#I just wanna indulge my little eccentricities and affectations because I like them I actually really don't wanna have to Explain them

[blujayonthewing]

what I need is to become the kind of person with the courage to actually sign things in purple

[gentlemancrow]

idk if you’re still taking requests so no pressure but maybe jmart 18 about jon’s scars? or,,, honestly however you wanna interpret that lol

Hehe bet you thought you weren't getting one. But of COURSE you're getting one! <3 HERE YOU GO!! Sorry it is late I am not a fast writer haha! This was a VERY interesting one to interpret and I got a little wonky and metaphysical there for a bit WHICH I LOVE and THE IDEA MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BIT LONG FOR A DRABBLE BUT! It's soft and I'm soft and I enjoyed this one SO SO MUCH ; w ; I hope you do too!!

Jon had Seen enough. Martin had decided that long ago. He had witnessed enough, been forced to witness enough, been the vessel into which literally everything had funneled into in an unrelenting typhoon of unspeakable, unfathomable horrific knowledge comprehensible only to him long enough that he damn well deserved the luxury of imperception. He had earned the right to not notice when Martin accidentally bought the wrong brand of chai, the one he insisted tasted like someone rubbed a stick of cinnamon on plasterboard and jammed it in a cardamom pod, but honestly tasted just like the one he preferred. The universe, whichever one they happened to be in now, owed him not realizing the buttons on his cardigan were one off until they were about to head out and Martin had to fix them, fingers humming with the warmth of him lingering in the cashmere every time. He deserved to forget his keys and then also have to go back to check that their flat door was locked twice, just to be sure. He deserved tossing cabbage in the trolley at the market, only to get home and realize it was a head of iceberg lettuce instead, and also he had completely forgotten the onion anyway so back he would have to go. Tiny and insignificant, patently human foibles that any normal person might tally up to a really rotten day overall and gripe about over a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape he had won as gleaming, pyrrhic badges on the ruins of his humanity yanked back from the claws of the yawning, devouring dark matter of the cosmos and stitched painstakingly back together with love.

But mostly Jon deserved to not notice the way people looked at him.

He need not see the painted-on expressions of strangers that ran the gamut from quiet pity, to voyeuristic curiosity, to outright revulsion that Martin could not help but see everywhere they went. They had no idea. Not even the slightest inkling of what, exactly, had composed that magnum opus of horror and pain scarred resplendently on his flesh, his bones, his sinews and synapses. To even try know was to go mad, the mind looping through and around and between consciousness and logic and love and fear and philosophy and metacognition until it squeezed into an ouroboros black hole singularity of dense unknowing that collapsed in on itself and perished in cataclysm. They had merely gotten lucky that being extruded through the plumbings of creation seemed to straighten out their fibers enough to be woven back into the fabric of reality, but they were too kinked and snagged and gnarled to ever lay fully flat again. And that was why they stared.

The invasive beings of Jon and Martin had come to mutual terms with it long ago, but they also knew they would be forever incongruous with an innocent world, with a world where they did not belong and that collectively looked at them both like an ontological cancer, benign but festering and ugly. They would never know the thing that crouched behind the stars with pointed knees and elbows that even then, groped to find their new world in the lightless vast, and Jon deserved to not perceive any hints of that either. He deserved their quiet, their peace, their wordless human acceptance.

Jon deserved to be innocently chewing a periwinkle-painted thumbnail in front of the ice cream counter, just as he was that gossamer spring afternoon, turning woeful and forever mismatched brown and green eyes at his husband and asking if he should get mint chip or rum raisin before deciding, actually, could he have a sample of the salted caramel ribbon first? He pointed eagerly at the various frozen tubs behind the glass with his gnarled right hand, where the fingers never did quite open or close properly again, and missed in his wonderment at the veritable cornucopia of sweet delights available to him the mingled look of pity and horror on the cashier’s face as she doled out samples at his request. Martin lurked protectively behind, silent, sentinel, seeing it all, a hot brand of fury boring its way through his chest as he glared icy blue daggers at the clueless young woman, who only compounded her crimes by complimenting the permanent white forelock in his ginger curls as she took his order.

Martin snatched his double scoop of rocky road and pralines and cream out of her hand with a withering scowl and said nothing. Jon, frowning in the dread shadow of Martin’s hushed wrath and finally deciding on just the mint chip, took it upon himself to pay while the poor young woman skirted around both their gazes. They took their ice cream to enjoy in the balmy sun on the metal patio tables outside the shop under a cloud of unspoken insults and slander which Jon was more than happy to pop open the conversational umbrella beneath before the downpour.

“Something wrong?” he asked solicitously.

“Nope. I’m fine,” came the curt answer, suspiciously also lacking in eye contact as Martin stabbed his pink spoon into the rocky road.

Jon’s mismatched eyes narrowed shrewdly. There was one thing that never escaped his notice, even now, and that was the painfully obvious way Martin always broadcast his inner hurts and the physical language of his turmoil he had become fluent in over the years.

“Okay, yes you are probably fine. And I’m guessing it has nothing to do with you actually, because you’re angry and you rarely get angry on your own behalf, which means it’s probably something to do with me or some perceived slight. What happened in there? Did someone make a snide remark about my eccentric ice cream selection? The long skirt on a warm spring day? Oh, no, I’ve got it. It was probably the earrings, yes? I knew I should have gone with the feathers instead of hoops, matches the outfit much better.”

The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up in a hapless, crooked smile as Jon coaxed a laugh out of him, and he looked up into his gaze adoringly to grant him unspoken conciliation.

“No, no not at all. Nothing like that. It’s nothing, love. It’s not a big deal. Just low blood sugar or something. Just eat your nasty mint chip or rum raisin or whatever that unholy concoction is,” Martin snorted, gesturing at his cup.

“Liar,” Jon crooned with loving reproachment, reaching out to thumb a little bit of rum raisin on the tip of Martin’s nose as punishment.

Even breathed with such unfettered, undying affection, Martin hated that word. He hated how transparent he still was to the man he loved, how much he still truly saw him, saw through him. At least all it took to compel him now was a little melted ice cream rubbed clean off his nose and a winsome smile with love-puddled green and brown eyes.

“Okay, okay… fine,” he admitted with a resigned smirk and a sigh, “I don’t like the way they look at you. Okay? That’s all.”

Jon’s brow knitted together curiously.

“Hmm? Who? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Everyone!” Martin finally effused in frustration, “Everywhere! They look at you like you’re… like you’re damaged goods! Like you’re some pitiful beaten animal on the street, or worse, like you’re some sort of- some sort of um…”

“…Monster?” supplied Jon, lips pursed and lids drooping.

“…I wasn’t going to say that,” Martin stammered.

“What other word is there?”

“Fine, they look at you like you’re a monster. They take one look at your face or your throat or your… your hand. And I can just see it on their faces. They look at you like you’re a monster, and I hate it. You don’t deserve that. You never did! They don’t even know you! They don’t know what happened to you…! And sorry, Jon, but I get angry about it because it’s not fair, and I can’t exactly go about lobbing right hooks into the faces of everyone who even looks at you cross-eyed, now can I? Much as I’d like to…"

Jon went quiet as he listened, dabbling first in the rum raisin, then indulging in a little mint chip chaser, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he nibbled on the plastic spoon.

“Is that what you see?”

The color rolled out from Martin’s freckled cheeks along with the very spirit from his eyes in a fog, his entire mien awash in pallor.

“What? How could you say that to me? I would NEVER think that about you, Jon! How could you ever think I would think that? I-I know I said some awful things in the past about your scars, but I-“

“No no! Martin, no! Of course not! I know you would never!” Jon cut in, reaching across the table to snatch his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, rubbing his knuckles and over his wedding ring, “You misunderstand! I was asking if that’s what you see in their eyes?”

Martin clung to Jon’s hand, heart palpitating and breath easing.

“Oh…” he blurted dumbly, flushing with lively hues of reds and golds once more, “I-? Of course I do, what else could it be?”

“I don’t see that. I don’t see that at all,” Jon answered simply, “It’s… hard to describe but, damaged goods, disgust, morbid curiosity, those are all… Hard things. They have sharp edges. And when people here look at me, I don’t feel anything hard or sharp, it feels… soft? It feels gentle.”

Shaking his head, Martin frowned.

“Gentle? How is openly gawking at someone’s scars in any way gentle?”

“It’s just a feeling I have. I suppose,” Jon mused, thumbing at his beard with his free hand as he constructed an analogy that would make sense in his mind, “Mmm… Think of it like this. Humans, life, we’re all very visually oriented creatures, right? We respond to visual cues in our environments that are universally understood. We wear these rings so that everyone knows we belong together, just the same as bright colors usually mean poison, or how specialized feathers, or horns, or dewlaps and the like let others know they’d be a good mate, or how some things look like eyes or like entirely different creatures to scare off predators, and so on.”

The creases in Martin’s forehead only deepened in confusion.

“Okay sure, but scars aren’t a natural adaptation? We don’t look at scars the same way we look at pretty eyes on a moth wing or something.”

“I know that, that’s not what I’m saying,” Jon reiterated tenderly, “What I’m saying is I’ve always felt like my scars are a visual cue, but one that says to others ‘treat me gently’, because clearly I haven’t been. And it’s… well it’s been quite nice. You were about to tear that poor girl’s head off, but didn’t you see how she not only gave me about six samples when the sign clearly said two per customer, but then she also gave me the rum raisin ‘by mistake’ and then conveniently forgot to charge for it?”

“Wh-did she?” Martin gasped in shock, rewinding the transaction to remember that indeed, Jon had only asked for mint chip, but there was clearly also a generous scoop of rum raisin in his cup, ”She did… No I… I guess I didn’t notice…”

Jon let Martin’s hand go to cup his cheek pointedly in his scarred palm, running his thumb over the soft curve of his cheek and the spray of his ruddy freckles comfortingly.

“You want to know what I think? I think what you perceive as disgust or aversion or even pity is just fear, like you had. Fear of pain, fear of disfigurement, of fallibility. People are always afraid of seeing what can become of their mortal bodies, but that has nothing to do with me, or being disgusted by me. People are, at their cores, good and gentle, Martin. I know they are, we both do. They see me, my cane, my limp, my hand, my gray hair, my face, and they don’t even ask, they just know, on some primal level, that life was not kind to me. And so in some tiny way, like free rum raisin, they almost always try to give something back to me.”

Jon had known. He had noticed. It had never escaped his perception as Martin had assumed. Jon had known all along, but it was only Martin who still saw daggers in the smiles of strangers while he had taken the last vestiges of his powers irrevocably branded on his body and soul and sowed something delicate and beautiful and blossoming in his new earth. Martin had made a weapon. Perhaps no less delicate and beautiful, but still cold and sharp and deadly. The razor white edge of the sun through frigid fog.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Martin choked, his throat pinching shut with the threat of tears, “I-I had no idea…. I-I only thought…”

“It’s alright, please don’t cry, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. You only thought you were protecting me. I protected you for so long, when you were desperate to do the same for me, to save me, but had no power to do either. Now you’ve got your turn to do the protecting in earnest, and honestly, it’s a… can I- can I say hot? Can I say it’s a hot look on you? Or is that weird?” Jon asked, tips of his ears blushing coyly.

Martin managed a laugh as he sniffed back the tears and thumbed both sets of lashes dry under his spectacles.

“It’s a little weird for you, in particular, to say it, just because it’s you. But I’ll take it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Perhaps then, Martin thought as Jon leaned over their whimsical little metal table outside an ice cream parlor by a park with a striped canopy above them and birds singing and kissed his tears away and then kissed his lips into a smile, that sharp things needn’t always be weapons. Perhaps his sword was, in reality, a spade, or a hoe, something to tend and nurture the new and fragile happiness Jon had tilled. Gentle things deserved gentle protection, and he was still going to devote every iota of his being to protecting Jon until the end of their days. After all, as they finally got to enjoy their slightly melted ice cream, Jon still dribbled a bit of rum raisin down his beard and carried on none the wiser. Martin let him go on like that, blissfully unaware, talking about Polyphemus moths and the myth of the cyclops and something about someone going about as Nobody, until he finally reached out with a napkin to attentively wipe it away.

Other than a gracefully paced ‘oh, thank you dear,’ Jon never missed a beat.

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus Anastasia au #2

Second chapter time! If you wanna read it on ao3, here u go: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144866

Chapter under the cut!

Apparently, being too much of a stubborn bastard is enough for an orphanage to throw you out even though you still own them a lot of money. 'Yuliy', they've dubbed him, 'son of Jupiter', because his character is volatile like the thunderstorms that leave the grey walls of the orphanage shaking.

He's twenty-three and luckily enough, not the sickly little boy he used to be. Finding a job would've been difficult otherwise, but right now Yuliy feels pretty confident about his future. The past has nothing for him, so he has no other choice but to look forward.

Ignoring the yammering of the old caretaker about how he should feel lucky that they let him go even though he cost them so much as a child, he sets a step outside the gate.

The distance he's crossed is close to nothing, he still feels elated. Turning around, he yells "So long, sucker!" at the old lady and waves at the tiny children behind her. The brats can't help their situation. "You can be happy all you want right now, but just you wait until the evening! Until the cold settles in your bones and your stomach turns itself inside out of hunger. You're nothing boy, keep that in mind!"

Scoffing, he walks away, turning his back on all he's ever known. Everything is going to be fine.

Everything's not fine and Yuliy already regrets leaving the orphanage. Sure, it was a shitty place, but at least there was a fireplace to lay beside. Although the food had been sparse and not very good, it had been there. He never imagined that he'd miss the place.

Unfortunately, he's also not been able to find a job. The restaurants tell him to ask the grocery stores, the grocery stores point him towards the butchers and the butchers refer him to the nearest school, before saying that, actually, he doesn't look like an educated person and should probably stay away from there. If he survives the night, he'll try the docks. They probably could use him as some sort of human mule, if his motion sickness allows him to set foot on a boat.

For now, he wanders the streets in search of abandoned buildings, hoping that he can squat in one of them for the night. After a lot of unsuccesful trying, he decides to go find a large public building, in the hope that he can find himself a nook there where no one will look. With that in mind, he enters the first large building he finds.

It's dusty, spacey and completely empty. Exactly what he'd been looking for and still he can't help but be a little bit disgruntled. He'd just given up on finding an empty space and now he has more abandoned space than he nows what to do with. Although he'd like to explore the building, he has more pressing matters to tend to.

Navigating through the building is... surprisingly easy. It's not like him to know his way around places (it really, really isn't his forte), but he manages to find a lounge without too many troubles. Shoving some junk to the side, he finds a fireplace and he thanks his lucky stars. Looking around, he concludes that there's no firewood.

That's not really a problem though, he thinks as he grabs a nearby chair. When the now demolished chair has been chucked into the fireplace, he remembers that he has no way of lighting the damn pile of wood up. After turning the room upside down, he comes to the conclusion that there aren't any matchsticks there. Groaning in frustration, he leaves the room.

Trudging through the halls, he passes various doors and has to suppress the urge to go inside each and every one of them. Now and then, he does indulge in his desire and peeks inside, finding nothing but dust and the remnants of former glory.

When he stumbles upon a set of doors that are so grandiose and tall that he nearly doubts his own eyesight, he knows that he has to look what lays behind them. Filled with curiousity he works them open, only to be stunned into silence when the room behind them is revealed.

It's a ballroom, stately and majestic and he holds his breath for a minute, intimidated by the feeling of veneration and wistfulness that seems to hit him out of nowhere. Getting lightheaded, he sits down on a bench and closes his eyes, slowly breathing in and out. He can feel a headache coming up as shivers run up and down his spine. When he opens his eyes again, he suspects that he's also getting a fever, since what else can the scene before him be except for a fever dream?

Faintly he can hear the band playing a song and the more he tries to convince himself his ears are deceiving him, the more boisterous the music becomes. Right before his eyes, the formerly empty ballroom explodes into a a colourful affair, ladies and gentlemen dressed to the nines. In the light of the candles on the chandelier dangling high above them, he can see their jewelry and the rhinestones on their dresses shimmer and shine.

Besides the music, he can hear their small talk and it's that what haunts him most. The little words about their everyday lives that seem to happen in a reality far outside his own. The glitter, the glamour, the nauseating feeling of approaching danger, it's all too much. He leans his head back against the cold tiles and closes his eyes, but their ghostly whispers remain present.

In the distance, he can hear another group of people arriving and he decides to focus on their conversation, because the disdain in one of the voices sounds genuine, almost like the owner of said voice is actually entering the ballroom.

"They were all godawful! I can't believe we wasted a full day on those monstrosities!" Someone snorts. "You can't talk about those fine and ambitious young men like that baby, they can't help it that they're like that." Yuliy can hear the eyeroll before he sees it and he still thinks he's imagining things, until the young man speaks to him, ice lacing his voice. The otherwordly images shatter and instead he's met by a greenhaired young man.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

At first he intends to be polite. Then he remembers that this place belongs to no one and there's absolutely no need for a stranger to be so hostile to him. "They call me Yuliy and I'm gonna take a nap. You got any matches?"

Ignoring his question, the shorter of the two men draws closer, his lips curving into the hint of a smile lacking any sort of genuine warmth. "They call you that? Is that name not truly yours then?" Instead of answering, Yuliy purses his lips and looks away. Truthfully, he doesn't even know to answer that. Not even once he's felt like 'Yuliy', but he doesn't know what the other options are. Who else is he supposed to be? Can he even be anything else?

The short man smiles again, wider this time and there's still not a trace of genuine happiness to see there. His companion, thank the lord, has finally noticed his creepy tick and slaps the man a little too jovially on the back. "Freed, stop whatever your face is doing, it's unsightly. You look like a maniac and let's be honest, the only one of us who looks good with that kind of look is yours truly. Show the man around, why don't ya? I'm gonna pick Ever up. You know how prissy she gets when she hasn't had a hot meal in a few days." With a sloppy kiss on Freed's cheek and a "bye baby!" the eccentric man leaves.

A silence that's less than comfortable follows. "So are you two...involved?" He winces at his clumsy wording and Freed pulls a face. "Bickslow is my overly affectionate older brother."

"Oh."

How does he recover from that blunder? Luckily enough for him, he doesn't have to struggle out of this pit himself. "Well then he-who-they-call-Yuliy, follow me. I'll show you something interesting." Unable to keep the curiousity out of his voice, he asks: "What then?" For the first time since meeting him, there's a sparkle of a genuine feeling in the man's eyes, misschief setting the blues ablaze. "A chance."

The first part of the tour consists of polite smalltalk and Freed showing him some superficial treasures hidden in plain view in the abandoned castle. Although he hates the whole process of talking without saying anything, he feels that there's a reason Freed is doing this. Building up the tension. Yuliy hopes he isn't endlessly disappointed by the eventual result and in the hope to see something spectacular, he nods along and 'ahs' and 'oohs' wherever he thinks it's necessary.

"You know", Freed starts and something about his tone tips Yuliy off that it's probably in his best interest to listen carefully now. "I wasn't born as Freed Justine either. Unlike you, I have chosen this name for myself and have found my identity." He pauses then, looking him over with a reserved gaze, head tilted. "Would you like to find yours?"

The question arrives like a punch to the gut, but there's no way he'll let the man in front of him know how affected he is by it. Freed seems like the type of man to unravel his deepest wishes and dangle them before his nose before whisking them away for eternity. No way that he'll let the stranger in on one of the things his heart longs to know. "I don't need some guy I just met telling me who I am. I think I can do that on my own, thank you very much."

"Really now?" Freed sounds amused, but there's a cruel hint to it that he really dislikes. "My dear Yulik (he scoffs at the godawful nickname), right at this moment I am able to recall your entire family tree up to seven generations back. But since you already know exactly who you are, I guess there's no reason to showcase my academic capabilities. It would be quite obnoxious I think, wouldn't you agree?"

No way. He must be lying and Yuliy doesn't hesitate to tell him so. "You're a liar, a scoundrel and an opportunist. You're making shit up and I'm not here for it. I'll go back to the other room and take that nap, you're not of any use to me."

"Do as you please", the man replies, voice light and airy. Right as he's about to leave the room, he hears the other man humming. The melody is saccharinely sweet and the gentle lilts in the tune leave his heart aching. "Where'd you learn that song?" he asks, unable and unwilling to stop himself. Freed halts his humming and shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The true question is, where did you learn it? As far as I know there's only five people, excluding myself, who know it. The first being the long dead Tsarina Tatiana, the second one being the current tsar Makarov. The third and fourth are Bickslow and Evergreen, two members of the court that were very intimately related to the final person, the central piece that connects all these dots."

Grinning he takes Yuliy by the arm and drags him towards a grand family portrait and points out a blond kid. "Prince Laxus Dreyar, who has been missing for 10 years. I know where each of the forementioned people currently are, except for the much beloved prince." From underneath his long eyelashes he gives Yuliy a look that he's sure is meant to be meaningful. He utterly rejects it.

"A lullaby? That's what you're basing your grand conclusion on? Some great detective you are", he scoffs and considers giving the man a whack. It certainly couldn't make his mental state any worse than it currently was, considering Freed seriously thought that Yuliy, clumsy, oafish Yuliy, was the missing crown prince.

"I never told you it was a lullaby."

"It was a logical assumption, you piece of shit." Sensing that Yuliy is believing none of it, he shakes his head and sighs. "When did you become an orphan?" Defensively, he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Maybe I didn't and you're just grasping at straws."

"It was a logical assumption, dear Yulik. Also, you let a lot more slip during our smalltalk than you probably realised." The man raises a brow and starts counting on his fingers. " One. You lost your memory ten years ago, around the time of Ivan's failed coup. Trauma can make you suppress memories as can a strategically placed whack against the head."

Yuliy rolls his eyes, but Freed continues impertubable. "Secondly, the whole lullaby debacle. Thirdly..." Freed looks him directly in the eyes and there's something so striking about the full force of his gaze, that Yuliy barely dares to breathe. "You know, don't you? In your heart you realise that there's a chance I'm not wrong. Even though your mind denies it out of some learned humility, your body takes to it without you even noticing."

Before he can ask what the man means, Freed drapes a heavy cape he's found somewhere over Yuliy's shoulders and presses a scepter into his hand. "Look", he whispers and turns him towards a mirror. "Look at your posture, do you truly believe you're merely a peasant?"

"Future tsar", he continues and the title sends shivers down his spine. "You came here, dirt poor and yet you have not put a single treasure into these pockets of yours." To accentuate his words, the man lets his hands glide over each and every pocket on Yuliy's clothes, an action that makes his blood run hot. "The riches here mean nothing you. You're meant for things better than this, aren't you prince Laxus? Cast away the skin of a peasant you've decided to wear and reunite with your grieving grandfather."

The blue of his eyes is absolutely mesmerising and he can't for the love of him look away. "Laxus", he says and he jolts, truly feeling addressed by the name. "Let's get you home." He doesn't know how or why, but he's got the feeling that Freed could tell him anything and he'd believe it.

[jungdrizzydraco]

An O.C. for Your Asses!!!

I wanna see if the characters are legit before I move forward with this short story im working on (I'm a character first kinda guy, so I work inside-out) leave any form of constructive critique you wish, they are still works in progress, thanks!!

Augustine Harriet Andersson

Age:22

Sign: Gemini (sun) Cancer (moon) Virgo (rising)

Height: 5'8

Eye Color: Formerly dark-brown, bleached to a pastel-hazel because of some dark magic fuckery

Hair Color/Cut: dark-brown,q shifting variations of a fade, whose design changes somewhat based on his thoughts and emotions (yes, this is an enchanted fade)

Build: lean, lightly muscled from years lifting cauldrons in his grandfather's potion shop

Notable Features: Dimples; left-dimple is deeper than right, multiple piercings on each ear, artificial left eye (looks organic but to magical eyes, it looks otherwise)

"Have you ever been like...fundamentally angry? I feel that way...like at my core, there's this rage that seethes and coils at the pit of my stomach, everyday, like a python that can't quite squeeze his prey all the way to death. Everytime I think I've grown up, forgiven something or someone or myself, there's this anger that tightens right back up all over again...like it's reminding me of something. Somedays...I feel like that feeling will petrify everything I've ever loved about myself, and I'll just be another slave to outrage and ego and pain...just like everyone else...haha, then I'll really be a normie."  -August Andersson, on his depression and internal anger issues.

Augustine Andersson is a witch-boy. But you could probably already tell that from looking at him: the way his eyes are almost constantly fixed towards some unseeable infinity, the way air molecules hum with fresh, manic energy around him, how he seems to absorb sunlight and the way his brown skin would filter the glow as a result of his connection to the natural...it was all very off putting to others around him for most of his young adult life. And as we all know, no one likes a freak, so such years had a hand in building his current trust issues, feelings of great anger and inadequacy, and all the tics and tricks he uses to keep such feelings at bay. He's not at a total loss; at his core he is a humanitarian, deeply compassionate and available to those who have managed to capture his heart, as well as wild and humorous. However, he keeps a tight lid on his darkest feelings and insecurities, out of fear that they may be too much for those around him (also, he might accidentally call forth a vile arch-daemon on accident, but that's neither here nor there.) After finally having had enough of his mundane time amongst the humans, he vanishes from his college campus one day and takes to the open road, hoping that like the many young, angsty teens in the movies he loves, he will find himself in his own solitude. But the best way to deal with oneself is when confronting someone else, and after a close-call with a reckless (and very cute) motorcycle rider on an interstate, August will be forced to deal with every single part of himself, the good, the bad, and the strange...

A few more things about him...

1. His father is Afro-swedish, hence his last name.

2. Loves to travel and is nomadic by nature.

3. He gets a special kind of warmth out of being moderately petty at all times.

4. He loves open spaces and bodies of water, as well as hikes through mountains (ok so he only went once in Vegas, so sue him, he really liked it!)

5. Surprisingly low maintenance, really just likes being around people that are happy, and the feeling easily rubs off on him.

6. Both positive and negative emotions easily rub off on him.

7. Can get caught up in moments of warm content, given his unstable interior life, and can get lost in wasting/spending time.

8. Gets restless easily.

9. Budding film buff, faves include Kill Bill vol. 1&2, Her, Moonrise Kingdom, Gone Girl, Blue is the Warmest Color, Moonlight, & Mean Girls.

10. August's father is very engaged with politics and civil rights, so in honor of that, he decided that his son's middle name would belong to one of the greatest figures of the civil rights movement: Harriet Tubman.

11. Favorite new movie is The Favourite.

12. Due to a lack of acceptance of his full self and the full spectrum of his sexuality, he is judgemental of others and holds them to the same near-impossible standards he holds for himself. 

13. Things he expects from others: To read his mind and conjure what he wants without saying, to have his needs and boundaries respected without actually stating so, for others to fit in whatever box he thinks they should be in, for everyone's intellect to be slightly lower than his own, but high enough not to annoy him with silly questions, ect.

14. Listens to Lorde, J. Cole, Rex Orange County, Frank Ocean, Lana Del Rey, Tyler the Creator, Young Thug and assorted film soundtracks.

15. Enjoys playing into his double-sided nature when it suits him, and has a secret glee in melding into different roles depending on who's around him.

16. Is attracted to more eccentric personalities in platonic and romantic relationships

17. Smokes weed to escape boredom. (and his problems)

18. Smokes weed because he likes the feeling.

19. Is secretly a little ratchet, but he'll kill you if you say so, it'll fuck up his reputation as the quasi-sociopathic erudite.

Magic House-Thoth

Augustine is a member of the Sacred House of Life, witches whose magic is passed down from the Egyptian Gods themselves. August himself is a descendant of an African slave-witch, once known as Ashe. She was taken to Egypt as a typical piece of cargo from zealot raiders, and was sentenced to a life of building the pyramids. Or so she would have thought: Thoth, the God of Magic and Knowledge, took pity upon her and beguiled her to follow an invisible force into the desert one night. He then revealed himself to her in his ibis-headed brilliance and bestowed upon her a set of choices: he could free her now and set her loose across the desert with all the things she would need for survival, or he could give her secrets and wisdoms unknown to man at the time, but she would have to frequently return to him for lessons. Ashe always prized knowledge and growth over any material thing, or even something such as freedom (I prefer to disagree myself). And secrets from a God must count for that much more, right? She indulged in option two. Thoth grinned and whispered to her the mysteries of life, the secrets of the stars, and the riddles of worlds lost and intangible, he spoke magick into her very soul. She would then use her newfound knowledge to fool her captors, freed any slave that would believe in her, and with her wits about them, guided them across the desert to build a library-like sanctuary, in honor of Thoth. The former slaves then learned from the god's teachings, passed through Ashe, and became witches and educators in their own right, and Ashe came to lead this new coven of magi. This is how the House of Thoth became to be. 

Magick: As a member of house of Thoth, August has the ability to manipulate various aspects of the moon, writing, hieroglyphics, knowledge and sciences, and the progression of time. His particular specialty is the creation of Moon Dust, a substance used as a medium for most of his spells. By gathering various quantities of mineral, be it: crystal, rocks, pearls, aluminum, or even silvers and golds, he can channel his magic into them and break down and rearrange their atomic components into a corrosive, abrasive substance that also tends to stick to objects due to an electric charge. This dust is also dangerous to breathe in. He tends to carry around a pouch or two on his person, as trying to create some on the fly is nearly impossible given how much time and intricacy is needed to create the substance. (I mean, working with just a pile of plain old rocks would take a couple of hours to convert, let alone harder or more distilled substances.) Spells that he has mastered so far include...

Spell of Refraction: A spell in which the moondust bonds to whomever or whatever August desires (sans the harmful effects, it's enchanted in this state) and whatever is enveloped in dust turns invisible via light refraction.

Spell of Revelations: He can spread his moondust over an area and have the pieces cling to imprints of negative emotion or dark magick. A spell used for forensic work.

Spell of Retribution: An offensive spell that uses moondust to its fullest offensive powers and creates small funnels of dust to ravage the opponent. The largest funnel made could surround a fully grown man.

Golemancy:  Can create golems out of the moon dust he has formed, usually no larger than a human toddler. They tend to take form roughly resembling lego-men (he was a big fan of the Lego Expanded Universe as a child), but one can easily be fooled by their size: each golem has the strength of three men, and can combine to further power themselves up.

There are a few spells that don't require the moon dust...

-The Veil: A surface-level illusion layered directly over the skin. This allows the caster to look like whatever he wants to look like and sound however he wants, but can be broken if struck with bad intentions (like a slap from an offended woman on the street)

 -Somnus: A very old, yet practical spell. Also one that does not require moondust, this handy spell induces sleep.  Those affected by this spell will not remember being forced to sleep, but they will have active and vivid dreams for distraction. Also necessary for Dream Diving.

-Dream Diving:  A skill Augustine has yet to master, this allows the caster to astral project into one's consciousness for complete access to the afflicted parties mind, if the brain is distracted by dreams. August has gotten stuck in several public nude dreams, and it takes long hours to remove oneself from another's mind.

-Illusion Casting 

-Temporary Madness Inducement

-Script Magick: By writing down a word or phrase on any surface that can be sufficiently marked on, whatever has been written manifests somehow, just so long as it is within his power. He can't create miracles with it though.

Top 10 Roadtrip Songs

Sobriety- Sza

No Role Moldelz-J. Cole

Sacrifices -Dreamville, assorted artists

Grown Up Fairy Tails- Chance the Rapper, Taylor Bennett 

My Boy-Billie Eilish

U.N.I.T.Y.- Frank Ocean

West Coast: Lana Del Rey

Cruise Ship-Young Thug

400 Lux-Lorde

Let Em Know- Bryson Tiller

[spacechild-glitchypix]

Cookie Crumbs and Tears - A Sanders Sides Fic

So, I wrote this a long time ago and I’m only posting here now because of course I am

Summary: Virgil, in an attempt to get away from his room and from the ever invading thoughts of a particular character, manages to find himself talking with Patton (the real one) about how the events that transpired earlier today had affected his relationship to the other sides. Now, Virgil was expecting Roman and Logan to be slightly suspicious but he wasn't expecting outright anger from either of the two sides

And he certainly didn't expect one of them to try to physically confront Patton.

Takes place shortly after the events of 'Can Lying Be Good?'

Pairings: Minor Prinxiety, Minor Logicality

Warnings: Near violence (no violence actually happens but someone nearly punches someone and light violence is described), Virgil suffers a panic attack, Patton cries, someone grabs someone’s butt (it’s an accident and treated as comic relief)

Read on AO3 here

Sequel fic (There Are Voices In My Head (Not The Normal Kind Either)) here

Second sequel fic (The Healing Heart Fixes the Cracked Crown) here

Virgil was sat in his room, arms hugging his legs and eyes stationed on a face-down picture frame. The purple-clad side had no clue why he kept it, it just served to make him feel worse but, then again, his room was the dark corner of Thomas's mind where you indulge in problematic thoughts so the picture wasn't exactly out of place now, was it? Virgil shifted, curling in on himself even further at the thought of his past. He was beyond this, he was getting better, he was one of Thomas's main sides now. The other three liked him too, he was doing good now and he was going to keep improving.

So why did he still feel like a hindrance?

Virgil got up; began pacing. He felt self-conscious- no, wait, he felt jittery- no, not that either. He felt something bothering him, something bad, something that he needed to control. What was it? Worry? Terror? Anxiety? Anxiety! Yes, he felt anxiety- anxious! He needed to leave the room, it was only gonna get worse while he was there and he honestly didn't want it to get worse. Virgil quickly rushed away from his room, down the halls into the mind lounge. No one was there, an unusual occurrence. The room usually had at least one side in here at a time but not this time apparently. Virgil gave the absence of the others a quick notice before settling down on the four-seater couch that laid in the middle of the room. He took this time to take deep breaths in and out before grounding himself. Five things he could see. The floor, the walls the screen where the sides could watch what Thomas was doing, the memory access panel that allowed the sides to access Thomas's memories when need be and Patton standing in the doorway.

Wait.

Virgil looked directly at the side that was hesitantly standing on the threshold of the halls and the mind lounge. It looked like Patton but Virgil was uncertain of if this really was Patton or not and didn't want to risk letting a snake get any closer to him than necessary. The side that looked like Patton gave a weak wave and a smile, a sweet and rather innocent smile but it was also a little weak. Virgil could also vaguely make out tear tracks but that wasn't enough to ease his worries that this Patton may not be genuine. The side clad in blue slowly but surely made his way towards the couch, going to sit down only to be interrupted by Virgil sprawling his legs out to cover a good chunk of the couch. Virgil was sure that this side would just attempt to sit in the unoccupied area but he apparently got message Virgil was trying to give and just stood, a sombre look spread on his face for a brief second before the side went back to smiling. That brief look would've usually softened Virgil up on any normal day but, instead, it just made him put his guard up further.

"Sorry to bother you kiddo but d'you think maybe we could talk?" The blue-clad side asked. Even his voice was a little weak and Virgil couldn't properly pin a reason. It could be Patton, maybe the whole situation had gotten to the sweeter side more than he'd let on earlier but, at the same time, it could just be the snake pretending to be Patton and feigning upset. Virgil didn't know what to do. After a good five minutes of Virgil's silence, the older side's weak smile shattered and a look of utter despair covered his expression. A distraught from covered his face and his eyes looked utterly broken as a pair of limpid teardrops threatened to escape from his ducts. It was a face Patton rarely put on, one Virgil had studied adamantly when he was left to console Patton on his own one day while the fatherly side rambled on about how he was feeling particularly troubling feelings towards the one side who didn't seem to have any of those sorts of feelings. Why had he studied Patton's face while the elder side talked about his feelings? Well, simply put, this was around the start of their friendship and Virgil still found it hard to keep a consistent amount of eye contact with him, let alone comfort him. He did get to study his face for the three hours Patton rambled and Virgil always remembered a face.

Virgil knew for a fact that it's a face that the snake couldn't possibly hope to imitate entirely, the fool could barely imitate Patton well enough to get by the three other sides just hours before. This was undeniably Patton. Now Virgil was just left curious about what happened to him. Virgil swung his legs off of the couch and motioned for the older side to sit down.

"Sorry about…" Virgil swivelled his hand, hoping that Patton would get the message.

"It's alright, I've been getting that all day. Roman and Logan never got that it as really me though…" Patton's voice was still rather small, the side was trying not to make it crack. Virgil assumed that he was trying not to make himself sound anymore upset than he already was.

"I can try to convince them that you're not...him if you want," Virgil could hear his voice grow bitter at the mere mention of that snake. He would try not to bring him up too much, Patton didn't need the grief. "Don't worry kiddo, it'll sort it out later hopefully," Patton gave the darker side a tiny smile of gratitude. Virgil decided to let the older side do as he said, not wanting to argue with him.

"You still wanna talk?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah," Patton rubbed at the tears that were trying to escape, worried that a dam was going to break if he didn't. The side then tugged a little at the cat hoodie tied around his shoulders, loosening the knot but not enough to remove the tie entirely.

"Roman wouldn't even look at me,"

At the mention of the princely trait and his cold attitude, Virgil held a look of disappointment. He didn't know why he was disappointed with Roman but he was. Maybe he was expecting more from the heroic prince, maybe it was just that tiny portion of his brain that had grown fond of the charmingly eccentric dreamer was rather hurt with hearing how he'd just treated a close friend with such disdain. Then again, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.

"I went to his room to give him some cookies. Like, I iced them so that they had his emblem on them and everything because I wanted him to feel special after what happened today. Then I got to his room, knocked on the door and waited for him to let me in. So, he opened the door but, as soon as he saw me, he went to close the door again. I tried to tell him that it was just me but he just ignored me. After that, I just left the cookies at the door and left," Patton stared towards the hall, Virgil following his gaze and found a little stack of cookies wrapped in cellophane with a red and white bow to tie the gift together just sitting outside of the prince's room.

He was utterly baffled, shocked at Roman's utter lack of kindness towards Patton. It took a split second before that silence turned to anger and he felt a burning desire to deck Roman in the face. He decided against actually trying to deck the prince in the face since he was pretty sure the prince was stronger than he was and would just punch him back. Virgil didn't really want a broken nose and he also really didn't want to set his friendship with Roman back to stage one. Sure, Roman was still a major jerk to him but they were at least vitriolic buds now as opposed to being enemies to one and other. Plus, Roman was trying to cut back at the slights, that much was obvious. Virgil proceeded to glare at the door, maybe hoping Roman would possible come out and notice the utter fury Virgil had. It wasn't going to happen but Virgil could dream damn it.

"Virgil?" Patton's voice managed to snap Virgil out of his stupor and sudden desire to beat the red and white prince in with a rusty, metal pipe. The darker side looked towards his friend who looked a little concerned. Whether he was concerned about Virgil himself or Roman's fate, Virgil wasn't sure but he put that aside for now.

"You said you talked to Logan, right?" Virgil began to regret his question as soon as he saw the tears starting to well up in Patton's eyes. Considering Logan's hatred of the snake and Patton's complicated emotions for Logan, Virgil figured the encounter must've been brutal.

"Well, I tried to. I went to his room after Roman shut me out because I thought that maybe I could at least get a conversation out of him, even if it is a little harsh. You know how he is," Patton started. Virgil could tell he was rambling, he didn't want to recall what had happened. Virgil didn't do that, he just kept his mouth shut and avoided talking about whatever it was that he didn't want to remember but he could tell when someone felt particularly sore about an event.

"Did you?" Virgil was rather hesitant to ask, a little worried about how Patton would react and what would happen if he retold the events.

"Kinda. I also made cookies for him with his little brain-logo thing iced onto them. I didn't know how much he'd appreciate them though since he does go on about how we should be eating healthily and not snacking out on things like sweets but then I thought 'well, a treat once and a while won't hurt you' and decided I'd tell him that if he went off on me for making him cookies instead of getting him carrot sticks or something and-"

"Patton, you're rambling,"

"...Oops. Well, anyways, I knocked on his door, got the cookies out and waited for him to open up. Once he opened up the door, I went to give him the cookies but he just gave me this...look. Like, he looked angry and suspicious. I tried to keep talking to him since I had no idea why he was looking at me like that but then he told to go away...well, I mean, he didn't word it as nicely as that but that's basically what he said," Patton glanced back to the hallway again, looking at Logan's door this time. Virgil followed his gaze but noticed there were any cookies there. The purple-clad side doubted that Logan would've taken the cookies if he had such a vehement reaction to Patton just giving him cookies. Virgil also doubted that Logan would react like that because of cookies and the logical side wouldn't be likely just to assume that this Patton wasn't Patton unless-

"So, wait, did he just see you and give you that look or did you say something?" Virgil questioned.

"I mean, he seemed fine when he first saw me I guess. I just said hi and that I had cookies for him and then he started giving me that look," Patton fiddled with his fingers as tried to recall what exactly had happened. "Specifics Patton, what did you say to him exactly?" Virgil had an idea of what might've tipped Logan off but he needed to know if Patton had actually done it.

"Like, exactly what I said?" Patton looked really confused. Virgil nodded. "Well, I said 'Hey Lo!' first. Logan his usual look and then I said 'Guess who just made the bestest batch of cookies for the bestest teacher in the world!' and he gave me the angry and suspicious look," Patton explained.

"Yep, that'd do it," Virgil mumbled, prompting Patton to give him a confused look. Virgil noticed and sighed. "Look, he said some pretty nice compliments to use while he was pretending to be you. One of the things he told Logan was that he was everyone's favourite side…"

"Oh…" Patton's face filled with guilt as he looked back towards the dark blue door that led to Logan's room.

"Anyways," Virgil had another thought on his mind, another point to bring up considering the fact the cookies seemed to be missing. "What happened after Logan told you to go away?"

Patton snapped his gaze back to Virgil, a look spread across his face that was practically the embodiment of hurt. Virgil became a little worried. What on Earth could Logan have done that would cause Patton to look like that? To see the usually upbeat father so downcast was a pretty big shock anyways but the pure sorrow on Patton's face was like a blow to the stomach. What on Earth had Logan done?

"Well, I told him to watch his language. He just repeated the phrase again but harsher. After that, I just said that I'd ignore the strong language for now as long as he apologised by taking the cookies I made him. He, well...he didn't exactly take that very well," Patton paused, his voice starting to quiver and his eyes starting to water. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Logan opened the door fully, took the cookies I'd made, walked to the back of his room and stood beside the trash can, turned to look at me with his hand with the cookies I made him over the trash can and then threw the cookies I made for him in the bin,"

Virgil was about to comment on Logan's unnecessary rudeness but Patton held his finger up as if to say 'gimme a second'. The poor guy was incredibly close to crying and Virgil feared that the spec-wearing side was going to break down into sobs by the time he finished telling the tale. Virgil decided to quickly rush to the kitchen to get tissues before sprinting back in. Patton seemed to be ready to continue by the time Virgil had come back.

"So, after Logan did...that, I said that what he did was a little rude but I'd make him salad if he really didn't want cookies that badly. Logan…" Patton paused, his voice breaking a little and tears finally dripping down his face. He quickly scrubbed the droplets from his face before continuing. "Logan grabbed me by the collar and pushed away from his room before slamming the door in my face," Patton finally spat out, tears rushing faster and faster from his tear ducts as his voice grew into weak sobs. He sniffled a bit before getting back to what had happened. His voice was meek and feeble "I was ok after he shoved me, I just bumped my back against the wall but, even if it didn't really hurt, I started crying and just went to my room to sulk and look at pictures of us when Thomas was a little kid. I came out a bit later and went looking for you,"

If Virgil was tempted to deck Roman before, he was outright ready to beat the ever-loving $@#% out of Logan.

What the actual hell was Logan thinking?! Virgil understood that he's always been a little self-conscious of how well-liked he is and that the snake's comment probably got to him deeply but did he really shoved Patton into a wall like that just because he assumed it was him?! Virgil hated the damn snake more than Logan did but even he wouldn't have potentially have hurt poor Patton under an assumption! Virgil wasn't letting this one go, he was not about to let Logan get away with that. Patton doesn't deserve that after all joy he brings to the group. Plus, Virgil was also peeved at Logan for joking that the snake was preferable to Patton when the latter was just making dad jokes and puns.

This was gonna feel cathartic as hell.

Virgil stood up, stalking towards the dark blue door that led to Logan's room. Behind him, he could faintly hear Patton worriedly asking what he was doing. Virgil didn't respond. Once the darker side had reached the door, he bashed his fist against it, the loud thumps echoing through the halls of the mindscape. Logan opened the door, a sliver of guilt found on his face along with a startled expression. Once the eyes behind the thick-rimmed glasses met Virgil's own, the purple-clad side proceeded to push Logan's door open, his hands curled into fists and his teeth bared into a snarl. Logan looked bewildered, fear starting to mix into the bewilderment as he took a good step back. Virgil went to reach for Logan's collar, his fist pulled back as he did so.

"Virgil, stop!"

Arms pulled Virgil back, grabbing at his own arms and forcing him away from Logan. Said side looked on in a mix of confusion and terror. Virgil could hear Patton muttering into his ear, comforting him with words of 'its okay', 'calm down kiddo', 'I'm right here' and 'We don't need to fight'. At the commotion, Roman decided to peek out of his room, witnessing Virgil in this compromising position. Any previous anger that had run through Virgil's veins died away as he saw the prince looking at him with confused, almost horrified eyes.

Virgil suddenly realised what he'd nearly done and broke down. His knees gave out and his breathing became shallow as Patton, ever the fatherly hero, supported him through the whole thing, holding him up and trying to give comforting words. This wasn't right, Patton deserved to be supported right now, not Virgil, Virgil had nearly punched Logan in the face. Patton was still hurting, Virgil wasn't, why was Patton so content with making him feel better right now? Self-deprecating thoughts ran through Virgil's head as his lack of oxygen started to make him dizzy. Eventually, Virgil passed out.

Light flooded his vision. Virgil was unsure of what he was looking at but he knew he was lying on something soft. He decided whatever that light was, it could wait, he could sleep in for a couple more minutes. Eyes closed, Virgil shifted into a sideways position. His pillow seemed to flinch at his movement, it warmness radiating against his head. He lifted an arm to grab whatever he was sleeping against, grabbing something soft and decently squishy before a shrill screech filled his ears and hands whacked his away.

Wait. Hands? Flinching pillows? screeches?

Virgil opened his eyes again, rolling onto his back to look up at his surroundings. The light came back, blinding him for a good few seconds. He blinked multiple times, attempting to wipe the brightness away with his eyelids. Muffled voices spoke simultaneously in the background as he tried to regain his senses. After a minute, his sight came back to him.

He was met face-to-upside-down-face with a frowning, slightly flustered Roman. Virgil held a rather confused look as Roman attempted to tell him off for something but most of his attempts boiled down to scoffs and groans of embarrassment. Virgil was left confused for a second before looking to his side and realising the problem.

He was lying atop Roman's lap.

That most likely meant that the soft, squishy thing he grabbed while 'sleeping' was Roman's-

Virgil shot up, whacking foreheads with Roman. He instantly pulled away from the princely side, finding himself lying in said side's lap beforehand. Virgil decided he hated all the terrible life decisions he made that lead up to this. It certainly didn't help that Virgil actually found Roman extremely attractive (as in his confidence is something Virgil...admired so to speak. The outfit helped some too) and he- Virgil craved death, that what he did at that moment, he craved death’s sweet, supple embrace. And he decided to spite Roman. Mostly spite Roman.

It was a while before Logan and Patton walked into the room and, at the sight of a rather dejected-looking Patton and a hesitant and oddly quiet Logan, Virgil seemed to suddenly remember exactly how he passed out. He could recall every bit of anger that had prickled his skin, anger aimed towards the usually unaggressive Logan. He could remember Patton's distraught tale of how his beloved had essentially flung him against a wall out of assumption. Virgil also vaguely remembered wanting to deck Roman for being rude to Patton. Either way, considering Patton and Logan's rather awkward silence, Virgil assumed the both had avoided talking while he was out.

God damn these two.

"I see my assumption that the series of peculiar noises that I assumed to be coming from Roman was a sign that Virgil was awake was correct. Great, now we can get onto questions because I, for one, have several," Logan commented upon seeing a conscious and seemingly active Virgil.

"Shoot," Virgil tucked his hands into his armpits as he braced himself for what he assumed would be like a police interrogation.

"Why on Earth did you try to punch me?"

Virgil knew it was coming, he knew that Logan was going to ask that question first and foremost. It was obvious why he would, Virgil nearly beat him to a pulp without warning or, seemingly, any provocation. The problem was that Virgil wasn't sure how to answer. He wasn't going to lie but, at the same time, he didn't want to out Patton to his crush. After all, it's not like he could just leave that part out, that's another version of lying plus Virgil was pretty sure that, if Patton hadn't been in love with Logan, he wouldn't have been so utterly broken by what Logan had done. He'd be upset, sure but he probably wouldn't have been as upset as he was. Virgil was pretty sure that Patton not loving Logan as much as he did would've made the situation better but he knew that this was partially his own fault as well. They should've talked this out without violent confrontation, if they'd have done that, Virgil wouldn't have passed out or grabbed Roman's…, he wouldn't be conflicted on what to do in this situation. This was his fault.

"Logan, look. I know you probably don't believe me and you probably think it's not even me but please listen to me for a minute,"

Virgil looked towards Patton who'd nervously been fiddling with his cat hoodie for the past few minutes. The eldest side was seemingly looking for the words to admit what he was about to say or maybe he was just trying to work up the courage to talk to Logan after everything that happened or maybe he was waiting for Logan's approval. Virgil wasn't sure but he was, at the very least, grateful that he didn't have to answer this alone.

"...Alright. I don't trust you completely yet but I'll listen," Logan held a harsh look at Patton but Virgil was almost certain that the black-clad side was looking for any hint that this Patton was the real, genuine Patton. Patton didn't seem to get that tone and instead thought the hardened gaze was meant to be harmful.

"Well...after you...you know…" Patton, fixed his gaze back on his hoodie that was tied around his shoulders.

"Yes?" Logan prompted harshly.

"After that whole...thing, I went to look for Virgil. Long story short, I found him in the mind lounge, I told him what happened when I went to give you and Roman the cookies I made. After I said what you did, he got really angry. I'm sorry for nearly getting you hurt, I wasn't expecting Virgil to get so angry," Patton grabbed the paws of his hoodie, feeling his finger along the grey fabric, tracing along the paw shape.

"But why did Virgil get so upset? I mean, what I did was rather despotic-"

"English, Logan,"

"What I did was rather harsh and ultimately unnecessary, I'll admit to that fault but Patton didn't seem extensively hurt after the incident. Also, the retelling assumably took place an extended period of time after the incident took place considering the fact that there was about a two-hour gap between when I confronted Patton and when Virgil had attempted to attack me so any minor injuries left after the confrontation would've been nulled by that point, correct? I just don't understand the seething anger that caused Virgil enough distress to attack me," Logan held a look of honest confusion, he legitimately didn't understand Virgil's anger despite displaying such anger once before, anger that was directed at an incredibly rude Roman. Well, it was downplayed anger but still, Logan held a discontented look and the emotion reflected in his tone, it was clearly there. It was then that Virgil remembered that this was Logan, he didn't understand emotions and it was the one thing he never seemed to want to understand. Of course he didn't get it.

"Logan, you shoved Patton into a wall and made him cry. Why wouldn't I be angry?" Virgil held a glare with the older side.

"Wait, why was Patton crying?" Logan asked.

The question had managed to shut Virgil up and Patton was clearly holding his attention to something else or, at least, he was trying to. Neither wanted to lie, neither wanted to tempt the serpent into their home. After all that had happened, none of the sides felt comfortable with lying at the moment, even if it was the smartest option in this instance. Virgil just fastened his head down, not talking. There was no way he was telling Patton's secret, that was for Patton to do, not him. The poor eldest side wasn't exactly able to lie though, he couldn't just say he wasn't a snake and then hiss. He was trying to get Logan to listen to him, trying to make the logical side believe that it really was Patton he was talking to. Lying was just going to set him back to first base.

But how was he supposed to reveal the truth, Patton couldn't just come out with his near lifelong crush right now! Not only did Logan not know if he was really Patton or not but Patton himself wasn't ready to admit his feelings. Logan had long been the main source of teasing comments about the emotional side and Patton wanted to at least know that Logan just liked him as a mutual before he came out with anything like a crush. And it's not like asking would be easy, it'd just seem really awkward (or maybe that was more a Virgil thing). Either way, the eldest side was stuck between a rock and a hard place and Virgil could just see how much anguish was building up within Patton. It didn't help that he'd have to answer quickly otherwise that's a lie of omission. He can't just lightly leave the crush part out either, also a lie of omission. Virgil let ideas form and subsequently die within his head as he tried to get Patton out of this. Unfortunately, the blue-clad side seemed to handle stress incredibly harshly.

Patton started crying.

It was a shock for both Roman and Logan to witness the joyful, parental and usually emotionally stable side just burst into legitimate sobs. To them, Patton was always the soft yet strong side, he was a parent after all and most parents pride themselves on being gentle enough to be kind to their kids yet strong enough as to withstand the storm of distressing and disheartening situations that the family would occasionally get into. Patton was good at hiding any pain he may have harboured, he took to grinning and bearing like a duck in shark-infested water. It was dangerous but Patton was a natural. The only side able to handle situations like this quite as well was usually Logan mainly because of his lack of emotions leading to either a calm-minded Logan figuring out a solution the others were too stressed out to find or a frustrated Logan due to the situation bringing out frustration at the lack of a solution.

Either way, Roman rushed to get tissues while Logan tried to, somewhat awkwardly, comfort Patton with simple pats on the eldest side's back. Virgil, at this point, had also gotten up to get some comfort food for the upset side, picking out a tub of ice cream he specifically had hidden away for himself from the freezer and a few cookies from the cookie tin. Settling back in the room, Virgil sat beside the blue-clad side, noting that Logan had upgraded from patting Patton's back to wrapping one arm around the fatherly side with the other one on his shoulder, Logan's thumb rubbing circles into his shoulder in an attempt to calm Patton down. Roman eventually came back with tissues, which Patton gratefully took.

It took awhile, most likely fifteen minutes but Patton eventually stopped crying and was just content to lay his head on an uncharacteristically bashful Logan's shoulder as said side kept his arms around the weary side using his shoulder as a headrest. Virgil's ice cream had been all but demolished and not even just because of Patton. Apparently Roman thought it appropriate to sneak a few spoonfuls for himself. Virgil couldn't do much more than glare at the arrogant prince who, immaturely, stuck his tongue out at the purple-clad side in response. All had become mostly calm with Logan requesting someone put some calming music on to make sure that the atmosphere stayed relaxed.

Apparently, relaxed wasn't what Roman was feeling after another five minutes had passed with Patton and Logan practically cuddling (though ask Logan and you would get an entirely different opinion).

"Roman, what're you pouting for?" Virgil asked after he'd noticed the princely side getting weirdly grumpy for seemingly no reason.

"It's nothing, I'm just a little tired and I missed my beauty nap earlier because of this and I didn't sleep well last night and-"

"Ok, geez, sorry I asked. Watch out, you might get scales if you keep all that lying up," Virgil rolled his eyes at the over-dramatic side. It was a simple question, he didn't need the prince's life story.

"Excuse you, I'd much rather assume that my nose would grow thank you very much!"

"So you admit you're lying? Also, you're made out of wood now? I mean, I guess that would explain your wooden acting,"

An offended gasp pierced the air. It was at that moment Virgil knew he'd screwed up.

The offended prince had taken a leap towards Virgil, grabbing him by the waist, before pulling the unsuspecting side into an angry hug. How could a hug be angry you ask? Virgil has no clue but Roman managed to make one and Virgil was squirming to get away from the sudden physical contact before Roman possibly tried giving him angry cheek kisses. Not that either Logan or Patton were particularly helpful at all as they watch from the side, Logan with a baffled expression and Patton with a grin. The eldest side was probably getting enjoyment from watching Roman and Virgil, he'd always mentioned to Virgil how he thought that the two of them would make a cute couple which prompted Virgil to reply with something similar with him and Logan. Virgil and Roman continued to argue while the prince held Virgil in his arms if this wasn't strange enough.

"What the $@#%?! Why?! Why hugging?!"

"Patton and Logan are snuggling, I need some love too and you're the only side available!"

"And you didn't ask my permission first?! What's with you princes and your lack of consent with intimacy! What's next, you gonna kiss me too?!"

"Need I remind you that you grabbed my tush! This is retribution for that misdeed!"

"I'm sorry, Virgil did what-"

"I was asleep! I had no idea what the hell I was grabbing!"

"And you call me out on a lack of consent? Pot calling the kettle black I see,"

"You know, I think that cactus over there would appreciate this more than I do. How about you go attack him with a hug,"

"Excuse you, I'm not hugging a cactus, Mr Snide!"

And so the four sides spent the rest of the day together, laughing and joking and having and Roman even got their respective packs of customised cookies to munch on with Patton revealing that he made similar cookies for Virgil. The four even decided to help the eldest side make more when they realised that said side didn't make cookies for himself. No mentions of a specific serpent were made, no lies threatened their friendship and the mindscape was at ease at last.

For now at least.