carried by the Piranhakeets to transport himself, Chunky, Douglas, and several other animals across the ravine, barely escaping the oncoming "end" destruction. He and the rest of the family settle down in a paradise-like environment. Grug becomes less protective, letting the family be more adventurous and risk-taking, thus bringing happiness to them all.

And that's how the movie is, if there's any special movie involving The Croods, i'm going to watch it. Also, people said it will be The Croods: A New Age, which it already released on November 25, 2020. I can't wait to watch every single best movies from companies! ^_^

Rating: 10/10. (Best movie).

#rama raid #education and learning #basically basics #the croods #positive review #opinion tw #review time #ask

16 notes · View notes

ralfmaximus · 4 years ago

Text

“Sir, you can’t come in here.” She was polite but firm, tapping the sign next to the door. “This is the Near Death Experiencers Conference. You, sir, are clearly--”

“Dead?”

Her eyes bored into mine. It became a mite uncomfortable.

“So, uh” I tried, “where should I go?”

She shrugged theatrically. “I dunno! Back to your body? A spinning tunnel of light? Into the arms of dear old dead grandma? How should I know?”

An elderly man wearing about 15 pounds of Native American jewelry pushed past us into the Conference. I pointed. “What about him?”

She tapped the sign again. “NEAR death. Near death. What are you missing here??”

That’s when the uncomfortable tugging at my internal organs began. All of them, simultaneously. It felt like somebody had attached a thread to every millimeter of my body and was testing the connection by pulling on the string gently.

She smiled. “There you go,” she dopplered away from me. “There’s your answer...”

The tugging became insistent became impossible to defy became an irresistible force dragging me WHAM back into my body. I sat up.

“Whoa!” the EMT yelped, gloved hand on my chest. “Take it easy there bud, we need you to lie still.”

My eyes defocused, focused, refocused: the twisted smoking remains of my bike, my cool full-face helmet with a huge jagged chunk taken out of the top, the front like somebody had attacked it with a belt sander. I glanced at my left wrist where my watch bizarrely remained perfect, ticking along. I cleared my throat experimentally.

“Buddy, you need to--” the EMT pushed on my chest gently, trying to get me to lay back down.

“Hurry up,” I told him. “I got a conference I gotta get to.”

#me #writing #july 2021

26 notes · View notes

arya-skywalker · 4 years ago

Text

Flying Free (Sanders Sides Fanfic)

Summary: Virgil is abducted by aliens and tossed into a cell with four alien children— who (after getting over their fear of the deathworlder) imprint on him as a parental figure. For better or worse, he’s stuck with them.

Notes: Fic in exchange for art by the amazing @alicat54c ! Inspired by a brainstorm with alicat and @droidofmay

There are some things I definitely would have expanded on if I had the time. Perhaps I’ll write a sequel at some point. But overall I’m happy with how it came out!

TW: imprisonment, kidnapping, brief mention of gross food, violence

AO3 Link

———

Virgil hissed and thrashed as he was shoved down the hall, struggling blindly against his captors. Abducted by aliens. Again. That couldn’t be good.

“Stop fight! Stop fight!” The alien guards snapped in broken Galactic Basic. At least, that’s all Virgil understood between gargles and growls. “New home!”

New home.... Virgil stopped fighting to process. New home.... new cell? New owner?

The guards practically threw him into the cell. “Eat feathered one. Not others. Clear?” One said, removing the bag over Virgil’s head and quickly jumping out of biting range.

Virgil blinked, recoiling from the sudden bright light. He nodded once, since that was easier than arguing that he didn’t want to eat anyone.

The guards left the cell and locked the door. His cuffs beeped, disabling the magnet-electric-whatever connecting them to allow him to move.

Suddenly a bright blue puffball launched itself at Virgil and clung to his shirt.

Virgil reared back, about to throw it back across the room— but it was alive. It was chittering and purring and nuzzling him. Then it looked up at him with the biggest eyes Virgil had ever seen. “Holy shit it’s a baby,” Virgil breathed, carefully reaching up to stroke the baby’s fluffy feathers. He said in careful basic, “I will not hurt you.”

He looked up at the other alien prisoners— the closest one being a dark blue lizard-like creature, about 3 feet tall, with humanoid hands; in the corner were two smaller finned creatures, which started pulsing with painfully-bright lights as soon as he looked in their direction. Virgil covered his eyes with a hiss. “Stop light! Stop with the lights! Lights off!”

The aliens said something in another language, and a moment later the lights stopped. Virgil grimaced and moved to sit on the floor, back to a wall, carefully cradling the blue puffball.

The lizard moved closer. “You speak basic?” It asked.

Virgil shrugged. “A little. Enough,” he said. He’d never formally learned the language, but after a few years being tossed around the universe he picked up a decent amount.

“I am Logan. That is Patton. There, Roman and Remus,” the lizard said, pointing to himself, then the blue puffball, then the red finned one, then the green finned one.

“Virgil,” he said, pointing to himself.

Logan nodded slowly. “You will not hurt us?”

“No. No hurt,” Virgil said quickly. “I do not want to fight.”

Logan nodded. “That is greatly appreciated, thank you.”

~*~

Logan watched the deathworlder sleep, Patton still peacefully cradled in his arms. “I do not think he means us any harm,” he whispered to the twins in the language of their homeworld.

“He’s a deathworlder!” Roman hissed, bright red swirls pulsing on his skin. “Monster!”

“Patton is attached to him. Physically and emotionally. He provides warmth,” Logan said. “If he were truly a monster, he would not be so gentle.”

“I’m gonna poke him,” Remus said after a moment, edging closer. “He looks poke-able.”

“Are you insane?” Roman tackled him. “He’ll kill you! He’ll kill all of us and eat us!”

The twins wrestled each other, pulsing and keening and hissing. Logan sighed.

The deathworlder stirred and groaned.

“Roman, Remus, please desist. I believe you are upsetting the deathworlder’s sleep cycles,” Logan said.

Roman suddenly let go and hopped away, pulsing in panic.

Remus took the opportunity to run at the deathworlder and poke his face.

The deathworlder jerked awake and recoiled with what seemed to be a swear-word in his native tongue. “What?” he snarled in basic.

Remus slithered back to the corner, laughing.

“Remus wanted to poke you. He is rather impulsive. Our apologies for disrupting your sleep,” Logan replied.

The deathworlder blinked. “It was a...” He floundered for a moment, searching for the word. “... joke? Not attack?”

“Not attack. I assure you he meant no harm.”

The deathworlder made a strange gesture with his hand that somehow seemed obscene, but not violent.

Remus laughed again.

~*~

Some time later, the door opened. Guards slid bowls of grey slop towards the aliens. One looked at Virgil and pointed to Patton. “Why not eat?”

Virgil bared his teeth, holding Patton protectively. “This is baby. I do not eat children.”

The guard stared at him. “Easy prey. Eat!”

“No. Will not eat.” Virgil glared back. “If you touch him, I eat you.” He wouldn’t, of course. Eating sentient beings in general was not something he wanted to do.

The guards argued amongst each other in growls, then left without further issue.

Virgil sagged against the wall and looked back at Patton, stroking his fluff gently. “You okay, little guy?”

Patton chirped and nuzzled him.

Logan cleared his throat. “We can share. I do not eat much,” he offered.

Virgil glanced at the slop and shook his head. “No need, thanks.”

“You need to keep up your strength. Patton will die if you die.”

“Great...” Virgil sighed, glanced at the little puffball, then moved to sit next to Logan. “You eat something too.”

“This is agreeable.”

The slop was disgusting. But at least it was something. And it didn’t seem to be drugged.

~*~

Roman was.... singing. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Like whale singing mixed with bird calls. Soft colors swirled across his fins, calming, hypnotic...

Virgil shook his head to clear it, looking away before he could get pulled in. But it still sounded nice.

Once the song faded, Virgil applauded lightly, making sure not to be too loud. “Logan, please tell Roman that was beautiful,” he said, smiling encouragingly.

Logan translated, and Roman trilled in response, flapping his fins.

~*~

The cell door opened, and a human kid was shoved inside, crying. The door was quickly locked again. Virgil cursed under his breath, then crouched down next to the kid. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he said, alternating between English and Basic in hopes of getting the message across.

“Want Jan!” The kid sobbed.

English. Okay, he could work with this. Hopefully. “Jan’s not here right now, but no one in this cell is gonna hurt you, promise,” Virgil said gently.

The kid threw himself into Virgil’s arms, hugging tightly. Patton squeaked in protest and squirmed to Virgil’s head, clinging to his hair. Virgil sighed and hugged the kid, trying not to be too awkward. Once the sobs subsided, Virgil cleared his throat and asked, “What’s your name, kid? I’m Virgil.”

“Thomas,” he said, face still smooshed against Virgil’s chest.

“Okay, Thomas. I’m gonna keep you safe, alright?”

Thomas nodded and sniffled. “Jan will come.”

“Sure, whatever you say, kid,” Virgil muttered, doubting this Jan was even alive. “You wanna meet the others?”

Thomas smiled shyly and nodded, pulling away just enough to sit on the floor.

“Alright. This is Patton....” Virgil pointed the puffball on his head.

Thomas gasped. “He’s so cute! Can I pet him?”

Virgil hesitated. “He’s a baby. You’ll be careful?”

Thomas nodded. “Promise!”

“Okay.... Go ahead, then. Gently.”

Thomas giggled and stood, reaching up to pet the puffball and squealing in delight. Patton chirped in response.

Virgil waited for Thomas to stop, then pointed to the lizard. “That’s Logan. He can speak basic too.” He pointed to the twins. “Roman and Remus. They can’t really talk, at least not from what I can see, but they change colors sometimes, and sing.”

Thomas waved shyly. “Hi,” he said.

Virgil briefly switched to basic, addressing Logan, “This is Thomas. He is... young one. Little. Harmless.”

Logan nodded, then said something to the twins in their language, who trilled and flapped their fins in greeting. A far warmer welcome than Virgil had received, but that was fine.

~*~

Virgil suddenly awoke to alarms blaring. He lurched to his feet, careful not to drop Patton. “What’s going on?”

Logan didn’t respond, frozen in fear. The twins were flashing in panic.

“Release all humans to me or I will kill every single non-human on this blasted ship!” The message repeated in English, Galactic Basic, and a handful of other languages Virgil didn’t recognize. Gunshots and screams punctuated each iteration.

“It’s Jan! He’s coming!” Thomas cheered in English, waddling to the locked door. “Jan! I’m in here! Help!”

“Woah, hey, be careful! How do you know it’s your friend?” Virgil grabbed the back of Thomas’s shirt, pulling him away from the door. “It could be a terrorist or he could just sell us again or—“

“I know Jan’s voice. He’s coming to save us,” Thomas said stubbornly.

Virgil groaned. Great. Thomas’s best friend was a terrorist. That’s just what they needed.

The screams grew closer and suddenly the door was blasted open. A human stood in the opening, guns still smoking and belt bedecked with more weapons then Virgil could count. His face was tattooed with scales. “Thomas! There you are, come with me,” he said in English.

Thomas squirmed free and ran over to the other human, giggling and hugging his legs. “Jan! I made friends!”

Virgil moved to stand in front of the other kids. “Don’t hurt them. They’re innocent,” he said.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you’re domesticated.” Jan rolled his eyes.

Virgil clenched his jaw. “I’m not, but the little ones here imprinted on me. They are convinced I am their parental figure, and I’d hate to let them down.”

“Jan! We gotta take them with us! Please please please?” Thomas begged.

Jan looked down at him and sighed. “Really? All of them?”

“Yes all of them! They’re my friends!”

“Sweetie you’ve only been gone for a week. You don’t know them.”

“Yes I do! They’re kids like me and they’re my friends!”

Jan shook his head. “We can’t trust them.”

“I do!”

An alien guard moved towards them. “Hey, behind you!” Virgil snapped.

Jan shot without even looking, effortlessly killing the alien. “Thanks, but I totally knew it was there.”

Thomas pouted up at him. “I’m not leaving without them!”

Jan rolled his eyes. “Oh fine, we don’t have time to argue. Go on, tell your babies we’re leaving.”

Virgil blushed slightly and glanced back at the other kids. “Uh... we’re going. This human is helping us. Friend,” he said in basic.

Logan frowned. “You are certain we can trust him?”

“Thomas trusts him. That’s gonna have to be good enough,” Virgil replied.

Logan hesitated for a moment, looking at Jan suspiciously, then turned to the twins and said something in another language. They flashed and pulsed.

“What are they doing? Stop them!” Jan hissed in basic.

Virgil winced. “Tell them they’re hurting us, please,” he added. “Tell them this human is a friend.”

Logan said something else and eventually the twins seemed to relax.

Jan glared at the twins. “They better not do that again.”

“They will try not to,” Logan said. “It is a stress response. This is stressful.”

“Give me a gun, or a knife, or something,” Virgil said to Jan. “Let me help.”

“He’s good,” Thomas whispered, still clinging to Jan’s legs.

Jan snarled and shoved a blaster at Virgil. “Take it! We don’t have all day, so move it!”

Virgil awkwardly accepted the blaster, then glanced down at Thomas. “Hey, do you wanna carry Patton? Keep him safe for me until we get off this ship?” he asked in English.

Thomas’s eyes widened and he eagerly nodded, holding out his hands. Virgil smiled wanly and carefully extracted Patton, handing him over gently. Luckily they seemed to get along.

Then they were off. Janus in the lead, Thomas right behind him, Logan carrying the twins and waddling after, Virgil taking up the rear to guard against any aliens trying to follow. The rest was a blur. Running. Shooting. Yelling.

Suddenly they stopped at the launch bay and Jan ushered them onto another ship. An old modified cruiser of some sort— with added gun turrets.

Virgil leaped inside as the ship was taking off, somehow managing to land on his feet. “Everyone safe? No one hurt?” he asked in basic, looking at the kids already huddled in the corner.

“We are unharmed,” Logan said, putting down the twins.

“Here! I kept him warm!” Thomas said in English, holding Patton up.

Virgil smiled wanly and took Patton back, holding the blue puffball close. “Thanks, kid. You did well,” he said.

Thomas beamed and skipped over to a seat, strapping in.

“Is that everyone? Hooo boy, we’ve got a whole freak show back here!” A stranger stood in the doorway to the cockpit, holding a cup of what smelled like coffee.

“Yes, it’s everyone! Get us out of here!” Jan snapped, taking a seat next to Thomas. “We’ll explain on the way.”

“Bossy, bossy!” The man clicked his tongue. “Hold onto your butts, this might get bumpy.” Without waiting for a response, he vanished back into the cockpit. A second later the ship lurched into motion.

“Hold onto something!” Virgil warned in basic, which Logan quickly translated for the twins. They did their best to secure themselves, but the seats clearly weren’t fashioned for aliens. Virgil sat next to them, hoping he’d be able to catch them if something went wrong.

The much larger smugglers’ ship exploded behind them.

Free. They were free.

#aryaskywalker writes #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #scifi au #aliens #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #thomas sanders (character)#janus sanders #remy sleep #tw imprisonment #tw kidnapping

64 notes · View notes

wroammin · 5 years ago

Text

a hero’s welcome

word count: 1445

warnings: self-loathing, panic attacks, crying, slight gore (because remus)

summary: roman hides out in his room after the events of putting others first. the other sides try to show him how much he’s missed in their own special ways.

once again, happy birthday to the man, the myth, the himbo: roman sanders

it takes weeks for roman to come out of his room after janus reveals his name.

the others worry almost constantly about his well-being, but after multiple failed attempts at convincing him to come out for movie nights, video recordings, or even just food, they can only hope that roman will come around on his own eventually.

and he does. slowly.

it starts with a few missing disney movies from the TV cabinet, a half-eaten jar of logan’s off-limits crofter’s (which both logan & remus swear they did not touch) left mysteriously on the kitchen counter, and then, on one particularly late night for logan, a brief, silent encounter with a bleary-eyed prince in search of a cup of water.

logan notices roman is looking more bedraggled than bedazzled, with wrinkles running all across his costume and dark-colored bags under his eyes that are eerily reminiscent of virgil’s eyeshadow.

no words are exchanged, but as logan carefully hands roman a glass which he’s filled nearly to the brim, roman knows no words are necessary. he can practically recite logan’s self-care spiel by memory anyway.

eventually, the disney movie collection in the TV cabinet dwindles down to a Frozen DVD (which they’d all recently rewatched anyway), and the old, dusty VHS copy of Black Cauldron (which roman’s never particularly liked). seeing as it’s his personal favorite disney movie, virgil tries not to feel too offended by that.

what virgil can’t stop himself from feeling, however, is worry. it’s not an unfamiliar feeling to him, of course, but it doesn’t make him any less uncomfortable.

he tries all of the usual things to calm his nerves: sitting on strange surfaces, fiddling with a fidget cube, rewatching The Nightmare Before Christmas, napping excessively, and—naturally—blasting music through his bulky headphones.

but even with My Chemical Romance screaming out of his speakers, virgil simply can’t ignore the alarming absence of that familiar, sash-framed figure.

despite his quarrelsome quips with the prince, virgil can admit that there’s always been a certain... comfort to hearing roman’s boisterous voice belting broadway ballads down the halls, or seeing him dash off on another adventure to defeat the dragon witch for the umpteenth time.

it’s when virgil’s sullenly staring at roman’s usual spot, in the corner of his room, that an idea suddenly strikes him.

the next morning, roman sneaks down to the living room in the early hours of the day after deciding that rewatching Frozen (again) doesn’t sound so bad after all. he opens the movie cabinet to find a bit of a surprise in the form of a The Nightmare Before Christmas DVD with a scrap of paper taped hastily to the cover. the chicken scratch scrawled onto the sheet is hard to decipher, but he manages to see it reads:

“i have my own backup copy and i’ll hit play at 8pm tonight. you can do it too, so then we can sort of watch the movie together. i’ll let you pick tomorrow’s movie, if you want to, but fyi i will be picking black cauldron the next time it’s my turn. -virgil”

roman smiles subtly as he makes his way back up to his room, the first flicker of joy he’s felt in a while.

he sits down to watch the movie at 8pm, just like virgil instructed.

for the next night, he chooses aladdin, and for the night after that, he begrudgingly agrees to watch black cauldron.

twenty minutes into the film, virgil hears a haste knock at his door. before he even knows what’s happening, roman is shuffling inside and curling up on the couch next to him.

unsurprisingly, the tired prince falls asleep before the movie finishes. surprisingly, virgil doesn’t actually mind all that much.

meanwhile, patton has nearly eaten his way through the entire cookie stock in the pantry.

it’s not a healthy coping mechanism for his sadness, he knows, but it’s not like he can just go and ask roman to conjure up some puppies for him instead. patton sniffles at the thought, which serves as a painful reminder of how roman was always there for him when he was feeling down, and how patton can’t do the same for him now.

the others hold an intervention for him after logan finds him sobbing over some reheated spaghetti because it made him think of roman. virgil then explains how he’s been watching movies with roman, and how patton can leave some snacks for the prince in the cabinet along with a note if he wants to send a message.

that very night, patton stays up past midnight to prepare some spaghetti with extra, extra love (& cumin) for roman. he draws him a card and writes a message inside, then sticks it to the top of the tupperware container containing the spaghetti using glitter glue.

upon discovering patton’s care package beside virgil’s usual note inside the cabinet, roman feels his mood suddenly shift.

he thinks of the days he spent sobbing for hours inside of his room and staring in the mirror and pacing back and forth and staring in the mirror and laying on his bed and staring in the mirror and working through the tears and staring in the mirror and then slicing a line clean through the mirror with his sword and watching his reflection split in two.

those weren’t good days.

but then he thinks of patton’s pleading, hopeful voice whenever he would call him down for movie nights, video recordings, or food.

maybe patton wasn’t lying when he said roman was loved. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see him and the others out in the open again. maybe there were better days ahead.

remus, however, doesn’t wait around for roman to feel better. as always, he continuously swings by his brother’s room whenever he feels like it and leaves whenever he pleases.

still, his visits aren’t as fun anymore. perhaps he just doesn’t have the energy, but roman no longer bothers to shriek at remus to get out of his room or to push remus off his desk when he drapes himself across it.

not even the severed, mutilated head that remus kindly leaves on roman’s pillow elicits its usual slew of creative curse words, so the duke decides to step up his game.

he skips casually into roman’s room one late afternoon, lazily swinging his morning star at his side and whistling a jaunty tune. as usual, roman doesn’t spare him a single glance. he’s staring down at some kind of crayon-covered card.

it only takes one hit to knock roman out, but dragging him into the living room is a much more difficult process.

the other sides are already waiting, just like janus promised they would be. they rush over and prop roman up on the couch. patton gives remus a few reprimanding words, virgil sends him a couple scowls, and even logan looks on with more disapproval than usual, but they quickly forget their anger at him as soon as roman groans groggily and slowly blinks open his eyes.

remus takes that as his cue to leave. janus is waiting at the top of the stairs.

“so you’re sure that this plan of yours is going to work?”

janus scoffs. “of course i am. though, have you considered that perhaps you’re just not as annoying to your brother anymore?”

“have you considered that perhaps i could start leaving chopped heads on your pillow instead if your ‘master plan’ fails?” remus shoots him the prettiest, toothiest smile he can muster.

janus’ expression darkens. “well. i suppose it’s a good thing i’m certain it will work, then.”

the sound of laughter bubbles up from the living room. janus doesn’t bother to hide his satisfied smirk.

“i’ll say, when you told me you could help me get roman back to normal, forcing him to attend a party was not what i had in mind.”

“do i even want to know what you had in mind?” janus gives him a quick side glance.

remus’ eyes light up. “well–”

“rhetorical question, remus. ugh, maybe i should start saying ‘figuratively’, as well. anyway, yes, i thought it was about time roman stopped sulking. so, what better way to get him out of his room than by having a, uh, hero’s welcome of sorts for him?”

“well, i got him out of his room by dragging him by his feet.”

janus sighs, wondering why he even opens his mouth to speak anymore.

his plan better work.

though, judging by the sound of patton and logan’s exhasperated sighs as roman and virgil argue over which movie to watch, he has the sneaking suspicion it will.

#me looking at the warnings on this like hm yes. this is totally fluffy birthday material #also if anyone has any idea what’s going in this lmk because i have No idea and i’ve read it like thirty times #and remember to roast me for any typos you find #sanders sides #thomas sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #roman angst #bullet fic #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfic #emma’s stuff #crying #long post

327 notes · View notes

arrestjellyfish · 4 years ago

Text

Rainbow Blossoms

Chapter 1: Saturday

[Sanders Sides, romantic prinxiety / Virgil/Roman]

Summary:

Tattoo artist Roman Prince goes to the local florist to visit his elderly friend, Céleste Tempȇte, and pick some flowers to use as inspiration for a new design.

But instead of finding a soft old woman amongst the iridescent display of flora, he meets her anxious emo grandson. Virgil Tempȇte is everything you would not expect to find in a flower shop.

Cue intrigued simp noises.

Other chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter warnings: swearing, suggestive language, mention of mild illness, brief mention of artwork depicting mild blood

Chapter word count: 6,900

Read on AO3 or below!

[Also available as a podfic!]

oOo

It was unusually warm for a midsummer day in England. Crowds of people had flocked to the streets in excitement, hoping to soak up the best of the sunshine before the clouds were bound to return with a vengeance later that week.

Roman waltzed across the cobblestone road, inhaling rich scents of earthy vegetables and fresh, salty fish. Market vendors hailed from every direction, boasting low prices on sugar snap peas (freshly-picked that morning) and 2 kilos for the price of one on the juiciest peaches. Pedestrians of every age bustled around, energised by the atmosphere.

A burly man cut across Roman’s path, lugging a crate of dirt-caked carrots across the road. Roman had to sidestep to avoid crashing into him. He bumped into a metal pole on one of the many market stands in his haste, bruising his arm.

‘Are you quite all right, young man?’ the woman behind the stall asked in a kind voice.

A wide grin broke onto his face as he rubbed his aching arm. ‘I’m wonderful, thank you, madam!’

He adored market day.

His phone chimed in his pocket, and he knew it would be Remy demanding he get his arse back to work. Really, Roman knew he should have been hurrying back to the studio, but how could he possibly be expected to forego a gentle stroll through the town centre on such a wondrous day as this?

Besides, he had a perfectly valid excuse to be out of the stuffy tattoo parlour on this bright afternoon. The client he had had a consultation with earlier had requested quite an intricate design for their future tattoo, consisting of various flowers. Roman felt a duty to purchase a bouquet for reference, wanting even his initial sketches to live up to his reputation as an artist. He hadn’t been nominated tattooist of the month three months in a row for nothing, after all.

To aid in the completion of his quest, he knew the perfect, quaint little flower shop hidden away behind the sandstone buildings of the high street. There was an abundance of flower stalls dotted along the market, of course, though Roman was well-versed in selecting the finest of flora (having had plenty of opportunities to woo handsome young men in his 25 years) and knew a wider selection would be available at Beau Blossoms.

There was also a sense of loyalty that made him skip past the flower stalls and duck into the familiar crooked backstreet. He had become well acquainted with his favourite florist’s elderly owner, Céleste Tempȇte, who Roman had grown to see as one of his dearest friends, even if their 50-year age gap was unconventional.

He quickened his pace as he neared the modest shopfront, it’s pale blue paint chipping from years of wear. The windows were adorned with an iridescent display of the most gorgeous flower arrangements, as usual.

‘Good afternoon, mon fleur d’amour!’ Roman sang heartily as he pushed the glass door open, ducking his head with practised ease to avoid hitting it on the bell that jingled above him.

He breathed deeply at the onslaught of pungent floral scents. The intensity of the pollen had overwhelmed him at first all those months ago, though he had grown accustomed to it and now welcomed the attack on his senses as if greeting an old friend.

Crooked, aged floorboards creaked beneath him as he stepped around the corner of the entranceway. ‘How is the fairest woman in town fairing on this fair day?’

Roman looked up at the wooden desk where Céleste would always be slumped, doing a sudoku puzzle and smiling widely at Roman’s antics.

Then he froze.

Sitting in Céleste’s rickety stool was a complete stranger. They looked around Roman’s age, perhaps a tad younger, and were a decidedly different sight from what Roman had expected.

Céleste was a stout woman with silver hair who would often wear pastel floral dresses, with a mint-green shawl perpetually draped across her rounded shoulders. This new person looked similarly below-average in height, though otherwise was a polar opposite. They appeared scrawny and the pale skin on their hands and neck was practically swallowed by an oversized black and purple tartan jacket. Their ripped black skinny jeans (complete with chains and studded belt) were a far cry from Céleste’s nude pantyhose and where Céleste’s grey eyes would crinkle with delight at Roman’s entrance, this person’s dark eyes were wide with surprise and framed by the blackest eyeliner and smokey purple eyeshadow.

‘You’re not my Céleste,’ Roman said, feeling robbed.

The stranger’s eyes grew wider still and their eyebrows pulled down in anger. ‘Dude, what the fuck? You flirt with my grandma?’

Roman held his hands up in surrender, hoping to placate the sudden hostile atmosphere. ‘Relax, Count Drag-ula. I’m gay.’

‘Oh…’ the stranger breathed, seeming humbled and embarrassed by their outburst.

They slumped in their seat, having been sitting ramrod straight since Roman had entered. Then their arms folded around their torso and their shoulders hunched up as if protecting their neck. Bright purple hair fell over their eyes as they looked to the floor. The intimidating air that had been so pronounced in them seconds previously faded and was replaced by what Roman recognised as debilitating shyness.

It clicked pretty quickly after that.

‘You must be Virgil Tempȇte, right?’

Céleste had mentioned her grandson on many occasions during their friendly chats. Mostly she only mentioned him in passing, offhandedly saying that he had moved back home after a year in London, or boasting about what Virgil had gotten her for her 75th birthday (a vintage encyclopedia of 18th-century fashion trends which Roman had had the good fortune of borrowing). Though a few months previously, in an act of desperation, she had spoken much more candidly about her grandson. She had sought Roman’s advice on how she could help her beloved petite chauve-souris to become more confident in himself and overcome his severe anxiety.

Roman’s heart had warmed in hearing the old woman care so intensely about her grandson’s wellbeing. When Roman himself had been struggling with his confidence back in school, his parents had not exactly been forthcoming with support. It was refreshing to witness such unconditional love between family members.

His advice had mainly been that there was not much that Céleste could do to enforce a stronger sense of self-worth in Virgil, but that she should simply let him know that she loved and supported him and would be there for him as he grew.

Now, Roman presumed Virgil had come out of his shell, at least a little, given his rather eccentric makeup and clothing choices. Though he was still curled into himself protectively as he gave Roman a wary look through a wisp of his fringe.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Céleste talks about you a lot,’ Roman said easily, offering one of his winning smiles.

It was, unfortunately, not met with the same enamoured responses he was accustomed to receiving. In fact, rather than dazzled by Roman’s charm, Virgil looked mortified.

Hearing that someone had been talking about you behind your back to a complete stranger was likely a little distressing to someone with an anxiety disorder, Roman realised. He moved the conversation on quickly.

‘I’m Roman Prince.’ He stepped forward to hold out his hand, which Virgil took tentatively. His fingertips were smooth. ‘I imagine your grandmother has mentioned me before.’

‘Um,’ Virgil stalled, pulling his hand back to himself and shaking his jacket sleeve so that it fell back over his fingers. ‘I’m not sure.’

Indignance overwhelmed Roman’s being.

‘Oh, come now.’ He leaned sideways against the desk, sticking out his chin just enough to profess confidence, not enough to intimidate. He had refined his poses down to a tee. ‘Your grandmother must have told you tales of the handsome young prince who brightens her days with a soft serenade,’ he finished the sentence in a lilting melody.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted (they were a beautiful splash of rose against his fair skin, Roman thought). Pride swelled in Roman at the look of recognition on Virgil’s face. Céleste must have regaled her family with plenty of enthralling stories of Roman’s magnetism and penchant for chivalry.

‘Oh my God.’

‘Everything you’ve heard is true,’ Roman drawled with a confident smirk.

‘You’re the guy that grabbed the cactus like a microphone, aren’t you?’

Roman’s smile dropped instantly at the way Virgil’s lips tugged up in amusement.

‘Yes, well.’ He bridled a little, standing upright again. ‘T’was not my finest moment.’

‘Yeah, maybe not,’ Virgil mumbled. He bit his lip in what Roman assumed was an effort to contain laughter.

Heat flooded Roman’s cheeks and he promptly spun away from the table.

‘So she would tell you that story and nothing of my usual elegance,’ Roman grumbled, starting to delicately run his fingers over the blossoms displayed on the shelves. He had not taken Céleste for one to actively humiliate him.

‘No, she - I -’ Virgil stammered. ‘I’m sorry. Grandma - she has said plenty of nice things about you too, I just…’

Roman turned back to him, noting the stiffness in his posture and the pained look that pinched his features.

‘That’s just the one that sticks in the mind, y’know?’ Virgil’s long arm stretched upwards as he scratched at the back of his neck. Roman thought it might have been a way to dispel the awkwardness as Virgil’s elbow bent at such an odd angle that it partially hid his flushed cheek.

Not one to hold a grudge unnecessarily - especially not against such endearing young men - Roman smiled softly and nodded in acknowledgement.

Virgil fidgeted on his stool, seeming hesitant, then slid off of it to stand up. Though he didn’t seem much more at ease on his feet, shuffling nervously and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘You, um, you're the guy that brings her fruit tea in the mornings and texts her cute animal videos, right?’

‘C’est moi!’ Roman said with a bright grin, hoping his cheery disposition would comfort Virgil somewhat. He felt an inexplicable need to ensure the other man felt calm.

‘Well… thanks,’ Virgil mumbled, pulling his hands out of his pockets, picking at the frayed sleeves around his fingers, then burying them in his pockets again. ‘Dad and I kinda worry about her being here on her own every day, since we live a bit further out of town. It’s… nice to hear her talk about you.’

Not for the first time, and what he was sure certainly wouldn’t be the last, Roman’s chest filled with joy at hearing about the sheer love shared between the Tempȇtes.

‘But of course,’ he said, happy to see Virgil’s shoulders soften from their previous rigidity. ‘I make sure she does not go a day without seeing a friendly face, though I’m sure as wonderful as she is Céleste must have made plenty of friends in her years here.’

‘Yeah, but none like you,’ Virgil replied without pause. There was a small smile curling his lips and it was the first genuine show of happiness Roman had witnessed in him. It was quite captivating.

Then Virgil’s shoulders were suddenly raised to his neck again and he rocked backwards on his feet, putting some distance between them (at least as much as was possible in a 20-square-metre shop packed full with buckets and bundles of flowers). Roman tried to ignore the swell of disappointment in his chest.

He did not think himself skilled at much beyond his talent for tattooing and the great art of courtship, though he was confident in his ability to read the atmosphere of a room and knew to change the subject before the anxious man became any more uncomfortable.

‘So,’ Roman started, turning back to the various bunches of flowers that sat in the water troughs around the edges of the shop. He cradled the bright bloom of a sunflower in his palms and lifted it slightly from its water to better admire its beauty. ‘Where is the celestial woman? She must be on quite a grand adventure to have left behind her beloved blossoms!’

‘She’s sick.’

Roman’s stomach lurched and he felt the colour drain from his face in an instant. The sunflower dropped back into the bucket with a light splash and clang as the stem hit the metal base.

He snapped his gaze onto Virgil, who had opted to take his hands out of his pockets again and was twiddling a stem of white hyacinths between his fingers. He seemed completely undisturbed by the words that had just left his mouth.

‘My gosh, will she be all right?’ Roman asked, his voice shaking. ‘Is she in the hospital? When did this happen?’

‘Oh, shit.’ Virgil’s eyes blew wide and the white petals stopped their twirling in his hold. ‘I didn’t mean - she’s just got the flu.’

Roman was unconvinced of how reassuring that should have been, given Céleste’s ripe age.

Apparently his uncertainty was palpable as Virgil hurriedly continued, ‘My dad’s looking after her. It’s really mild, don’t worry.’

A massive sigh of relief escaped Roman and he felt the tension that he didn’t realise had seized his body begin to ebb away. Céleste had proudly proclaimed her son to be the most attentive medical nurse in the world, and given her compassionate nature Roman had not doubted for a second that that would be true of her own offspring. She was in safe hands.

‘Dear Zeus, don’t scare me like that!’ Roman cried with a steadying hand on his chest, though it was not a sincere reprimand and was followed by a breathy laugh.

‘Sorry,’ Virgil said, smiling apologetically.

Despite Roman’s brief upset, the misunderstanding seemed to have broken the last of the tension between them and Virgil did not flinch away when Roman took a step closer. He did it under the pretence of wiping his fingers dry on the tatty, damp hand towel that perpetually hung on a hook in the wall. They pulled away wetter than they had been before. ‘It’s no issue, Virgil.’

‘If it helps,’ Virgil offered, ‘I reacted just the same when Dad first told me.’

‘Oh?’ Roman prompted, feeling like he wasn’t ready for Virgil to stop talking yet.

The slighter man tended to squirm a little as he spoke, though not in an uncomfortable way; it seemed to be habitual more than anything. Habit or not, his lithe body twisted in such a subtle way that it was almost reminiscent of a pulse or a rhythmic dance. Roman found himself entranced by Virgil’s mannerisms as well as his character. And, undoubtedly, his beauty. ‘How so?’

Roman leaned his hip against the desk, locking his arms in a way that gently pushed his chest forward and stretched his t-shirt lightly. He knew it would be subtle enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Though, he thoroughly hoped that would be the only form of arousal he was avoiding.

Right on cue, Virgil’s eyes danced down to Roman’s chest, then flitted sideways to the window, back to Roman’s chest (where they lingered for a couple of seconds), and then down to the floor where they stayed. Roman smirked.

‘Yeah, I -’ Virgil cleared his throat ‘- I freaked out a bit. I actually told her I was gay the day before she caught it and I thought I’d, like, shocked her body or something.’

A surprised delight washed over Roman and his teeth bared in a disbelieving smile. Wasn’t this just perfect?

Virgil’s dark eyes - which on closer inspection Roman could now see were mismatched, one being a rich brown and the other green - rose to meet his gaze. Roman watched as he crumbled into himself with the realisation of what he had just said.

‘Oh my God, why did I tell you that?’ Virgil lamented under his breath, squinting his eyes shut and bringing his thumbnail up to his mouth.

‘I wonder,’ Roman murmured through a wide smile. It never failed to invigorate him when his charms effectively ensnared a cute boy. His cheekiness ran high on the excitement. ‘Now as much as I would truly love to stand here with you for as long as the hours in the day would allow, I do have a request of you.’

‘Uh… sure,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumbnail. He had recovered quickly from Roman’s flirting, though the colour was still high on his cheekbones, and Roman knew better than to think it was just from the warm weather. ‘What is it?’

‘I need your assistance in gathering the gayest selection of flowers possible.’

A sharp exhale blew from Virgil’s mouth, slightly muffled around the hand which still sat flush against his chin. It sounded partway between a sigh and a nervous laugh. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Anything for you, darling,’ Roman said in his smoothest baritone. His heart skipped at how Virgil’s fingers clenched tightly around the hem of his sleeve. ‘I’m a tattoo artist at Rainbow Skins Parlour - have you heard of it?’

Virgil’s eyes lit up beautifully and his hand dropped back to his side giving Roman a perfect view of those rose petal lips that enamoured him so. ‘Oh man, that’s so cool. My friend got her tat done with you. She said you guys were super accommodating of her dysphoria and stuff.’

‘That’s the aim,’ Roman beamed. He was immensely proud of the atmosphere he and his coworkers had created at the studio. Their mission was to create a safe space for those in the LGBT+ community who wanted to get inked and it seemed from all of the positive feedback they received that they had achieved that vision. ‘One of my clients wants a design full of flowers that symbolise gay love, so I came seeking a florist’s expertise.’

‘I dunno if Grandma is too hung up on the symbolism of the flowers, to be honest,’ Virgil said hesitantly, picking at his fingernails then folding his hands behind his back. ‘She’s more about the biology and aesthetics of it all.’

‘Well then lucky for me that Aphrodite blessed me with your glorious presence today.’ Roman settled to sit on the edge of the desk. It being quite low rise, his figure sunk slightly so that he was now directly eye-level with Virgil. The other man’s eyes did not leave Roman’s face. ‘You look like the poetic type.’

Green and brown eyes squinted suspiciously. ‘I bet my Grandma told you I studied creative writing.’

‘Even so,’ Roman shrugged and inched his foot along the wooden floor, letting the toes of his Vans bump against the heel of Virgil’s Doc Marten boot. Virgil did not move. ‘Am I correct in assuming you’ve done your fair bit of research into queer imagery?’

There was a pause wherein Virgil pouted and remained stubbornly silent. Then, after a few seconds: ‘You can’t go wrong with a green carnation.’

The tip of Roman’s tongue stuck out with a smile and he bit it lightly in amusement. Virgil’s cheeks went an endearing shade of dusty pink and he spun around, quite inelegantly bumping into the workbench that stood in the middle of the room. He grabbed a pair of faintly rusted shears with trembling fingers.

‘Uh, so we’ve got a few of those back here,’ Virgil blurted, rushing to the opposite corner of the shop floor.

Roman sauntered after him quietly. He peered over the other man’s shoulder as he pulled a large bushel from a bucket. The plant displayed a large, beautifully frilly bloom of lime green blossom.

A sharp, metallic snap from the shears resounded around the small room and the large bunch was lowered back to the water to leave a single flower held gently between Virgil’s slender fingers.

When Virgil turned back around, a quiet gasp escaped him as he bounced back, only just preventing himself from crashing right into Roman.

‘What, you couldn’t wait over there?’ If Virgil was trying to sound anything other than flustered and breathless, he had failed miserably.

Roman held his hand out wordlessly with a gentle smile.

The flower was pressed into his palm, and Roman made sure to capture it quickly enough to delicately brush his fingertips against Virgil’s.

In the dappled beam of sunlight that penetrated the packed floral displays in the window, the carnation was much the same shade as Virgil’s left eye. Roman hummed quietly as he inspected the flower, then looked up, delighted that Virgil was watching him.

‘Beautiful,’ Roman purred, unfaltering as he looked into Virgil’s eyes.

A loud snort of laughter cut the tension between them and Roman felt his brow furrow.

‘Okay, Romeo,’ Virgil huffed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. He avoided Roman’s eyes. ‘This is a fleuriste, not a fromagerie.’

Roman felt a thrill rush through him (which was only in part accredited to Virgil’s sudden fluent French accent). Apparently such simple flirting tactics would not suffice with this suitor. The promise of a slight challenge was electrifying to him. He did love to play this game.

He lifted the carnation and tucked it behind his ear like a pencil, smiling when Virgil giggled under his breath at what must have been a silly image. ‘What else may you suggest we add to our beau, gay bouquet?’

A few minutes passed by with Virgil selecting and snipping flowers, explaining the historical queer culture behind them as he went. Roman nodded along and dutifully made noises of interest, though did not dare to butt into Virgil’simpassioned monologue.

It was enchanting to hear Virgil ramble freely on a subject that so obviously enthralled him. He spoke in such a way that made even the most mundane facts feel visceral with descriptive language and Roman couldn’t bear to interrupt such eloquent poetic prose.

He only realised how little he himself had contributed to the conversation when Virgil trailed off with an apology.

A pile of evenly cut lavender, violets, gladioli, calla lilies and, of course, green carnations lay in front of Virgil on the workbench and his fingers fidgeted with some of the lilac petals gently.

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ Roman insisted. He stood opposite Virgil on the other side of the islanded workbench and leaned his elbows on the shabby surface, carefully staying clear of the gardening tools that were scattered around it. ‘You’re incredibly knowledgeable of this subject.’

‘Yeah, employing really subtle methods of representation kind of became my solace in university, you know?’ Virgil said faintly, his eyes fixed on where he weaved a long, detached flower stem between his fingers. ‘Being a paranoid, closeted creative writing student will do that to you.’

A cloud of dejection smothered the sunny atmosphere in the room.

‘Classic fairy tales were my own escape as a closeted teen,’ Roman offered, suspecting Virgil would not want such a heavy topic resting on his shoulders alone.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Virgil finally looked up with an eager intrigue dancing in his eyes.

Roman stretched his arm across the table so that Virgil could better see the tattoo that decorated his right arm upwards of his elbow. He rolled the short sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder to reveal the whole of it. (If he flexed his arm slightly to better highlight his muscles, Virgil did not say anything about it.) He was immensely proud of the artwork on his arm, displaying a busy conglomeration of various fairy tale motifs all interwoven including a bitten red apple, a shattered glass slipper, and a frog wearing a crown. Though the focus of the design was a bird carrying a golden chain and a pair of red shoes, with a millstone around its neck.

‘Fuck yeah, The Juniper Tree,’ Virgil breathed.

‘You know it?’ Roman asked, surprised that Virgil had recognised the more nuanced imagery.

‘I love the Brothers Grimm.’ With a slight creak of the wood beneath him, Virgil sat sideways on the workbench and leaned to get a closer look at Roman’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan of more macabre stories.’

‘Well, I must admit in terms of imagery I appreciate the darker motifs,’ Roman indicated the depiction of a bloodied dagger hidden amongst a tangle of thorns on his bicep, ‘but when it comes to the stories I do prefer a good old-fashioned happy ending.’

Virgil sucked his teeth and leant his chin on his hand with a sigh, putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. ‘Of course you do.’

‘Please, how could I not appreciate a handsome prince bursting into song and falling for a mysterious, beautiful stranger then doing everything in his power to woo them?’ Roman angled his body closer to Virgil. The edge of the workbench was pressed quite awkwardly into his thigh, but it was worth the slight numbness in his leg to watch Virgil’s eyelashes flutter and his chest rise and fall more quickly in response to how close they were. Roman purposefully allowed his eyes to linger over Virgil’s lips. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of someone?’

The lips pulled into a smirk and Roman’s gaze climbed up to see mirth sparkling in Virgil’s eyes.

‘What?’ Roman asked, only mildly offended.

It was proving to be something of a quest trying to ascertain which methods of flirting were working on Virgil. One minute the man was a blushing, stuttering mess, then the next he was openly laughing at Roman’s attempts to court him. Still, as the knights in his favourite stories never gave up in the face of extreme danger, he would not be deterred by Virgil’s stubbornness. It was obvious the man was interested in him but was perhaps a bit bratty. If anything that only made Roman all the more eager to win him over.

‘Nothing at all,’ Virgil shrugged. His tone was remarkably insincere. ‘So are you just thirsty for medieval knights or do you have some delusion of grandeur that I should steer clear of?’

It was cocky, and the man’s posture proclaimed it. He held his head high, baring his neck (and what a lovely, slender, pale, begging-to-be-decorated-with-splotches-of-purple neck it was). Though Roman saw through the bravado instantly.

He leaned in further, the edge of the bench completely cutting off the blood flow to his leg now, though he hardly cared. Virgil’s eyes darted between Roman’s gaze and the edges of the room hastily, as if the urge to look away and the urge to hold his ground were battling each other in his mind. His confident stance faltered slightly as Roman drew closer, their faces now mere inches apart.

Roman murmured lowly, ‘Why, Virgil? Are you struggling to find a reason to stay away from me?’

The once-pearly cheeks in front of him were now practically glowing pink.

The adrenaline that so often accompanied a successful courtship was running rampant in Roman’s veins and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Matched with the fact that he was practically drunk off of the lidded quality to Virgil’s gorgeous eyes, Roman almost missed the melodic jingling of a bell.

It wasn’t until a loud, cheery voice called out that Roman realised they were not alone anymore.

‘Kiddo, you forgot your packed lunch!’

Virgil scrambled off of the workbench, and Roman followed his lead by standing back upright, albeit a lot more calmly.

‘Dad, I’m with a customer,’ Virgil grumbled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

Roman indulged in watching Virgil’s face go even pinker before turning to the entrance of the shop.

A stout man stepped out from the entranceway with a wide grin and a tupperware box cradled in his hands. His freckles were unmatched by either his mother or his son, though Roman could spy the slight similarities between their features. This was Patton Tempȇte. His face lit up with joy when his gaze fell on Roman.

‘And who’s this?’ Mr Tempȇte asked excitedly, his eyes sparkling at his son as he bounced on his toes.

‘Grandma’s friend, Roman Prince,’ Virgil mumbled. ‘The one who brings her tea and stuff.’

Mr Tempȇte made a delighted noise of surprise.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Tempȇte.’ Roman smiled widely, offering his open hand. He winced slightly as he stepped forward and pins and needles exploded in his thigh. ‘I truly adore your mother, and your son is quickly beginning to grow on me too.’ He shot a quick wink to Virgil.

The look of utter betrayal on Virgil’s face made it difficult to contain a chuckle.

‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Roman!’ Mr Tempȇte beamed, shuffling the tupperware into the crook of his elbow to shake Roman’s hand energetically. ‘And don’t bother calling me “Mr” or “Sir” or any of that silliness, Patton’s my name so feel free to wear it out! I would give you a big old hug, but I don’t wanna pass on Maman’s flu.’

‘How is she?’ Roman immediately asked, truly concerned for his friend.

‘She’s just fine,’ Patton nodded, seeming to approve of Roman’s concern. ‘She’s pretty much through it all now, I’m just forcing her to stay home for a couple more days as a precaution.’

‘I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about being housebound,’ Roman sniggered knowingly.

Patton rolled his eyes dramatically with a smile. ‘Not at all. I tell you, she’s untameable, always raring to get out with her friends and go experiencing the world. Honestly, I always say she’s more of a 22-year-old than Virgil is! Isn’t that true, kiddo?’

A faint swell of dread built inside Roman’s stomach at the way Mr Tempȇte had phrased those words. He had probably meant no harm, but it didn’t sound like that kind of critical comparison would do much to heighten Virgil’s confidence.

Sure enough, when Roman’s gaze flickered over to him it was clear those words seemed to have struck the wrong chord. The younger man tugged his sleeves further over his fingers and shrugged, though the movement was so stiff and frantic that it was more resemblant of a reflexive jolt.

‘Whatever, Dad,’ Virgil muttered under his breath, scowling at his feet.

It was disheartening to witness Virgil’s fiery wit be snuffed out so swiftly. Roman felt out of place in the exchange and feigned interest in a sprig of leaves in the flower pile. He subtly massaged his thigh under the table to ease the remnants of tingling from his pins and needles.

‘Oh…’ The energy was drained from Patton’s voice, and Roman looked up to see hurt briefly flash in his eyes before he plastered on a bright smile once more. ‘Well, I’ll be out of you guys’ hair. I just wanted to bring you your food.’

‘I don’t need a packed lunch, I can pick something up on the way back.’

‘Either way, it’s here if you get peckish before closing time.’ Patton placed the tupperware beside the register and apparently couldn’t resist drumming the lid in a gentle rhythm. Virgil groaned and Patton giggled. ‘Listen, be thankful I’m your delivery man. I caught your grandma lacing up her running shoes wanting to bring this to you.’

Roman chuckled lightly to himself. That certainly sounded like Céleste.

For the first time since Patton had entered the shop, Virgil looked up from the floor and his eyes locked onto Roman. It was as if his laughter had reminded Virgil of his presence.

Virgil quickly shot his father a pointed look. ‘Okay thanks, dad. Bye.’ The words merged into each other in his haste.

To his credit, Patton didn’t seem to be upset by his son’s eagerness to get rid of him.

‘It was lovely meeting you, Roman!’ Patton waved with a wide smile, already making his way out of the shop. ‘See you later, ma petite chauve-souris!’

Virgil’s huff of annoyance was drowned out by the bell jingling again.

The awkward tension was thick.

‘So, can you make flower arrangements?’ Roman asked casually, choosing to entirely ignore the stunted exchange with Virgil’s father. It seemed like Virgil would not have wanted to acknowledge it, given his obvious embarrassment.

‘Um, not really,’ Virgil mumbled, still hugging himself tightly. He peered out from his fringe hesitantly and Roman did not miss how his body relaxed when their eyes met. ‘I mean - okay, yeah. Kind of,’ he corrected. ‘Grandma taught me a little bit when I was younger. Mainly I just do it for fun, though. I’ve never made one for a customer.’

It would have been responsible for Roman to simply take his flowers as they were, pay for them, and get back to work, leaving Virgil to do his job. He could even have left his number and hoped Virgil would have the confidence to text him later on. Though, looking at the slump of Virgil’s posture and the way his sleeves were clawed and pulled taut by his painted fingernails, Roman felt a desire, nay, a duty to ensure Virgil was smiling again before he left.

‘Fancy trying your hand at it?’ Roman suggested gently, not wanting to pressure the man who was clearly on edge.

Virgil’s gaze flitted between Roman’s face and the workbench. His fingertips danced on his sleeves as he considered the flowers and Roman realised he was itching to reach out and touch them. ‘I can try, I guess.’

Hesitant hands pulled away from purple sleeves and within seconds Virgil was rustling through the stems with intent. Roman leaned over the surface slightly, though with no sly objective in mind to fluster Virgil this time. He simply wished to watch him craft.

‘I’m not very good,’ Virgil said quite stunted, even as he started rearranging the flowers into colour-coordinated piles with a clear artistic goal in mind. ‘So, you know, don’t expect much.’

Roman knew the self-deprecating tactic well; how one hoped that by lowering everyone’s expectations, they could avoid harsh critique of their work. He had employed it plenty of times himself before he had grown more confident in his artistic abilities.

‘It doesn’t have to be perfect,’ Roman decided on saying. It would hopefully relieve the pressure Virgil had put on himself.

A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips and he raised his eyes briefly from the flowers to send what seemed to be a look of thanks to Roman.

‘Besides, I trust that you have an artistic streak in you.’ Roman felt more comfortable in reigniting their previous flirtatiousness after having coaxed a smile out of Virgil. ‘I mean, with such a steady hand and aesthetic eye for that makeup, I’ll be lucky if the bouquet is half as beautiful.’

Virgil swiftly knelt down on the floor to reach under the bench - where Céleste kept the floral foam, Roman remembered - though Roman caught a glimpse of a wide smile and pink-dusted cheekbones before his face was hidden.

‘Basket or pot?’ Virgil called up from the floor.

Roman dropped to his knees and sent Virgil a bright smile underneath the table. ‘Whatever you want. I’m giving you full creative control.’

‘Risky move.’ Virgil raised his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk. ‘Our most expensive arrangements can rake up to one-hundred-and-fifty quid.’

‘All right, full creative control as long as it’s under forty pounds.’

Time went by fluidly from then on as they chatted over Virgil’s work. His flower placements were tentative at first, and his eyes kept darting up to check Roman’s face for a reaction, but Roman only ever smiled lightly and continued the conversation. (A couple of times his text tone rang out loudly, though their talking remained unfettered by the mild interruptions.)

Eventually, Virgil became more certain of his decisions and was tapping into skills Roman was wholly unprepared for. His slender hand pulled a leaf stripper swiftly down long stems with practised ease, he shuffled the flowers around between his fingers fluidly and his features smoothed as he lowered the blooms into their rightful places in the arrangement.

Roman had no idea how long he had been in the florist by the time Virgil finally deemed the display finished, but he could hardly bring himself to care. The bunch of flowers which were already such a beautiful collection before were now a piece of art, the lilac and emerald blossoms broken up by leafy ferns and surrounded by spindly branches of waxflower. The bouquet was truly stunning.

And as for the glow of pride on Virgil’s face? Absolutely breathtaking.

‘I think I’m happy with it,’ Virgil said nonchalantly, though the excitement hidden behind his tone rang loudly in Roman’s ears.

‘This is amazing, Virgil,’ he gushed, entirely sincere. ‘You’re a natural!’

Virgil bit his lip, stifling what Roman knew would have been a bright grin. He notably did not refuse the compliment.

‘Um, do you mind if I…’ Virgil brought his phone out from his pocket and opened the camera app, showing the screen to Roman with an eyebrow raised in question. ‘Kinda wanna show Grandma later,’ he admitted with a shy smile.

‘Of course,’ Roman held his hands out to the arrangement in invitation and stepped back so that he would not interrupt the photoshoot.

He watched from the sidelines as Virgil tiptoed around the workbench to find good angles, taking a few pictures of his work. Once the phone was placed back in his pocket, he turned back to Roman with a lopsided smile. ‘Thank you.’

Roman was fully and wholeheartedly smitten.

‘Don’t thank me before I’ve paid.’ Roman took his wallet out and waved it with a mock-frown of disapproval. For all of his years of acting classes, though, he could not wipe the smile off of his face. ‘That’s not a very sound business practice.’

Virgil shook his head lightly but moved back to the front desk carrying the arrangement with him. He rang up the numbers on the mechanical till quickly and Roman paid with a soft smile.

‘So,’ Roman said after Virgil had given him his hand-written receipt. He leaned toward Virgil slightly and delighted in the way Virgil mirrored him, bringing them even closer. ‘I don’t suppose a mysterious, beautiful stranger such as yourself would want to -’

Primadonna by MARINA suddenly blared from Roman’s pocket.

He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. Though his smile still did not falter.

‘Very fitting ringtone,’ Virgil teased, his voice strained with concealed laughter.

Roman opened his eyes and sent a weak glare to Virgil even as his cheeks ached from smiling so much. He took his phone from his pocket to silence it, seeing that it was Remy’s contact flashing up on the screen - then his expression finally dropped as he saw the time.

‘Oh, fuck!’ His next client was due in five minutes.

‘You okay?’ Virgil asked shakily, clearly anxious by the sudden shift in mood.

‘Everything’s okay,’ Roman quickly assured, ‘but I really have to go, I’m running late.’ He shoved his phone, wallet and receipt into his pockets and pulled the flower arrangement to his chest protectively.

Virgil had stiffened. Evidently his defences were rising again due to the sudden change.

‘I really do have to go, I’m sorry. Seriously,’ Roman paused with a sigh as he gazed over Virgil’s beautiful face once more, ‘you have no idea how sorry.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Virgil nodded in agreement, but his voice was as quiet as it had been when Roman first came in however long ago. His disappointment was painfully obvious.

‘I’ll be back later this week,’ Roman promised as he reluctantly made his way to the door. There was absolutely no reality where Roman would not come looking for this enigmatic emo again. ‘I look forward to seeing you soon, my chemical romance!’ The doorbell jingled overhead as he rushed out of the door and called behind him, ‘Give my best to Céleste!’

Roman darted through the streets with a sharp stab of regret piercing his chest, though he really could not have afforded to indulge his infatuation much longer. He was a professional artist, he had to be back in time for his client.

Being incredibly protective over his cherished flower arrangement, Roman made it back to the studio in record time. It was not the first instance in which his high stamina had saved him face.

Panting for breath, Roman peered into the front window of the parlour and winced at the look of rage on the receptionist’s face as he sent a choice hand gesture to Roman from the other side of the glass.

‘Get your arse in here, Prince!’ Remy’s muffled yell met his ears.

Accepting that he would have to make a Starbucks run later to make up for his tardiness, Roman shuffled over to the glass door. He cradled Virgil’s arrangement in one arm as he reached for the door handle, then paused.

In his reflection, he noticed the green carnation from earlier still sat behind his ear. It looked utterly ridiculous. He had apparently been running around town with a massive green flower protruding from the side of his head.

In any other circumstance, he would have felt embarrassed. But the memory of Virgil’s huffy giggles played in his head, and all Roman could feel was giddy.

He pushed into the parlour with a wide grin that quite probably made him look like even more of a fool.

He didn’t care.

oOo

Inspired by a prompt from @writersmonth

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Next chapter

#my writing #prinxiety #prinxiety au #prinxiety fanfic #ts roman #ts virgil #ts fic #ts fanfic #writersmonth2020

192 notes · View notes

nightashes · 4 years ago

Text

The Alliance Sucks, the Rebellion’s Not Much Better, but at Least We Have Each Other

A/N: Yes. I know it’s a crazy long title. Fight me. Shortened title: At Least We Have Each Other. Longer title: the alliance sucks, the rebellion’s not much better, but at least we have each other (and some guns). This is a discord gift for @sometimes-love-is-enough. I hope you enjoy! This is the longest one-shot I have written so far! woot woot!

Summary: Being a criminal in space is difficult. Being a criminal in space that just pulled a job on a government facility is worse. Being a criminal in space that just pulled a job on a government facility and somehow picked up a stowaway is a recipe for disaster. Luckily this crew specializes in disasters.

Meet the Crew:

Janus: the Captain. He can demand respect and obedience with nothing more than a glare.

Virgil: the pilot and emergency medic.. He’s no doctor but he’s gotten the crew through a fair amount of scrapes.

Roman: the second-in-command. He helps Virgil out in navigation and generally makes sure the ship runs smoothly and is always fully stocked with everything they could possibly need.

Remus: he’s the muscle and he makes sure the ship never remains stocked.

And of course Patton: the engineer. Without him this ship would be nothing more than a crappy piece of modern art.

Warnings: an assortment of weapons, a kid with a gun, blood, violence, explosions, almost major character death

writing masterlist - ao3 version

***

The thrum of the engine was a constant backdrop. It was the hiss of a living breathing machine. More than a sound, the vibrations were a blanket laid over them, an understanding of protection. The engine was awake and they were finally on the move. As long as they were moving, they were safe. Janus walked along the corridor, his gloved hand passing over the metal walls, feeling the buzz of the engine beneath his fingertips. He quirked a smile.

In the distance he could hear the shouts of his crew, arguing passionately. It seemed there was always something to argue about with them and Janus hardly did much to prevent it. If it went too far, he would step in and knock some sense into them. But in the end, this is just how they were. They resolved everything with a passionate debate. Everything .

The door to his room slid open at the touch of his hand. He swept off his overcoat and settled heavily onto his bed. It had not been an easy job. They would have to lie low for a while. Stealing from the Alliance was like that. Nothing but trouble. But at least they would get paid. And any chance to stick it to those government lackeys was a welcome one as far as he was concerned. For now all he wanted to do was sleep. Kicking off his boots and sliding out of his suspenders, Janus collapsed back onto his pillow.

“Dim the lights, Serenity.” He mumbled to the ship’s AI, already drifting off to sleep.

Bang!

“Janus! They won’t let me-”

“Janus! You can’t let Remus hurt-”

“Janus! We need your help. There’s-”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Janus yanked open the door.

Glaring down at his crew, even with his ruffled hair and wrinkled shirt he cut an intimidating figure. His eyes bored into their souls, shutting down any ideas of speaking out of turn.

“One at a time you will explain to me what is wrong in as few words as possible. Virgil, you first.”

“Roman found a stowaway. He’s with him now.”

“A stowaway. Fantastic. Just what we needed.” The captain spat. “Remus?”

“Obviously, we should just toss the little squirt out into space. But no one here will let me.”

Janus turned to the last one there. “And I suppose that’s why you’re upset, Patton?”

“He’s just a kid.” The empathetic engineer practically pleaded.

“Where is he?”

“Storage. Roman found him while securing the prototype.” Virgil explained.

“So the kid’s seen what we have. More wonderful news .” He drew his hand down his face with a sigh. “Alright, you three stay here. I’ll go figure this out.”

***

Roman was sitting on the floor, his katana had been drawn and set aside behind him. He was talking in a low voice to the kid. Across from him, the stowaway sat with his back ramrod straight as his fingers played with the laces of his shoe. The kid was nervous but trying his best to hide it. Whatever Roman was saying the kid wasn’t responding.

Janus rapped the wall with his knuckles. The kid whipped his head around to face him. There was an intelligence in those eyes. He stared with a calculating gaze that was unusual for one so young. He was dressed smartly, wearing pressed slacks and a vest, obviously a child of wealth. Now what would lead a kid of status to stowaway on a ship of thieves?

“Ah, Captain. Good thing you're here. He won’t speak to anyone but you.” Roman spoke, trying his best to keep his voice calm and even, an usual occurrence for the boisterous first mate.

“You’re the captain?” The child asked, unimpressed.

“No, I’m the cook. Everyone calls me Captain because if they don’t I’ll spit in their food.” Janus whispered conspiratorially.

The kid squinted his eyes in suspicion and confusion. “You are being dishonest.”

A stowaway that didn’t understand sarcasm, this would certainly be interesting. “You’re right. I am being dishonest. You’ve figured it out, I am the captain. And now I need you to answer my questions. Can you tell me why you’ve decided to stowaway on my ship?”

The kid looked between the two of them, he tried to speak with confidence but there was a spark of fear hidden within his eyes. Janus wondered if Roman could see it too.

“I want to join you.” The kid spoke simply.

Roman raised his brow and Janus could not hold back a chuckle. The kid tightened his fists, preparing himself for a debate. “I’m smart. I can solve problems and help map out battle plans better than anyone in my class.”

“I’m sure you can, kid,” Janus shook his head incredulously. “But you see we don’t really have any need for a battle tactician. And as for plans and problems, no one can beat my second-in-command here.” Janus clapped his hand around Roman’s shoulder.

“It’s true. If he brought you on, I might grow jealous.” Roman smirked.

“Well, then I could join another ship. One that needs me.” The kid refused to be persuaded.

The captain sighed. Alright, the straight-forward approach. “Look, you aren’t joining a ship of smugglers and thieves. We won’t take you and there is no way I’m letting you join any other ship. You’d be killed in a month. Why don’t you tell me where your home is and we can drop you off?”

“Smugglers? I thought-” The kid’s fear was unmistakable now. “I may have made a miscalculation.”

“Did you now?”

“You’re not with the rebellion?”

“Most definitely not.”

“You attacked the Northern Outpost on Galiero. Why would you do that if you are not with the rebellion?”

“Ah, see… we can’t really tell you about that. But-”

The kid was not listening, scanning the room he pointed to the prototype, cutting Janus off, “It’s because of that. Isn’t it?’

The prototype sat beside a smuggling hold. It was a large piece of machinery, all sharp edges and mysterious buttons, waiting patiently to be hidden snuggly away, the same hold that the kid must have found and stowed away in. They would need to reevaluate their hidden compartments if a kid could find them.

The kid continued, “If you’re smugglers, then you can take me to the rebels. I can pay you.”

“We’re not taking you to any rebels,” Roman asserted. “We’re taking you home. To your family.”

“My family is gone.” The kid spat out venomously. “It was just my dad and I. And then the Alliance took him away. They said his books were spreading ‘treasonist ideologies.’ They took him away and forced me into a new family. I’m not going back there. I’m joining the rebellion and I’m going to destroy the Alliance.”

There was a pause of silence. Janus and Roman gave each other a meaningful look. “Alright, we won’t take you home,” Janus finally proclaimed. “Roman, why don’t you take the kid here and find him something to eat?”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

“Will you take me to the rebellion?” The kid questioned, refusing to leave without a confirmation.

“Of course, kid.” At that moment, Janus was thankful that the kid couldn’t understand sarcasm.

“It’s Logan. Logan Sanders.” Their stowaway clarified as he allowed himself to be led away.

The captain sighed heavily. He needed to speak with his pilot.

***

“You want to what?” Virgil nearly yelled.

“I want to rescue the boy’s father from the Alliance prisons.”

“You’re insane! You’ve lost it! The Captain’s lost it and we are all going to die!”

“Virgil, calm down. We can do it, as long as we play it smart.”

“No!” Virgil shook his head. “No, there is no ‘playing this smart.’ We are running hot right now. We have a stolen prototype in our storage that the Alliance would happily kill us to regain and now we have a kid on board to worry about! Going anywhere near Alliance space right now is suicide. We need to be heading to the outer planets as fast as our jets can carry us.”

“I know. But we aren’t. Logan needs his father. Or would you rather we hand him over to the rebellion so they can use him as cannon fodder?”

Virgil hissed out a curse. “You can’t do that. You can’t just do that. Guilting me into this madness...” He muttered as he began angrily punching in codes into the panel.

“Thank you, Virgil.”

“If we die, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I know.” Janus answers.

The pilot sighed as the computer beeped back at him. “Remy thinks he can figure out where the kid’s father would have been taken. Last name Sanders, right? We can start heading to the center planets now while he does his thing. It’ll take a couple days, we’ll need to go through the Mirdian belt if we want to avoid detection. By the time we arrive, Remy should have all the info we need to get ourselves killed on a rescue mission.”

“ Perfect. I’ll let the others know.”

***

The kid was pacing. The kid was pacing a lot and it was driving Remus up the wall. Back and forth. Back and forth, the kid walked. Glancing this way and that and generally being a distracting nuisance. Remus was sitting at the table, attempting to clean one of his guns in peace. He loved to tinker with his weapons in the kitchen. Best way to work and devour snacks all at once. Patton hated it of course. But Patton was busy helping Virgil. Something about making sure their approach to the planet didn’t trip off any sensors. All Remus knew was that he was supposed to have the kitchen to himself to prepare for the mission. But now there was a kid here. A kid he was not allowed to eject into space. Which Remus considered a travesty. At least the kid being here meant they were going to break into a prison! Remus has always wanted to break into a prison, ever since he and Roman had run away from home looking for adventure. And now he had his chance. He was ready to go. His skin was buzzing in excitement and he was making sure all of his precious babies were loaded and ready for a fight. But his perfect happy bubble was being ruined by pacing.

“Would you just sit down already!” Remus hollowered at the kid. Logan glanced his way unimpressed and continued to pace.

Remus grumbled in distaste. The kid was suspicious of them, Remus knew it. He may not be able to read body language like Janus, but the kid was definitely suspicious. Remus wasn’t sure how or when but sometime during their trip Logan had figured out they were heading the wrong way to meet up with the rebellion. And now he was pacing. Janus didn’t want them to tell Logan their plans. Something about getting his hopes up. Whatever the reason, it was complete bull. And Remus would know. He specialized in bullcrap.

The kid was pacing. Pacing and planning. An unpredictable plan from an unknown variable meant chaos. Remus liked chaos. But he also liked his friends. And a plan like that, on a mission like this, could get his friends killed.

“Hey kid, you want to know a secret?”

Logan stared back at Remus, silently… waiting.

“We aren’t heading towards the rebellion.” Remus grinned deviously.

There was a pause. Logan searched Remus’s face, looking for who knows what. “You’re taking me to the Alliance. You’re turning me in for clemency. Aren’t you?”

“Hah!” Remus barked out a laugh. “Turning you in for clemency? Hell no! We may not be with the rebellion but our hate for the Alliance runs just as deep.”

“Then why aren’t you with them? Why not help them fight?” Logan’s curiosity was struck.

“Because the rebellion is totally insane! And not in the fun way if you know what I mean?” Logan gave him a look that told Remus he, in fact, did not know what he meant. Remus continued, “They’re one of those defeat-the-evil-empire-by-any-means-necessary types. They believe in their own bullcrap. Trust me, kid, you don’t want to work for them.”

“What are you going to do with me then?” Logan pressed.

“We’re going to do something insane. And I do mean insane in the fun way.” Remus winked conspiratorially.

“That does nothing to reassure me.” Logan deadpanned, which caused Remus to let loose a big belly laugh. The sound bouncing around the kitchen.

“You’re alright, kid,” wiping away a tear of mirth, Remus chuckled. “Hey, come over here.” he gestured towards the table, where an assortment of his weapons had been laid out. “We’re going to be leaving in a minute to have our fun. It’ll just be you and Patton on the ship while we’re out. Nothing should happen, but just in case why don’t you take Linda here.” He shoved a small laser gun into the kid’s hands. “She’ll take care of you if any of the insanity comes this way, Alright?”

Logan stared down at the gun in his hands. His brow knitted together in confusion, but when he looked up there was gratitude in his eyes. He nodded his understanding.

A cough came from the doorway. Remus looked up to find the Captain standing in the entrance, looking with fondness at the scene in front of him. “Well, I hope I’m not interrupting. Just thought I’d let you know we’ll be touching down now.” Janus explained, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Remus, meet me in the hold once you’ve finished. Patton will be here in a minute to take care of the kid. Said something about making you guys a hot sugary drink. That should be fun, right kid?”

Logan stared back at the Captain. His fingers feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands. He positioned himself and raised the gun, aiming it directly at the Captain’s face. His eyes were cold and his hands barely shook. “If you betray me I’ll shoot you.”

Remus smiled mischievously as Janus shot him a look of disbelief, “What did you teach him?”

“Nothing, Cap. This is all him! The kid’s a natural.”

Janus wisely decided to drop it at that. “Just pack up your things and meet me down there.”

“Righty-o, Boss Man!” Remus waved to Janus’s departing back before turning back to his new friend. “Alright, we won’t be seeing each other until nightfall. But don’t you worry, nothing’s gonna harm you. You're under my protection now, like a little chaos apprentice.” He gave a big toothy grin. “And when I have your back nothing bad will ever happen to you. Got it?”

The kid grips the weapon in his hands. “You won’t tell me what you are doing?”

“Nah, Cap wants to keep it a surprise. But trust me, you’ll love it!”

“Alright, I trust you.”

***

It was dusty, so very dusty. The wind blew it everywhere. Beneath the scarves wrapped around their faces. Crusting over the glass of their goggles. And filling their boots, as they dragged their feet further and further through the dunes. Virgil shouldered his pack higher, trying his best to adjust whatever was poking harshly into his back. The pack was heavy, filled to the brim with ammo for whatever Remus had brought along. The pack pulled his weight deeper into the sand with each and every step. They had landed several klicks away from the prison, better to go undetected until they were ready for a fight. But this meant a hike. A hike carrying bulging packs full of everything they will need for the mission ahead.

The sun was clouded. Obscured by the grit blowing around them. But the heat was real. Virgil could feel the sweat beading down his back. Drops pooled around his hairline, dripping into his scarf. Virgil desperately ached to wipe them away. But he knew it would only make the situation worse, covered as his hands were with dust.

As evening neared, they finally arrived within striking distance of the prison. They settled down to wait. Munching on protein packs and chugging water from their skins. Janus passed around an old communicator. A flashing mugshot hovered there from all to see.

Their Captain crouched down beside them, speaking as clearly and precisely as he could. “Thomas Sanders. Civilian. Divorced. Father of one and author of the banned book: The Lost Art of Community . He was arrested half a lunar cycle ago for perpetuating treasonist ideologies. Remy has provided us with a map of the building and yard. The asset will be held within solitary confinement.”

Virgil swiped through the communicator. Seeing the images zoom pass, sure enough a map popped up. An area colored yellow, stood out from the rest: solitary confinement. Virgil mumbled to himself, repeating what he saw, forcing the images into his memory.

“We’ll be doing a Surprise Secret,” Janus continued. “Remus and Roman, you’ll cover the Surprise. Virgil and I will take care of the Secret. Understood?”

Words of confirmation echoed out.

“Alright, begin your preparations. At dusk, we strike.”

***

The sky was beginning to darken. The signal would come any minute now. Virgil thought to himself as he lay on his stomach, he shifted to ensure the katana did not dig into his stomach. Roman had been kind enough to lend it for their mission. Virgil scanned the prison through his binoculars. He couldn’t see the twins, there happened to be a building in the way, but he knew they were there. On the other side, readying their surprise. It had to be soon. Any minute now. Virgil shifted nervously.

Janus laid a hand on his shoulder, “Virgil, it’ll be okay. We’ve done this before. Only difference is: now the asset is a person. We’ve got this.”

Virgil sighed heavily, “There’s a lot more different than that. It’s-”

BOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Time to go. They shot to their feet, sprinting towards the prison. The firefight had begun.

***

Remus was having the time of his life. Guards were pouring out of the front of the building, firing frantically at their position. But Roman and Remus were smuggly secured in a foxhole they had prepared for this very reason. They let loose a torrent of fire upon the building. Doing their best to be as loud as possible. Truly, this was the best job of their life. And all they had to do now was draw as much attention as possible, while not getting killed. Easy peasy.

Roman yelled, “Reload!” Beside him. Ducking down to grab ammunition from one of the packs that lay open in their hole.

Remus screamed as he laid down cover fire. “Eat lasers, ya little piggies!!”

A shot whizzed past his ear. Remus ducked his head a little lower. Whoa! That was close. His eyes were wide and his smile couldn’t possibly grow wider. This was living the dream. Roman patted his shoulder signaling he was ready. And together they rose again. Firing an array of blazing lasers down at the swarming guards streaming from the compound beneath them.

***

Virgil and Janus had made it onto the roof. No one had noticed them yet. Roman and Remus were truly doing a fantastic job of drawing everyone’s attention. Still, Virgil couldn’t help but worry. His gut twisted at the thought that his two crewmates were fighting against an entire prison worth of guards with nothing but their position, their weapons, and their skill to protect them.

He had long since abandoned the religion of his home planet. But as he skittered the edges of the cell block, seeing the lights of the lasers paint the horizon like a violent sunset. For the first time in years he felt the urge to wish. To wish that the great being of fate that pulled on the strings of the universe, fighting for the balance of destruction and creation, really was real. Somewhere outside of their dimension, pulling on the strings and maybe just maybe, ensuring that they would make it out okay. That the balance fell on their side today.

Virgil ran low across the roof, Janus followed closely behind in his footsteps. They glided across the blacktop, weaving between obstacles and doing their best to hide whenever possible. Against the darkened sky, they were but a pair of dancing shadows. While the front of the building was lit up in an array of lights and screams, a display of dazzling laser fire. On the roof, all was silent and dark.

He whispered to himself, repeating the layout of the map. East, a little further. They were close. So very close. Roman and Remus just had to hold on a little bit longer. Janus whipped out a thermal reader, readying himself. They had arrived at the section for solitary confinement.

The thermal reader lit up softly, Janus shifted his coat to hide the light as best as he could. Moving right and left, he worked his way across the roof. Virgil had brought out his own, starting at the other end of the section, he crouched low over the screen, he appeared as a hovering figure, coasting his way over the building, moving eerily similar to a predator. A beast-like crouch reminiscent of the predators of Loskor searching the ground for hidden Storles’s burrows.

A call broke his concentration. Janus gestured him over. Sure, enough his screen was filled with the image of red. A humanoid figure pacing in the cell below. Virgil pulled out Roman’s katana. At the push of a button, the blade pulsed red. He steadied his stance, holding the blade firmly in his fist, Virgil pushed it down into the blacktop of the roof. The blade hissed, sparks flew, spitting gravel into the air. Virgil pushed further, fighting against the force. On Janus’s screen, the figure was stock-still and squirreled away into a corner, the body stared up at the ceiling, watching their progress. Virgil pulled the blade across. Slowly, he moved around, forming the rough shape of a rounded box. He removed the katana and extinguished the fire. Now, came the tricky part. Thankfully, the figure appeared content to stay in the corner.

Virgil kicked down forcibly onto the weakened rooftop. The cut-out shape moved an inch inward, creating a large person-sized depression in the otherwise smooth surface. Sturdy sucker. Virgil kicked again.

The chunk of rooftop collapsed into the cell below, spraying chunks of rock across the frightened prison. He stared up at them through the hole. Through the dust and dirt, Virgil could make out the face of their target, Thomas Sanders.

“Your son, Logan, is waiting for you,” Janus caught the attention of the prisoner. “Ready to go?”

“My son?” Thomas asked, dumbstruck.

Virgil lay down on the roof at the edge of the hole. Reaching down into the cell, his fingers stretching towards the prisoner. “We have to go now! Grab on.”

Thomas glanced between them, searching their faces in a similar fashion to the way Logan often would. Satisfied with what he saw, he jumped to catch Virgil’s outstretched palm. Virgil groaned under the force of a grown man hanging from his arm, but he managed to hang on. He pulled his arm up. Janus came round and offered his own hand out to the man. Once they had a hold on each of his arms, they worked together. Pulling the man up and out of the darkened prison cell. They collapsed against the rooftop, huffing.

“Time to break radio silence.” Janus spoke. Yanking a communicator from his belt, he brought it up to his lips. “The secret is done. Time for the final surprise.”

The communicator crackled noisily. The sounds of static and explosion pouring through. A voice broke through the noise. “Final surprise incoming. Brace for impact.”

Virgil jumped to his feet, pulling the prison to standing position. “There’s going to be a big blast. When it happens we’ve got to run to the edge of the roof as fast as we can. You understand?”

The prisoner nodded his head, frantically. Clearly, this man was out of his depths. But he seemed focused and ready to listen. And right now, that’s all they needed.

The building shook violently. The front of the prison crumbled inward slightly as a bright ball of light stung their eyes.

“To the front! Now!” Janus yelled.

The trio ran.

***

The firefight was really starting to get exciting, Remus thought. Their foxhole was taking heavy damage and their ammunition was beginning to run low. They had to wrap this up soon if they wanted to get off this hellhole-of-a-planet unscathed. Although getting a little scathed was alright in Remus’s opinion. One can never have too many battle scars, afterall. In truth, Remus never really feared injury, not for himself at least. If the personification of death came strolling up to Remus one day, he’d probably greet him to a challenge of arm wrestling, just to see who was stronger, of course. Now, if death came for someone else, someone Remus cared about, that was another story. And so when the call from Janus came in, Remus was happy to say that thing’s seemed to be working out.

Remus set up the support stand as Roman answered, “Final Surprise incoming, brace for impact.”

From the last pack, the one that had laid unopened during the battle, Remus pulled out, what he affectionately called, The Final Surprise. A missile laser launcher that could fire a laser bolt big enough to put a hole through a military class transporter. This was going to be fun! He set it in place on the support stand and lined up his shot. Aiming for the front of the prison, his smile grew wider. The line of guard’s that had formed to fight off the “invasion” had no idea what was about to come their way.

Remus fired the Final Surprise. So named because in life there is only one final surprise.

The front of the building exploded in fire. The frame shook. The doors had been blasted off. Prisoners had been freed. And now the guards were fighting a battle on two fronts.

Remus began hurriedly packing up whatever supplies they would have the time to take. Roman took to laying down cover fire. As he packed, he took to watching the building attentively. Looking for the three figures that were currently sprinting across the rooftop. He spotted their silhouettes as they neared the building’s front. All three were there. They were safe.

Over the cacophony of battles cries and weapons firing, a new sound was heard. The thrum of an engine. Most importantly the thrum of the engine of their ship. It roared violently, the buzz of a thousand hornets that was felt deep in the bones. The ship tore through the air and came to hover directly behind them. The door had been lowered, open and ready for them to enter.

“Ready to board?” Roman shouted to his brother.

Remus was clutching the Final Surprise to his chest. The packs had been piled onto his shoulders, two to an arm. He felt positively giddy. They left their foxhole behind and jumped aboard. The guards that weren’t fighting prisoners had shifted to fire upon the ship. It was time to leave.

“We’re on! Move to the rooftop.” Roman radioed Patton.

The ship rose higher, coming level to the rooftop. It soared over the heads of the guard. The ship rattled as it took laser fire to its hull. The trio watched them as they flew in closer. Virgil jumped aboard first. Running in to hug the twins.

“God, we’re alive!” He cheered.

Janus and the prisoner jumped together. The captain steadying the civilian. He helped him through the door and safely inside the ship’s storage.

Everyone was here. They were safe. They had successfully completed a prison break!

The ship began to rise from the building. The door was beginning to close when Remus saw it.

The prison had launched their own ship. A prison transport. It had limited weapon capabilities. But their ship was already taking fire. They couldn’t risk it.

Remus was still holding onto the Final Surprise. There wasn’t anytime to set up the support stand. He dropped the packs and slammed his fist against the button to hold open the door. The others looked his way in shock as he squared up on the half-closed ramp. He hefted the Final Surprise against his shoulder. The transport ship came into his crosshairs. Remus fired.

There is a reason that the Final Surprise requires a support stand to fire. The recoil. The laser bolt left the launcher. It blasted through the crack in the open door. And Remus, he was thrown back. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the prisoner transport explode into a mess of shrapnel.

What a way to end a prison break.

***

The dreadful thing about having a surprise stowaway on board, is that other things fall to the wayside. Janus knew he had meant to give the order to hide away the prototype. But with planning a prisoner break, dealing with a child that was too smart for his own good, and trying their best to fly to a prison planet without being detected: They had just never gotten around to it.

Janus watched in horror as Remus was thrown across the ship’s storage and directly into the path of the prototype. His body smacked against its side. And blood pooled across his shirt. The crew rushed to his side. Janus barking orders to give him space.

Janus didn’t even know what the prototype did. He had just been hired to steal it. The customer was paying well and it was a chance to stick it to the Alliance. He had jumped at the chance. Now, he stood beside his bleeding crewmate. Someone had passed him a wad of gauze, probably Virgil. He was pressing them the best he could to the wound, working around the projectile. For Remus had been impaled upon a metal protrusion on the device.

Virgil was frantic. He had brought out the first aid kit and was doing what he could. But none of them knew what to do with a wound like this. How could they? They were smugglers, not doctors.

“Virgil, Patton needs you.” Janus stared at their frantic pilot.

Virgil wordlessly shook his head no.

“You need to fly us out of here.”

“He needs help.” Virgil argued.

“And what are you going to do here? We’ve got him. But right now, we need you to get us out of here. Patton doesn’t know how to leave a planet’s atmosphere. If you don’t pilot this ship we all die. And it will be your fault.” Janus's voice was as cold as stone. It was times like these that he knew why he had become their Captain. To be a Captain, meant at times you had to be cruel.

And the look Virgil shot him as he left. He knew he would pay for what he had said. But at least, they would survive. Janus could feel the blood pool around his hands. Well, most of them.

Roman was at his side now. He gripped his brother’s hand in his own. “Remus. Remus, wake up. You’ve got to wake up.”

“I’m sorry, Roman.” The captain spoke. “Are there any death rites on your planet?”

“No.” A shout came from behind them. Janus turned his head to see the stowaway. His arms were raised, just as had they had been this morning. The gun Remus had given him was held firmly in his hands. “You have to save him.”

“I’m sorry, kid. There’s nothing we can do.”

“YOU HAVE TO!” He shouted. His father crouched beside him. Whispering and trying to coax the weapon from his hands.

Logan shoved his father’s arms away. “The rebellion! Take him to the rebellion! They’ll save him!”

Roman lifted his head to look at the kid, “I would never take him back there. You don’t know what they’re like. When we left… when we found this ship, we promised we’d never return to them.”

“But… but… he can’t just die! He said he’d protect me!”

“There’s another way,” Thomas spoke. “The Alliance, the Rebellion. They aren’t the only people out there. There are others that can help.”

“What do you mean?” Roman asked, hope tinting his words.

“I was jailed for a book about community. Because in community is where our strength lies. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. There are others like me. Spread out throughout the universe, on every planet. If you showed me a map, I could take us to someone nearby. People that can help. People that help not because they want to use you for their own ends, but because they want to help. Because they believe in community.”

Janus looks to Roman. The twin nodded his head. Janus spoke, “Logan, could you show your father to the cockpit.”

Janus hated the Alliance. They were cruel. The rebellion wasn’t much better. But perhaps, with each other, with this community and the family that they had found on this ship, they could make it. They could survive. And maybe. Just maybe if this plan was just crazy enough to work. They could save Remus too.

Janus pressed a kiss to Remus’s forehead. “Don’t worry. We’re here for you.”

***

Remus awoke wrapped in warmth. The sounds of laughter and chattering voices drifted to his ears. He could hear his brother, his voice loud and boisterous. He was telling a story of their childhood. The time they had stolen a whole pie from the baker and eaten the entire thing in one afternoon. There was the giggle of a child. Logan? His captain spoke next, Janus making some sarcastic comment. Patton admonished the captain. He could hear the smirk in Virgil’s voice, as the pilot joined in.

Was everyone here? Had they all made it?

Remus opened his eyes. He was in bed. Not his bunk but an actual bed, in an actual bedroom. His crew sat in chairs around him. There was a beam of sunlight streaming in through a window. They weren’t on the ship. Where were they?

“Hey sleepy guy, welcome back!” Patton cooed.

His brother reached out his hand and squeezed his shoulder. “Looks like you got your wish, bro. A real-life prison break. But I’m telling you now, we are never doing that again.”

The chaotic twin grinned at his family. He looked down at his bandaged chest and then back to his loved ones, “it was totally worth it.”

Virgil looked about ready to punch him for that comment. But Logan beat him to it, slapping his arm only somewhat playfully, “You are never allowed to do something like that again. Ever again! Okay?” He commanded.

“Aw, alright... But only because there is still so much I want to teach you.”

Logan nodded his head in acknowledgement, “As long as you allow me to teach you about basic safety!”

“Oh, I like this kid.” Virgil chuckled.

And soon everyone had joined in. Sharing stories all about his lack of basic self-preservation instincts.

***

Janus watched as his crew delighted in Remus’s return to the land of the conscious. Turns out Thomas had been right, together they could survive.

taglist: @stop-it-anxiety @hexatrash @ollyollyoxinfree @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @leiasolo77 @arya-skywalker @alexxadontplaydespasito

#sanders sides #janus sanders #all the sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #kid!logan #sanders sides fic #ts fanfic #ts fanfiction #my writing

33 notes · View notes

gaylotusthatexists · 5 years ago

Text

escaped

fandom: sanders sides

pairings: platonic analogical and moxiety, background logicality

prompt: trust issues

trigger warnings: injury mention, nightmares, panic attack, let me know if i need to add anything else

word count: 3310

a/n: this was requested by @skelevale and written for the @badthingshappenbingo! this was fun for me to write haha so thank u for the request, i hope that y’all enjoy ^^

ao3

Virgil spread out his wings and took flight, leaving the cave he'd used for shelter last night. What he hadn't expected to happen was for him to immediately tumble down the side of the mountain, hit several trees on the way down, and land on the hard floor, his entire body beginning to ache. That was weird - he'd been flying just fine the day before, what had-

Oh, shit. His eyes widened as he saw the state his wings were in. Feathers missing, a huge tear down one side, some feathers a little burnt around the edges. He supposed it was to be expected, after the trouble he had gotten into the day before, those army men trying to shoot him out of the sky. He just hadn't realised how bad it had been, hadn't had much time to check over before he collapsed and fell asleep.

He needed help, someone to fix this. But it wasn't as if he could easily find help. Unlike most injured people, he couldn't just walk into A&E, or go into a shop to buy bandages. No, no, that would only get him killed sooner. He needed to get out of this forest, find someplace safer. He knew there was a town on the other side of the forest, one that he'd seen a few times in the air, but he wasn't sure how accepting that place was. And he couldn't go back to where he came from, couldn't risk it.

He tried to fly again, but only managed to hover in the air for a few seconds before collapsing again, hitting his head on a rock below and very nearly screaming out in pain. He kept it in, though - he was well practised in the art of staying silent, even when he wanted nothing more than to shout out to the world. He rubbed the back of his head as he sat back up, and noticed blood staining his hand once he drew away. Well - that wasn't good.

His only hope was walking until he found some sort of safe place. Perhaps that town would be friendly - if it was, he'd be able to get some supplies and patch himself up, or even find someone to help him. The chances were low, but... it was worth a shot. He stood up and began to walk through the forest, his wings curling around his body as a sort of defence. A weak defence, really, considering about battered they were.

The town would have only been a fifteen minute fly away, but on foot he had no idea. He wasn't the fastest of walkers, not used to using his legs unless he absolutely had to. But perhaps fear could fuel him, the knowledge that there were people out to get him, and that if he didn't move quickly he could get caught.

His stomach rumbled and he instinctively wrapped his arms around his waist, eyes falling down to the floor. For a moment, he felt dizzy, his vision blurring, before he took a deep breath and continued moving forward, perhaps a little slower than before. When was the last time he'd eaten? Days seemed to blur together when he'd been on the run for so long, and it was difficult to find food in the wild that wouldn't kill him. There had been that kind couple he met near the last village, who'd given him some supplies before telling him to run. He'd been so, so grateful for that, but he'd ran out of that food a while ago, and it must have been almost a month since he'd been at the village.

Okay, okay. Just... a little rest. He moved over to the side of the path and sat down at the base of a tree, taking off his bag and taking in several deep breaths, holding his head in his hands. The pain was beginning to catch up with him, his dead wings weighing down on him. He took his bottle out of his bag and had a large gulp of water, which helped just a little.

Was it already nighttime? Looking up, he noticed the sky beginning to darken, the setting sun casting an orange glow over the forest. Perhaps he'd just woken up late - thinking about it, he had been pretty exhausted. Maybe a little nap now wouldn't hurt. He hadn't spotted anyone else on his travels, and those army men had their base on the other side of the forest. He curled up in his spot, closing his eyes for just a second, and was immediately swept into his dreams.

Bound in chains and drenched in sweat. People called his name - no, a number, he needed to remind himself that his name was Virgil, not whatever they called him. People called a number and he had to follow, knowing exactly what was about to happen, and knowing there was no way he could stop it.

It was always a blur, but he could remember the pain, as his feathers were stripped away and he cried and cried, trying to ignore the blood and his own screams. They ignored it, too, so why couldn't he?

And then darkness, thrown against the cold, hard floor, bound in chains again. A small room, enclosed, hardly enough space to stand, definitely not enough space to move. Not that he would be able to move anyway. And he' d cry, all the time. There was nothing much else to do.

A whisper, echoing through the dark, calling him, death beckoning closer, the alarm sounding, his head racing, blood dripping down his arms, and no one coming to save him.

Virgil woke up, trying to catch his breath, and wondering why there were tears falling down his cheeks. He didn't want this, didn't want to think about everything that had happened. He remembered what it was like, and knew he'd never go back, couldn't go back. He'd escaped now, he was free, he was...

A sound, further in the forest. A twig, snapping, and someone moving suddenly, hiding behind a tree. Virgil could hear them breathing, could hear them shuffling in place. They thought they were doing a good job of hiding, but Virgil could see their body behind the tree, their shadow on the ground. He wiped away his tears and tried his best to remain calm.

"Who's there?" he spoke out, cringing at how quiet and hoarse his voice was. It had been a while since he'd used his voice.

There was no response.

Virgil tried again. "I'm not afraid of you." Lie. "Just show yourself." Please don't. Please just leave.

The person behind the tree moved, slowly spinning around and facing Virgil with his hands in the air. He looked... friendly. Not wearing the uniform of anyone who would try to hurt Virgil, at least, unless he was in disguise, or just a general asshole. No, no, he just looked like a normal person, jeans and a shirt, glasses, a blue tie. And a knife, strapped around his belt. Virgil kept his eyes fixed on the knife, trying to control his fear.

The man slowly reached down for his knife and Virgil stiffened. But then, he threw the knife away, a few feet further along the path, and lowered his body so he was eye level with Virgil. "Are you okay?" he asked, softly, with genuine concern.

Virgil just stared at him, unsure what to make of him. He... didn't look like a threat, but he did have that knife, and there was no indication that he didn't have any more weapons. "Who do you work for?" he ended up asking, trying to stay as far away from him as possible until he knew he'd be able to trust him.

"I'm self-employed," the man replied. "I'm a scientist, conducting research in these woods."

Virgil's shoulders stiffened again at that. Scientists. He'd never met a scientist on his side before. He- He didn't want things to go back to the way they were, he-

"Don't worry," the man continued, "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help."

Virgil looked him up and down, trying to figure out if he was okay. He... wasn't displaying any signs of aggression, so...

"You're injured," the man stated. "I can help you. My husband is a doctor, I could take you to see him."

A doctor. Virgil hadn't had many good experiences with them either.

"Please, I just want to help. Are you- Are you with anyone else?"

Virgil shook his head.

"No, family? Friends?"

"I'm completely alone."

"You're... a child, though."

He wasn't a child. "I'm seventeen."

"That's still a child."

Virgil didn't reply. He wanted to run, get far, far away, but was afraid the man might try something to get him to stay. It was probably better to just comply, assess the situation as he went, and escape when he had an open opportunity.

"My name's Logan," the man introduced. "Can I ask what yours is?"

He stayed silent.

"Okay, that's fine." Logan rose up, standing tall and offering a hand. "Let me take you back to my house. My husband will be able to help you there."

Virgil stared at Logan's hand for a moment, before standing up himself, not needing Logan's help. He grabbed his bag and began to follow Logan through the forest, silently. At least he was going willingly at that moment, it wasn't as if Logan was forcing him. Perhaps that was a good sign. Or maybe Logan was just trying to build up a false sense of security.

Virgil's eyes followed the knife on the ground as they walked, waiting for Logan to retrieve it. He didn't, instead abandoning it on the forest floor. And when he looked back up at Logan, he was smiling, giving him a comforting look. This- This seemed okay. Logan wasn't trying to hurt him, not like everyone else did. His wings curled around his body again, shielding himself as he walked. He kept his eyes fixed on Logan.

"So," Logan said, after fifteen minutes or so of silence, "what are you doing in this forest?"

Virgil's eyes fell to the floor. "Couldn't fly. Got stuck."

"Ah. Where exactly were you heading before?"

Virgil shrugged.

"You... don't know?"

"Just away."

"Are you running from someone?"

"Do you have to ask so many questions?" Virgil snapped.

Logan seemed taken aback. "Sorry. I'm just curious. We don't really see a lot of winged teens wandering the forest."

"Yeah, well-" He shoved his hands in his pocket. "-it's not like I'm here by choice."

"Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?" After Virgil didn't respond, Logan added, "Surely you must have a home somewhere. Family, or something."

Virgil shook his head. "Nope. Like I said, I'm all alone." He kicked a rock on the ground, watching it bounce along the path.

Logan was quiet for a while longer, before he glanced over at Virgil again. "Are you hungry?"

"No." As if on cue, his stomach growled again. "Yes."

"Here." Logan handed him a small cereal bar, with writing he didn't understand on the wrapper. "It's not much, but it will keep you going."

Virgil twisted it around in his fingers, examining it to see if there was anything wrong, before opening it and taking a small bite. It wasn't the best thing he'd ever eaten, but didn't taste like it was poisoned either, and he hadn't eaten in a while so it was... welcome. He ate the whole thing in a matter of seconds, feeling just a little bit better. "Thank you."

"It's quite alright, uh-"

"Virgil."

"Virgil." Logan smiled. The tips of Virgil's mouth tilted up slightly, before he plastered on a frown again. He shoved his hands back in his pockets, fiddling with the empty wrapper as he walked.

Eventually, Logan came to a stop, by a small cottage in the middle of the forest, cosy and warm, the smell of pie drifting out the open window. Virgil swallowed, trying his best to force his stomach not to growl, as he didn't want to seem ungrateful for the food Logan had already given him. Virgil followed Logan into the house, scrunching up his wings to fit through the doorway.

"Patton!" Logan called, stepping further into the house, as Virgil loitered closer to the entrance, surveying his surroundings. The house looked nice enough, nothing like the place he'd previously 'lived' in. Pictures of Logan and an unfamiliar man were hung on the walls, and flowers were dotted around the rooms in little pots, adding a dash of colour. It looked nice, but Virgil still refused to lower his guard.

A man came out of the kitchen, eyes widening as he spotted Virgil. He looked to be kind enough as well, with curly hair and a round, freckle-dotted face, wearing a blue t-shirt tucked into a flowing skirt. Upon realising Virgil's condition, he rushed over, eyes immediately filled with sympathy.

"What happened?" the man - Patton, Virgil presumed - asked, as he looked around Virgil's body, getting way to close for comfort. Virgil couldn't help but move back, folding his arms and wings around his body protectively.

"This is Virgil," Logan introduced. "Found him in the forest."

"Oh, you poor kiddo." Patton stepped back, looking Virgil up and down. "C'mon, let's get you patched up." He moved further into the house and, after glancing at Logan and receiving a comforting nod, Virgil followed.

The three of them moved into the kitchen, and the smell of the pie from earlier only got more intense. Virgil tried his best not to stare at it as he sat down at the table at Patton's command. Patton got down on his knees and began to clean up some of Virgil's wounds, dapping a wet cloth on some of the cuts. It stung, just a little, and Virgil wasn't quite sure what to do, wasn't sure if he could trust Patton, but he sat there anyway, not able to think of an easy escape.

"What happened?" Patton asked, as he began to wrap some bandages around Virgil.

Virgil closed his eyes. "I don't- I don't want to talk about it."

Patton looked concerned, but didn't dig any further, which filled Virgil with relief. He continued to patch Virgil up until all the cuts had been wrapped in a bandage or given a plaster, before he moved around to his back and looked at his wings. Virgil turned his head and body slightly so he was still facing Patton, still trying his best to maintain a calm composure. When Patton touched his wings, Virgil couldn't help but flinch, move his wings back, stiffen his shoulders.

"Sorry!" Patton immediately apologised, now looking a little panicked. "Did that hurt?"

It hadn't hurt, not really, but...

"Is it okay if I touch them?" Patton asked, after Virgil's silence. "I just need to figure out the best way to fix them, but I can do it without touching if you'd prefer."

Virgil relaxed a little at that. "Don't. Please."

Patton nodded. "Okay." There was an extended period of silence as Patton moved around Virgil, humming every now and then. Virgil looked over at Logan across the room, who was looking at them with a curious expression. Virgil didn't know what to make of that, but everything in his mind screamed danger. He knew that was... unlikely, Logan had only been kind to him so far, but...

"Virgil, can I ask you a question?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

Virgil blinked. "Uh..."

"How long have you been out here alone?"

Virgil's leg bounced up and down. "I- I don't know. Few months? Half a year?"

"Interesting. It's just-" Logan paused, considering Virgil for a second, before continuing anyway. "-I know someone, another scientist, who works in a... rehabilitation centre for people such as yourself, and they were telling me about how someone escaped five or so months ago, someone who... fits your description pretty well."

Virgil's whole body tensed up at that, his eyes widening in fear. Fuck. What if- What if Logan was that kind of scientist? What if he was going to hurt Virgil? What if he was going to send him back?

"R-Rehabilitation?" Virgil repeated, in hopes that maybe it was a different place. Wherever he had been stuck certainly wasn't to 'rehabilitate' him.

"Well, that's how they described it," Logan said. "I don't know the specifics of what they do. It's across the country, anyway, at least a few cities over. They seemed pretty concerned, though. Everyone is still looking for you - or, well, for whoever went missing."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Virgil could feel the panic building up inside him, his heart beginning to race, vision blurring as he stood up, moving away from the couple. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and Virgil just- He- "I need some air," he let out, quietly, before rushing back towards the door, our into the forest. Logan and Patton followed him - of fucking course they did, why wouldn't they, they're trying to kidnap me, send me back there, fuck - but halted in the doorway, as Virgil took off, shooting into the air. He cringed at the pain soaring up his back as he tried to move his wings, feathers falling to the ground and Virgil losing his balance very quickly. He fell back down to the floor, trying not to cry upon impact, and curled up into a ball, wrapping his wings around himself protectively, wishing that he could just disappear, or that Logan and Patton would just leave him alone, or that-

"Virgil," a voice said next to him, "breathe with me, okay?"

Virgil peeked one eye open, noticing Logan close to him, counting on his fingers. For a while, Virgil just stared at him, vision slowly turning darker and darker, until he began to attempt to copy Logan's rhythm, breathing in and out, in and out, until he was calm again, until the world made an ounce more of sense. As Virgil slowly uncurled himself, still staying on the floor but sitting up and staring down at the dirt, Logan moved away.

"Are you alright, Virgil?" Logan eventually asked, crouching down so he was eye level with him. Virgil still refused to look Logan in the eye.

"No," Virgil admitted, wrapping his arms around his waist and hunching his shoulders.

"Are- Is it you? The one who ran away?"

Virgil's silence confirmed the answer as yes.

"And you... don't want to go back?" Logan guessed.

Virgil nodded.

"Did- Did they hurt you?"

Virgil was still for a moment, before he eventually nodded again. Logan reached out a hand towards Virgil, but Virgil just shuffled back, afraid. "Please- Please don't send me back there."

"I promise that we won't send you back," Logan said. "We can keep you safe here, okay? You can trust us."

Virgil gulped. "H-How?"

Logan blinked. "I... know it may be difficult to believe, or that you may find it hard to trust us after everything you've been through, but Patton and I are... good people. Or, we're trying to be. We won't hurt you, we promise. We just want to help. And- And if you want it, you can have a home here, okay?"

Virgil looked at Logan for a while, trying to blink away his tears. He had to admit that Logan had been nothing but kind to him, and... and if seemed safe, here.

"You can leave at any time, of course," Logan added. "Or leave now. Really, it's up to you. I just need to you know that the option is there."

After a while of consideration, Virgil slowly nodded. "Okay. Okay. Th-Thank you."

Logan smiled. "We have that pie inside to eat if you're still hungry."

Virgil's eyes lit up.

#bad things happen bingo #trust issues #thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #winged!virgil #tw injury mention #tw panic attack #tw nightmares #my fanfic #my writing

63 notes · View notes

lambourngb · 4 years ago

Text

Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by: @irolltwenties ❤️ thank you so much my dear!

Name(s): L , lambourn on AO3, lambourngb here.

Fandom(s): Roswell New Mexico, a very long time ago, Smallville, and lost to the ages, baseball.

Where you post: AO3 is where just about everything lives. The only things that are tumblr specific at the moment are sneak peaks at future works and my Michael Week AU - the “This Hard” series that will be under one title - “This Hard Love” - once I finish it. 🤞

Most Popular One Shot (by kudos) This year : Leave the Fire Burning , my post-season 2 sex pollen getting back together fic. This was also one of my first stories to be in Michael’s POV.

Overall: it’s still my first finished work here, truth (to the people we love) - that I posted in Nov 2019. Probably the most ideal way to enter a fandom, lots of great people warmly welcomed me in and I still get emotional thinking about it.

 Most Popular Multi-Chapter (by kudos) Overall: last year’s wishes are this year’s apologies - if I’m known by one story, it’s this one and you know what, I’m okay with it. This story changed my fandom life and honestly, my confidence level. I’m extremely harsh on myself, and often hate something once it’s done, so when I reread the epilogue just the other day, I thought “this is still good, well done L” that’s unique for me. This year:   See above.

Favorite story you’ve written so far:  Oh I would say “Leave the Fire Burning” because I wrote it very quickly almost in a trance. 2020 has been a challenging year for writing for the most part, long battles with days of only a 100 words here or there, but that story was basically 20 K in 10 days. A runner up is you give me a good reason to be heartsick again (let me down easy) - my salty post season 2 co-write with Christi @michaels-blackhat where we made fun of the narrative surrounding Forrest and Forlex for almost 6,000 words. I haven’t done a co-write in years, and Christi was game for it and so gracious about my bossy participation ❤️...

Fic you were nervous to post: All of them, but I would say my upcoming Big Bang is giving me butterflies since it references a lot of what happened in season 2, and generally the fandom response to season 2 is pretty polarizing?

How do you choose your titles?: Song titles generally, or sometimes it’s a song lyric that I misremember? Like “Leave the Fire Burning” is related to a Noah Gunderson song “Fire Don’t Die”. I also liked to repurpose lines of dialog from the show into titles, like “truth (to the people we love)” was cannibalized from Michael’s speech to Isobel, “maybe it’s time to tell the truth to the people we love”. And “If You Regret (What You Know) was from Michael’s conversation with Alex in 1x10. Yes, I’m going to continue to abuse punctuation in my titles.

Do you outline?: Yes, absolutely. The outline is allowed to change, with inserted scenes or scenes that get blended together but every project that I’ve made some progress on has an outline that I write within. I like to use brackets, and write just above it, so I can see my goals as a go and to keep my focus.

Complete: 6 works, soon to be 7 when the Big Bang goes live.

In-Progress: *laughs uncontrollably* A LOT. I’ve somehow acquired a circle of friends who are constantly dropping soft and sad head canons on me and then it turns into a fic idea. Right now, I’m working on “This Hard Love” to finish by the end of the year. Next up after that, I want to finish my epilogue to “Last Year’s Wishes”, write the Michael POV scenes that others have requested previously, and then dive into my LYW prequel/Lost Decade epic “prettier and younger, but not any better off”. Also smaller projects in the works, some AUs - like Michael is a guitar maker and Alex is a Nashville star called “Summon Out of These Hollow Places” - @haloud , @adiwriting and @christchex are firmly to blame for that project, along with “Dress Blues (hold me lover, this ain’t an arms race) - Michael becomes Alex’s military spouse and follows him around. I also started a really dark, torture Michael story for @ninswhimsy called “Piece by Piece” where Mr. Jones basically trades Michael to be experimented on and Alex & Maria go undercover to save him. And finally, I’ve got “Why Can’t I Change” - Michael dating during season 3 with background Forlex, and my really sad epic “Grave Dancer’s Union” where Sanders is dying and Michael is his caretaker.

Coming soon/not yet started: All of the above have some words, outlines, etc. Not yet started- stuff like a coma AU, where Jesse puts Alex into a longterm care facility when he’s a teenager and Michael “meets” him because he’s visiting Isobel after the drifter’s attack. “Pressing on a bruse (we can heal)” is my sequel to “Truth” that has taken me forever but still planned, Duty of Care needs some reworking to turn it into a canon-divergent AU, same with “Gather Your Skeletons” my attempt at a soul-bond fic for Malex.

Prompts?: I’ve still got a few in my ask box that are old enough to vote, and as you all can see, I’ve got a lot of google docs in progress. So sure, you can submit, but I don’t know if I’ll get there. I’m better at answering questions about WIPs in progress- like I’ve definitely written more on some of those WIPs just from that last meme that went around. So sending me a nudge about something in progress might get you a sneak peek faster than sending me a whole prompt. With RNM there’s always a chance something will happen and turn you off of the fandom before I can fill the prompt submitted.

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: I would say my prequel to LYW. It’s looking quite long, especially the sections where Michael transitions from sneaker and jeans to jeans and cowboy boots with a big belt buckle. I’ve got a lot of horse knowledge I can’t wait to bore everyone with !

No-pressure Tags: @jule1122 , @adiwriting , @litwitlady , @aewriting , @tasyfa , @andrea-lyn @prouvaireafterdark, @el-gilliath

#meme #stuff about me #so many wips #wip whine #malex #my hamster still only runs on roswell new mexico #self-promotion #my imposter syndrome is a noisy bitch #am I writer? and meagyn has always assured me YES #thanks for the tag

16 notes · View notes

msclaritea · 4 years ago

Text

"An insurrection of upper-middle class white people | Will Bunch Newsletter

They flew from their affluent suburbs to the U.S. Capitol, ready to die for the cause of white privilege

The stunning pro-President-Trump insurrection that occurred at the U.S. Capitol less than a week ago must have been a carnival for one’s olfactory bulb, as the stinging aroma of tear gas blended with the pungent odors of the occasional joint, or maybe the piles of dung that some of the cruder mob members left in the hallways once graced by icons like Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, and LBJ. The only thing that wasn’t in the air on Wednesday was the smell of what so many have falsely tied to Trump’s authoritarian movement — any whiff of “economic anxiety.”

When fascism finally came to America in the form of an attempted coup to halt our presidential election, it came from lush-green suburbs all across this land, flying business class on Delta or United and staying in four-star hotels with three-martini lobby bars — the better to keep warm after a long day of taking selfies with friendly cops or pummeling the unfriendly ones, chanting “Hang Mike Pence!” and generally standing athwart democracy yelling “Halt!”

Long ridiculed as deplorables rising up from the muck of Rust Belt trailer parks, the Donald Trump counter-revolution has finally revealed itself as an upper-middle-class affair.

What else can one think after seeing the photo of Jenna Ryan, real-estate broker from the upscale Dallas exurb of Frisco (also a “conservative” radio talker) posing in front of the private jet that whisked her to the Jan. 6 pro-Trump rally and subsequent storming of the Capitol, where she smiled in front of a window broken by other rioters and tweeted that “if the news doesn’t stop lying about us we’re going to come after their studios next”?

Maybe Ryan is an extreme example, but her compatriots in rushing Capitol Hill on Wednesday included a father of three from another upscale Dallas suburb named Larry Rendall Brock Jr., whose 1989 degree in international relations from the Air Force Academy apparently never taught him that it’s a bad idea to be photographed leaving House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office in a combat helmet, tactical gear, and holding zip-tie handcuffs.

One might also expect a criminal defense lawyer like McCall Calhoun of Americus, Ga., to know that it’s surely illegal to surge past a line of cops into the U.S. Capitol, even if, as you later told a newspaper, you believed your fellow rioters wer people who “don’t want to lose their democratic republic.” Or that it’s bad form to do this after tweeting about a looming civil war or the potential hanging of President-elect Joe Biden.

Political junkies like us remember 2000′s “Brooks Brothers riot” of well-heeled GOP activists and lobbyists that successfully halted Florida vote recounting in populous Dade County. Apparently what we witnessed Wednesday was the “Pottery Barn insurrection.” As key figures who invaded the Capitol have been steadily identified over the last five or six days, it’s remarkable how many alleged lawbreakers emerged from upscale zip codes.

The stay-at-home dad husband of a physician. The son of an elected judge in Brooklyn. The owners of numerous small businesses, as well as assorted state legislators. The New York Times spent four years looking for Trump voters in Ohio diners, but apparently that’s not where they would have found failed actor Jacob Chansley, a.k.a. Jake Angeli, the infamous shirtless rioter with the painted face and horns, who reportedly hasn’t eaten since his arrest because there’s no organic food in jail.

Yes, many of the 74 million citizens who voted for the guy who then incited an attempted coup do fit the stereotype of struggling or laid-off blue-collar worker in a rusted-out rural community. But those folks aren’t the ones who can take a Wednesday off and fly hundreds of miles, let alone plunk down hundreds of dollars, to get to the nation’s hub. While the Capitol mob was bulked up with other Trumpists — including an alarming number of off-duty police officers, as well as some neo-Nazi or KKK types who’ve been around forever — it was the 401(k) crowd that formed the front line of America’s first real putsch.

If that surprises you, then you weren’t really paying attention. For the last four years, political scientists have been trying to wrap their brains around Trump’s shocking 2016 victory in the Electoral College while trying to tell us that the 45th president’s true base is a lot of things — but it’s not poor. In fact, polling guru Nate Silver noted during 2016′s primaries that the average Trump voter had a median household income of $72,000, which was both higher than the national average and also higher than the numbers that year for supporters of Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.

Interestingly, Silver and other analysts have found that Trump performs particularly well with voters with high incomes yet often without college diplomas (although he also does better with degree holders than he gets credit for). A researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, the political scientist Diana Mutz, found that Trump voters generally weren’t struggling economically yet did feel great anxiety about their status — whether the threat was the rise of a foreign power like China or the idea that America, and its government, was becoming increasingly nonwhite.

That explains a lot. It explains why the Republican Party, arguably in a long downward moral spiral, lost its mind when America elected its first Black president in Barack Obama. It explains why so many people with the luxuries of a laptop and free time (things that actual poor folks have in short supply) look for conspiracies like QAnon to explain a society that no longer makes sense for them, or why so much of the hatred on the right is expended not at the CEOs who outsourced American jobs but at the cap-and-gown-wearing eggheads like journalists or scientists they find intellectually arrogant.

The main reason that so many reasonably well-off folks tried to shut down American democracy wasn’t because they feared losing their paycheck, but because they feared losing their white privilege. Donald Trump had promised that “I alone can fix it” — that he’d protect them from a society where Black and brown essential workers could expect help from their government during a pandemic or ask the police to stop killing them, a world that where just being white no longer guaranteed the status they were promised as kids. They truly believed that Biden, Kamala Harris, and the 82 million were going to end their white power, and they saw Jan. 6 as their last chance to save it. The Capitol still stands, but the rest of us are going to be spending decades cleaning up their mess.

History lesson

Philadelphia Police carry a protester away from a July 4, 1966 anti-Vietnam War protest held at Independence Hall. A new study proves police are twice as likely to break up a left-wing demonstration than a right-wing one, like Wednesday's storming of the U.S. Capitol.

In the end, as the FBI and other agencies step up their investigation of the Jan. 6 insurrection, there will likely be hundreds of arrests. But the now-under-fire Capitol Police arrested only 13 rioters while the attack was underway, and only a few dozen more were busted by cops for violating the 6 p.m. curfew. No one must have been more shocked by this than the survivors of the May 1971 anti-Vietnam War protests in Washington, one of the largest demonstrations in American history. In marked contrast to last week’s light police presence, the heavy-handed tactics from the administration of Richard Nixon included secretly canceling a national-park permit for the protests and then sending in a whopping 12,000 military troops to augment an already sizable police and National Guard presence. Over three days, an astonishing 12,614 people — many who were protesting peacefully and not violating any laws — were rounded up in the largest mass arrest in U.S. history. Authorities detained thousands at RFK Stadium because there was nowhere else to put them.

The shameful 1971 incident proved a point that seemed clear last Wednesday and has now been established with research: Police who are aggressive with leftist social-justice protesters treat right-wing disturbances with kid gloves. Last year’s Black Lives Matter protests as well as anti-lockdown rallies on the far right inspired the nonprofit Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project to dig deeper. It found police were twice as likely to break up the left-wing protests, and when they did disperse a gathering, cops used force against leftists more often (51% of the time) than against right-wingers (34%.) This unequal treatment under the law is one more way that American policing is broken."

#Failed Capitol Coup #Pottery Barn Insurrection #Spoiled Ass Fuckers

7 notes · View notes

max-is-tired · 5 years ago

Text

In which Logan says fuck (Kid Sides AU part 6)

Characters: Character Thomas, Joan, Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Logan Sanders, the others are mentioned

Words: 1.065

Warnings: swearing, sympathetic Remus, mentions of heart attack in reference to getting spooked, some anxiety

Notes: okay first of all, sorry it took me so long to finish this y’all. Second of all, I’ve written this with “Don’t Stop Me Now” on loop in the background and that’s all I’m gonna say about this ksdjcnsdjkcn

Remember to follow @tiny-feral-bois if you want to ask further questions about the AU or just watch me and Logan ( @romansleftshoulderpad) lose our collective shit about the chaotic mess that is this fic sajkcnsjkdnc

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.6 (you’re here!!)

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!! Join my Discord server!!

Joan buried their face in their hands, collapsing on one of the free seats at the table with a long, drawn-out groan.

“Fudge,” they muttered, much eloquently, peeking out of their fingers enough to peek at the cluster of children -and a snake- sitting all around the living room.

“So what you’re saying-” Joan said slowly, taking in a deep breath- “is that you saw Virgil slip out of the back door almost two hours ago, and didn’t think it might be good to maybe tell literally anyone about it?”

Remus shrugged, reaching into the pocket of his costume -that thing had pockets???- to bring out a small, neon orange tube.

“He gave me slime!!” he chirped proudly, popping the tube open to show everyone else the wiggling, slimy green substance present inside.

In response, Joan went back to holding their head in their hands, muttering under their breath.

“Well,” Logan sighed, closing his book, “looks like we are, as the young say, fucked.”

“Language!” Joan immediately shot up, looking at the kid with wide, scandalized eyes.

“I’m almost 30 I do what I want!” the seven years old immediately shot back, jumping up on the couch in all of his tiny, righteous fury.

Joan groaned, hitting their forehead on the table. They just hoped Virgil hadn’t gone too far.

+++

Virgil hadn’t exactly had a plan when he’d slipped out of the house and into the back of Thomas’ house. He had been angry, irritated, and all he wanted was to get some fresh air before he ended up doing something he might regret later, like snap at Patton or something.

Then though, after having moved just to the side so he could keep his eyes on the front door -he may be a very angry preteen right now, but he was still Anxiety- he’d seen Thomas step out of the door, using his keys to click the car open before turning back around to say something to someone in the house -Joan, probably.

It had been a split-second decision. One moment, he’d been crouching just behind the corner, and the next Virgil was bolting towards the now unlocked car, trying to be as silent as he could. Quickly, he slipped inside, slotting his scrawny, gangly body between the back and front seats, and waited.

Virgil kept his mouth firmly shut as Thomas entered the car and sat on the driver’s seat, forcing his breath to remain as steady as possible as they drove out of the driveway into the street.

Well, this was prospecting to be a long car drive for him

+++

Thomas kept biting his bottom lip as he drove, occasionally tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Gosh, was he nervous. Lily had agreed immediately to meet up, sounding all too pleased to hear from him. He hadn’t explained the situation yet, one, because it didn’t seem like something that should be told by phone, and two, he wouldn’t even know where to start in the first place.

He still didn’t to be honest, and if Lily were to end up kicking him out of her hotel room while calling him crazy, well, there wasn’t much he could do to dispute such a claim. In all honesty, Thomas was still somewhat wondering if he really hadn’t gone mad and just started seeing things. Maybe he’d even imagined Joan’s call and their coming over, who knew.

Thomas let out a tired sigh, stopping in front of a red light and resting his forehead on the top of the steering wheel. He really was not looking forward to the incoming conversation, it didn’t matter how happy and excited he felt about seeing his friend again after so long.

“Oi, stop daydreaming, it just turned green,” an all-too-familiar voice rumbled from behind Thomas.

The man let out a startled shriek, jumping on his seat before whirling his head around. Virgil gave him his usual two-fingered salute from the backseat, his car belt put on in exactly the right way, of course.

“What the heck are you doing here, Virge?” Thomas asked, one hand raising to rest on his chest, just above his heart -Virgil’s sudden decision to speak had almost given him a heart attack, what the fuck.

Virgil arched a single eyebrow, looking immensely amused. Almost as if on cue, people started honking furiously from behind him, bringing Thomas’ attention to the now very green stoplight. Quickly, he pushed on the accelerator, driving away from the stoplight and near a random street before guiding the car to the side and turning the engine off.

Then, the man turned back around towards his Side.

“So?” he asked, obviously waiting for an explanation.

Virgil gave a nonchalant shrug, looking down at his hand. “Thought you might need some company. Also, you know I don’t like being left behind. I’m anxiety, dude, I gotta make sure you don’t crash or something.”

Thomas sighed, giving Virgil an unamused look.

“You know I’m a careful driver, Virge,” he commented, “and you could have always let me know you were in the car with me, geez.”

Virgil looked back up at him, looking downright skeptical. “Would you have let me tag along if I did?”

“... okay, fair point,” Thomas finally conceded, albeit reluctantly. “Still, was the attempt at giving me a heart attack necessary?”

“Yup,” Virgil nodded, a shit-eating grin tugging at his lips.

Thomas didn’t say anything, just turned around and dropped his head back onto the steering wheel with a muffled thud.

“You’re a little minx, kid,” he muttered, tiredly pushing himself up to stare out of the windshield.

“You can call me a little shit, you know that right? I may look like a 12-years-old right now, but technically I’m still a fucking adult.”

“Language,” Thomas chided, looking already done with everything as he turned the car back on.

“Come on, let’s just get to Lily’s. Hopefully, she’ll be able to help us.”

“Oh, I really hope so,” Virgi groaned from the backseat, “if I have to go through puberty one more fucking time I swear I will yeet myself out of the nearest window.”

“And risk making Patton cry?”

“... I hate that you know my weakness, you know that right?”

Thomas snorted, guiding the car back into the street. Maybe having Virgil in the car with him would not be such a bad thing, after all.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #logan sanders #joan #joan stokes #virgil sanders #character thomas #sympathetic remus #kid sides au #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #maxiswriting

63 notes · View notes

hopetofantasy · 5 years ago

Text

‘Wandering Romance’ - Part 4

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans Trigger Warnings (if applicable): mentions of abuse, toxic relationships, self harm, rape/non-con elements, emotional manipulation, mental breakdown, panic attacks, self loathing Created for @skamevents

Summary: “A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.”

In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past.

So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good?

Also available on AO3

SURPRISE: I’m going to add a FIFTH CHAPTER (EPILOGUE) TOO!

——————————————————

CHAPTER 4: 'No one sees myself like you do’

——————————————————

He knew he broke his heart.

Shattering the pieces everywhere.

He knew they weren’t his to take, to glue together, to hold onto.

Yet, he did it. Again and again.

He caused pain, he felt pain, he gave the pain away.

He hated pain.

But...

He loved pain.

He deserved it. He always deserved it.

Love was never his, love wasn’t there for him.

He didn’t deserved it.

Pain was better.

Breathe.

Why?

Breathe.

Why should he?

Please?

Pain was good.

Just once.

He wasn’t normal.

Come on, breathe for me.

Was he ever normal?

Oh god. Come on!

He was a monster.

Goddammit, breathe!

He didn’t.

He didn’t do it.

He didn’t want to.

A cry.

Soft blurred halo.

Fierce light surrounding him.

Vaguely familiar blonde color in the corner of his eyes.

Deep pressure on his arm.

Harsh sound of a deep cry.

“Please, Robbe...”

The pain was enough.

But then...

After a century of darkness.

He took his first breath.

-^-

He didn’t remember how he got there.

Slowly walking into his home and tracing the soft texture of the eggshell walls, he sighed deeply. He was welcomed back into the silence. As if he never left. As if they were never witness to anything else. Beautiful things had happened. Horrendous things had happened. But the walls would never speak of it. They kept their peace.

Robbe liked that.

The color was his pick, of course. As if Sander would have chosen boring beige, cold dark blue or a simple black. Come on. Get real. Back when they were together, he would have rolled his eyes at the suggestions the brown-haired boy would make. Arms crossed with faces close to each other, harsh veins popping out because of all the exertion of the shouting matches.

“Life is passion, Robbe. Don’t be the boring gay!” “Sander, we’re supposed to live in this, I don’t want to be nauseous of all the weird combinations!” “And what the hell is wrong with red and yellow?” “What’s right about red and yellow?” “God, are you serious?!”

Hours and hours of discussing splashes of paint, cataloguing each other’s taste, skipping the expensive brands and go into thrift stores to score beautiful furniture, to do it all over again. Yelling, kissing, making up. Falling out of bed, because of the fits of laughter. Mischievous eyes filled with what now?’s. Slight kisses to temples.

“Beige and brown!” “Orange and purple!”

“Dark blue and light green!” “Salmon pink and aquamarine!”

Soft Sander. Beautiful lover. His artist.

Always complying at a flutter of eyelashes, bending his knees at a sigh and holding him at one tear. Always there. Ready to take, to caress and to mend. Late night in bed with their little baby boy in their midst, whispering sweet words to let him catch on. Telling him stories about his day. About the weird accountant who wanted a beautiful portrait of his awful boss. Probably to throw darts at it, he figured. Why else?

A cute giggle.

Oh, did he tell you about the elderly couple? Together for more than fifty years, alive and kicking. They wanted their love honored by making a beautiful portrait. “Yes, no problem”, he had said. After discussing the price, set-up and deadline, Sander had instructed them to sit down to pose. And that’s when they took off their clothes. “Ah, didn't we tell you? It’s a nude portrait!”

David had always been charmed by his papa’s life. Bowie was his hero, blonde hair and leather jackets was his forté. And the tiny boy was just following along. Worshipping every tiny piece. It ran in his blood, didn’t it? Being extraordinary? The artistry? His mother wasn’t conventional either. Noor was special, artsy and beautiful. So each day would pass and their son would be more and more like Sander. A light in the darkness.

And Robbe wasn’t.

He was cold, boring and hollow.

Like now, he was standing in his own home, not knowing what to do or say. He didn’t know how to get going, how to move along and change the course. It had all happened, but did it actually? Was he there? He could feel the ground beneath his feet, the musky air in his lungs, the color of the walls. But was he there? Had he ever been here? Was he truly him?

His hand immediately went to his arm, nails scratching the hardness of skin. And Robbe started to walk around. He needed to feel the space, to know where he was. Anxious pacing the wool carpet he had chosen to compliment the couch in their tiny living room. A space that had been filled with beautiful memories, that of Jens doing a handstand to impress his nephew and almost crashing into their new coffee table.

His feet were slowly shuffling towards their dining room and kitchen. A small smile appeared at Robbe’s face, because he remembered how Moyo would make their regular tapas evenings happen here. Before they all had settled down with their partners and became too busy to organize them again. “I’m the best chef cook of the Western Hemisphere, Robbe! You’ll see!”, he said the first time.

Right before the fire alarm went off.

The next memory flashed before his eyes. Amber and Aaron coincidentally sitting in close proximity of each other. The one looking at the other, right when the other turned their gaze downwards. Jana subtly nudging her husband and whispering her observations. “They still love each other,” Robbe had heard from her. “Why won’t they go back together?” With a slight shrug from Jens as a response. “What can we do about it?”

He felt hurt.

Well, that was something.

A feeling.

A little red stain on his finger? Robbe huffed, looking down at the color. Red is a beautiful shade, isn’t it? So passionate, deep and yet, something that connected all of them. A thrilling feeling. Finally something that connected him to all his friends, his family, his own son. His ex-lover. He never truly felt tied to them all, especially in the later years.

A beep on his cell.

He was grey, as grey as the sharp steel in the kitchen. He wasn’t special. He never understood why Sander thought he was. Why his son would pick that exact song, the one which ripped his heart out and made him feel 16 years old again? Right then and there, at a beach town supermarket, a cute guy whirling him around on a supermarket cart. A feeling that went up and up, never coming down.

A text.

Pain was inevitable, he had learned. With Noor. With Sander. With David. Because children were a blessing, they'd always be the good in the world. That’s why he needed to protect the boy, from all the evil. Why he would let himself be pushed off the stairs, so not one beautiful curl on his head would be harmed. Psychically or emotionally.

- “I’m coming to talk to you” -

No other dark eyes filled with sorrow.

Only his.

-^-

“Come on, baby! Dance for me, you know you want to!”

“Wouter, please, stop it... You’re going to wake up my son.”

As if he cared... Wouter just kept pulling at Robbe’s sweater, trying to discard it, so he could dug his nails at his bare arms. His response was to shut himself off. He wasn’t going to stop anyways, so why bother? Robbe liked it too, didn’t he? He was sure he did. When the other man nipped at his ear, slowly biting a trail down his neck and loosening his belt. He really loved it. Right?

“Rob- just do it for me. I’m too tired to move along!”, the man growled.

His breath filled with distain and mixed with the stench of cheap liquor. Eyes watered down to dimmed grey and clouds covering the sun. His hands were calloused, rough, manhandling him towards the end of the bed. The man named Robbe discarding his lover’s pants and hoping to shush loud moans by softly kissing his lips. His palm sweetly caressing, was met with a sharp pain in his wrist. Hmmm...

“I want it now. Don’t give me that bullshit about lubing it up and kissing gently. Just put a condom on already! I’m ready. You are too!”

Fear struck. Made him come out of the daze. Back into his mind. Robbe moved along to the other’s body, gripped the hip and pulled it from his orbit. Followed by a furious growl, whilst fingers formed a fist. He didn’t want it to happen. It would happen anyway. But still, he couldn’t say yes to this. This wasn’t what he wanted. Stop. Don’t do this.

“Wouter, stop it please...”, he whispered. “I don’t want this”

“What do you mean? You always say yes to this! It’s me your talking to, not some loser from the street, dumb-dumb.” Sickeningly sweet tone. A flower clearing through the greyish woods. An inkling of hushed love. Two bodies breathing together, bothered in various ways. But his head still screamed ‘no’. Greasy lips on his chest, licking towards his right nipple.

“I don’t want to, Wouter. Not tonight.”

Silence.

Pull away.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, of course, Robbe. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to. What kind of guy do you think I am? I’m not like that filthy know-it-all you call your ex. I mean, it’s not because you have a son with him, like you jump when he asks you to. You’re not his plaything... You’re mine. Right?”

Wouter’s face contorted in a cheap grin. He knew he shouldn’t fall for that, Robbe knew better. But did he? Maybe... Maybe his boyfriend was right? Sander did boss him around, when it came to their son. Always expecting to jump? But that wasn’t Sander was it? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think.

His thoughts were interrupted by his lover huffing out a short laugh. Seemed to be sobering up, a little. Maybe. “You shouldn’t worry your pretty head too much, darling. You’ll get wrinkles. But if we’re not going to do anything, I’ll need something to get the edge off. It’s been a long, hard damned week. I at least deserve a break. You want some?”

Oh, Robbe knew what ‘some’ meant. The brown haired boy didn’t like this feeling. Of not being in charge what was going to happen at this point of the evening. He shook his head, while his chest slowly closed up. The last memory he had of that stuff, was Wouter breaking his dresser. All because Robbe made a comment about his unemployment. A throw-away remark, that’s all it was. He was going to shut his mouth now.

It only took him a half hour.

“You know, sweetie. I always wondered what so special about that boy of yours. He’s the apple of your eye, right? A spitting image of you both. And yet, he isn’t. The son of an unknown father and a dead mother. Beautiful that you took him in. That’s true. But what’s so special about those blonde curls?”

Ice.

His blood turned to ice. Is this how murderous anger felt? It felt really close. His body was too slow at first to follow his coked-up partner to the stairs. But caught him, before Wouter could step foot towards the child’s door. Hissing. He felt like a wild animal, a lion trying to protect its cub, when he spit out:

“Don’t. Even. FUCKING. Dare. Touching. Him. Or. I’ll. Kill. You. With. My. Bare. Hands.”

Dark storm clouds looked into his. Venom in the mouth.

“Does he know, Robbe... Does he know he’s not yours? That he’s a boy that’s neither made from love between two men nor out of a conscious decision by his true mother? Never knowing his real father, having two fakes instead. You told me that, you know. You might not remember, but I do. I know what you said about little David, sweet darling son...”

Robbe froze on the spot. His fight-or-flight-reaction going into full overdrive. The hair on his arms were standing up, senses completely aware of his surroundings. All while still having no shirt on, he now remembered. What a ridiculous thought. Him, a man, of barely 1.68m and bare chested, trying to fight someone without pants and at least one head bigger than him.

And yet... So tempting...

“I remember what you said, Robbe. You were blubbering all over me, crying about that beach blonde bitch again. Typical. But then you said it to me. Your real fear... That he isn’t yours. That he looks so much like Sander, beautiful unattainable Sander. Boohoo. And never like the boring you. That you blame your ex for that! That’s what you said, right? ‘I’ll never be good enough for sweet David, Sander seems to be’. That’s adorable. Truly. Adorable.”

Poison.

In his veins.

Deafening silence.

“Maybe I should tell him, darling? All. Of. It. What do you t-”

Hard grunting. Hands everywhere. Red scratches.

Black irises taking over the grey.

Pushing and pulling.

Shouting. Screaming. Crying.

Tilting worlds. Tumbling. Tripping.

Falling. Falling. Falling.

Pain.

Black.

And a few days later:

“Don’t tell papa I broke my arm okay? It’s nothing to worry about, okay sweetie?”

Followed by a soft:

“Okay, paps. I won't.”

-^-

“It’s better this way...”

“I know.”

“You know this is the only way.”

“I knów.”

Beautiful deep eyes. A pained expression. The back of a hand tracing his cheek. Wiping away the tears trickling down. A watery smile. This feeling of being left alone with all the responsibility on his shoulders, was somehow even worse than breaking up. But he shouldered through it anyway. He needed to. He needed to be strong for someone else.

“Robbe...”

“Sander, don’t...”, the other, tiny boy whispered. “Just promise you’ll take care of him. You’re the only one I trust with him.” His little hands still covering the man’s rosed cheeks. Fresh bandages wrapped around the fragile arms. Memories of closing, days of grey clouds and unspoken communication. Sander nodded his head. But he needed to say it, to get the feelings off his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Robbe. I didn’t know. I was supposed to be there for you. In sickness and in health, right?” A pained smile of both. “I meant it, schat. I didn’t... I should’ve... We wouldn’t have...” Sander looked down. He couldn’t find the words to describe what he felt.

“It’s okay”, his love answered. A fluttery kiss to his right cheek. “I’m still here. I’m not going away. Not for long at least. And then we can start again. We can start over... Maybe. Only... If you want to. I mean... If you still-”

“I still love you. I’ll always will. I’m never going to stop.”

“Me neither...”

A ruffle through brown hair.

A featherlight hug.

A light giggle from him.

A cute wink he managed himself.

“Chill...”

“Chill..."

Then he watched the brown jacket step towards the entrance, right into the arms of the welcoming nurses. All warmly tapping his shoulder, introducing themselves and trying to make him feel at home. Nodding at what he's saying. Already knowing why he's there, but listening anyways. They were going to be good for him. Just like they were good for Sander, a whole lifetime ago.

But before his life partner stepped through the door, he made a stop and turned around quickly.

With mischief on his face.

“So, what are we going to do in the next minute?!”

And a loud response for the artist, surprising even himself:

“In the next minute, I’ll wait for you!”

And waiting he did.

#wtfock #wtfam #skambingo #skam events #part 4 of 5

25 notes · View notes