#I tried to make roman look much different from my usual design of him because this is different from sasi I believe.

[shapa-likes-art]

No Image description, sorry!

Bdbdbd Roman is like an excitable puppy and Youngblood has to deal with his himbo-ness. I love it, can't wait to see more episodes in the future!

Reblogs are appreciated!

Taglist: @roseianxiety @royals-and-monarchs @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @Why-is-everyone-pretty @angstysunshine @downton-not-downtown-smh @some-fander @treeni @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @gattonero17 @anxious-chaos-art

[sunflowerstache]

the one where you’re Harry’s tailor

@theasstour​ and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.

Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content

NORA’S MASTERLIST  |  SARAH’S MASTERLIST

There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.

Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.

He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.

“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.

The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.

“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”

“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag,  “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.

“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”

“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”

Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.

“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”

He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.

“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”

“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”

Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”

You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.

“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”

Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.

“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”

You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”

“Like…?”

Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.

“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.

Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”

Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”

“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”

Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.

“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.

“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”

Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.

“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.

“Know a Brit when I hear one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”

He did.

You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”

“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”

“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.

“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.

“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.

“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.

“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.

Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”

“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.

“Both.”

You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.

“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”

“Preferably not.”

“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.

“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”

Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.

“Try to relax.”

“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”

The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.

“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Ever had someone tailor you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”

“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”

You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”

“Count me in after July.”

“Oh?”

“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”

“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”

“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”

You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”

“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”

The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.

“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”

“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”

“Where abouts are you going?”

“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”

“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.

Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”

“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.

“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.

“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.

“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”

“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.

“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”

You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”

Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.

“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.

He didn’t respond.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”

“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.

“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.

You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.

“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.

He hissed.

You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.

Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”

Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”

“Exactly.” Harry translated.

You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.

“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”

“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re a tailor.”

“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”

“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”

Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”

“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”

“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.

Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.

“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.

And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.

You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.

The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.

You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.

“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.

“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”

It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.

“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”

Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”

“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”

“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”

“No, that’s art, babe.”

You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.

“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”

You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”

“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.

“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”

The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.

“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”

“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”

He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”

You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.

“It fits.”

“Nothing bad’s happened?”

You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Harry ruining the suit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”

“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”

You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”

“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”

“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”

“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”

Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”

“Do not know. I really don’t.”

He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.

You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.

The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.

“I-“

“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”

“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.

“I’m not taking your word for it.”

This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.

However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.

You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.

But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.

Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.

But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.

People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.

“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.

“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”

Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were being rude.”

“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”

You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.

Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.

“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”

You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.

Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.

You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.

“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.

“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”

Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.

Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another  It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.

You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.

You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.

Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.

“Mi scusi, signora.”

You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.

“Wha - how are yo-?”

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.

“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”

“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”

“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”

Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.

“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”

He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”

“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”

“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”

Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.

“You too, doll.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.

“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“He’s not.”

“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”

“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”

“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”

“Just him?”

It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.

“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.

“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”

“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”

“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”

“Course, of course.”

“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”

The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.

“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.

“‘M terrified.”

You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.

“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.

“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”

“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”

Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.

“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,

Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.

But none of that held your attention.

In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.

And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.  

Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.

The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.

“How are you feeling?”

Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”

That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.

The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.

There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.

The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”

“That will have my head if I get too close.”

“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”

Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”

“A pig won’t be the death of you and it’s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”

“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”

You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.

Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.

“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”

“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.

“I don’t!”

“Alright, mate.”

Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“Who’s Jack?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”

“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.

“None of your business.”

Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”

You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.

“You’re seeing him then?”

You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on!”

You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.

“Is he fit at least?”

“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”

“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.

“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”

“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”

Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.

“What?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“No, what?”

“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.

You rolled your eyes.

“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”

“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”

Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.

Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.

“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.

“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”

“I know.”

You bit your lip, not looking back at him.

“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”

You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”

“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”

Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”

Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”

You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.

“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.

“He is.”

“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.

You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.

“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”

Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.

“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”

Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”

“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”

“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”

“You’re absurd.”

At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.

Especially Harry.

His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.

“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.

“I know, I was watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”

His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.

“Alright. Good luck.”

But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you proud?”

The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.

“Always proud of everything you do.”

It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.

A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”

The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”

You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.

“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.

A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.

This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.

“Thank you.” You whispered

“For what?”

“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.

Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Together?”

“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.

“How come?”

You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”

Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.

“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.

It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.

Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.

You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.

“I see why you like this so much.”

Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”

“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.

“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”

If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.

But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”

“Harry -”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”

Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

“Just look around an-”

“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.

“Wh-“

“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“

“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”

Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.

“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”

“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”

“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”

The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.

You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.

There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.

“Packing up so soon?”

“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.

“How many this time?”

“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”

“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”

“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”

“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”

“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”

“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”

“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”

“And some dates, no?”

“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”

“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”

“Details of what?”

“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.

“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”

“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”

“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.

“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”

“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”

“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”

“Have fun my prodigies!”

Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.

“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”

“Hmm?”

You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket.  He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.

“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”

Harry laughed, “He means well.”

It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.

“You think you’d do another?”

“You think I’d be asked to do another?”

Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Huh?”

“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”

“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”

“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”

He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.

“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”

That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.

“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”

“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”

“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”

You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.

“Lallo?”

“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.

But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.

However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.

You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”

“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.

Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.

“Looking forward to having some time off?”

“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.”  you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”

“You’re really wonderful, you know.”

The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.

“Here we are!”

Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.

“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.

“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”

The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.

“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!

“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.

“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!

You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?

Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”

True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.

“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”

“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”

“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”

“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”

“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”

“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”

You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.

“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.

“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”

“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”

“I knew it.”

“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”

“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.

“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”

“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”

A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.

“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.

“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”

“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”

“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”

“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”

Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.

Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.

“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”

“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”

“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”

“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.

“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”

“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.

“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”

“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”

“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”

“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.

“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”

“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”

“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”

“He’s got a point you know.”

“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”

“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.

“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”

“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.

“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”

“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”

“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”

“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”

Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.

A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.

“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had

“What?”

“Really?”

“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”

Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes,  “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”

“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”

“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.

He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.

It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

“Care to dance?”

It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.

The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…

Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.

You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.

“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.

You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.

“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.

“What’re you doing?”

His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”

You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.

Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.

Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.

You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.

“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.

“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.

“Alright, I’ll get off-“

“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”

You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.

You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.

Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.

You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.

There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.

You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.

Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.

You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.

You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.

He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.

You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.

“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.

Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.

“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”

Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.

“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.

Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.

“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.

“That just happened.”

“We just did that.”

You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”

“Dunno.”

“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”

“Harry, I-“

“-Please.”

You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”

He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”

“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.

“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”

“Good.”

Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”

You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.

Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.

The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.

It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.

Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.

“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”

“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”

Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.

Harry Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x

Harry Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x

You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.

“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.

Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.

So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?

[emmarzhere]

3am AU time: Sanders Sides Swap!!

Once again I can’t sleep due to my brain insisting it’s much more important to write down these ideas for a Light and Dark side swap AU than sleep, so 3AM TUMBLR RAMBLE IT IS BABYYYY!!!

So I wanted to try using traits already existing in each character to make their inverses, rather than just swapping traits or completely changing the character’s core values, and these are my initial late night ideas:

(Note: I saved this as a draft and revisited it in the morning / afternoon to make sure it all actually made sense and to add to it with a fresh mind)

(Extra note: I accidentally lost all my additions and the entirety of Patton’s and Virgil’s descriptions by refreshing the page, so it’ll now be written out again in a less formatted way. DAMN YOU TUMBLRRRR!!!!!!)

Roman:

My initial reaction was to make Roman “Pride”, and extend on his egocentric nature (like what is done with many Dark!Roman interpretations), however five minutes of laying in bed thinking about it later I found a trait I felt fit him better: Delusion.

This Roman could still be very much “Netflix kids and family”, living and trying to make Thomas live in a fantasy land where everything is always fine and dandy. This insistence of only seeing things through his figurative or not so figurative rose tinted glasses makes this Roman very naive and hard to get through to, and while on the surface appears very appealing to Thomas (when they first meet Thomas doesn’t understand why Roman counts as a dark side) can be very dangerous if Thomas leans too much into his ways of escaping reality, aka making Thomas a delusional person. The best part of this choice of trait for Roman is that I can still tie in his ego; delusions can be fuel people’s egos, and also to protect them from harsh realities, hence why Delusional works as a role for Roman.

While normally I see Dark Side Roman designed to be an evil prince or king, I decided to go for a more glamorous look which I think fitted my version more: Roman would wear a pristine black and red suit consisting of a red waistcoat, tie and trousers, a black button up shirt and black or red heeled boots. I also wanted his design to link to the white peacock (a rare type caused by a genetic mutation), so I topped off the outfit with either a vintage white shawl or a Cruella style coat (leaning towards Cruella because we know Roman and Disney!) with white peacock feathers attached (still trying to decide if I want Roman to have decorated the feathers with red and black accents or not), and a pair of literal rose tinted glasses to hide his white peacock eyes - pale blue with a glassy look to them which always gives the impression that he is far away, even when he’s not.

Finally his sword is replaced with a grandiose black walking stick with silver details, along with the handle being a silver peacock head (note: possibly detachable from the cane to reveal a silver knife?). I chose this as weapons like these in fiction are often used to appear innocent, only to reveal a hidden depth of skill and character; a description which I think applies well to Delusional Roman.

Extra note: Delusional Roman gets snappy, angry, or even threatening when people try to break him out of or correct him on his delusional ways, though he will often try to slip deeper into his fantasies than actually deal with emotional confrontations.

Extra extra note: Roman is incredibly jealous of his brother as he can’t understand why he’s been accepted despite Roman being the one who creates such wonderfully perfect worlds for Thomas to escape off into! He’s also jealous of how his brother doesn’t care what others think of his work and doesn’t seek validation from the others, not that Roman would ever admit that he does either of those things.

Patton:

So the 3 main aspects of Patton I felt would work best for a Dark Side are his destructive selflessness, his overly strong morale compass and how he encompasses many of Thomas’ more negative feelings.

I couldn’t decide whether to officially label him as “Denial” or “Repression”, but either way he holds a similar role: he represses his / Thomas’ negative feelings, as well as tries to push Thomas to do the morally right thing (as he still represents Morality, just not as his main trait) which almost always is the selfless option. It’s almost impossible to convince this Patton that his viewpoint is not necessarily the correct choice (he’s in denial that he as Morality can ever be in the wrong), and he becomes hostile when his views are continuously challenged.

The light sides see Patton as the main holder and cause of Thomas’ negative feelings (eg. makes Thomas act selfless and do things for others until he’s burnt out and depressed), and when Thomas is feeling these negative feelings Patton experiences them but more strongly to the point where the others have to force him out of bed (usually Logan) and take care of him until he and Thomas get out of the depressive slump. However once he’s out he will deny that he was the problem and begin pushing Thomas down the self-destructive path again.

While this Patton will deny his depression and many negative feelings, he is still not as upbeat as Happy-Pappy-Pal-Canon-Patton, matching more with how the side acts in more serious moments such as at the end of SvS redux. He will smile and comfort others, but laughter and puns are rarely seen.

Another thing about this dark side Patton is that he is very manipulative (a trait shifted from Janus to Patton), even if he doesn’t believe himself to be. He uses his role as “morale compass” to invalidate other’s opinions if they clash with his, and often emotionally hurts the sides he gets close to by caring for them and performing selfless acts for them to show his love (eg. makes breakfast for the other Darks sides every morning, goes out of his way to learn more about their interests so that they can have someone to talk to them about) followed by him simplifying complex morale dilemmas in a way that makes it appear that his option is the only correct one, making the others feel bad about their differing viewpoints (a bit like how Roman felt invalidated and morally wrong throughout SvSR as his views didn’t line up with Patton’s).

This Patton wears a worn out pale blue shirt with a fraying black jumper over the top, leaving only the collar of the shirt visible. He has frog features too; with blots of green skin scattered all over his body, slightly webbed hands and he croaks! The splodges grow larger the more emotion Patton represses. He also really doesnt like his frog features as they don’t align with the perfect image of himself that Patton has in his head, so he tries to cover them up as much as possible with his black jumper, pale blue gloves (leather ones as he tried woollen ones and his frog skin made them go sticky) and baggy trousers, although there isn’t much he can do to hide the blots on his face or his brown frog eyes....

(He’s also constantly worn out as frog-pops has no clue what self-care even means)

Extra note: Patton goes through a sort of alternate character development to canon Patton, where as he begins to be accepted by some of the Light Sides and Thomas they discuss how he doesn’t just represent Thomas’ negative feelings, but all of his feelings; a lot of them are just also accidentally repressed alongside the “bad” feelings. As time goes on Patton becomes more cheerful and goofy, even dropping the occasional dad joke, although never quite to the levels of canon Patton.

Extra extra note: The happier this Patton is, the less faded the blues on his clothes become (much like Virgil’s eyeshadow), until at moments of peak happiness his gloves and shirt are canon Patton blue (eg. when Thomas is with Nico, or when Janus and Thomas first accepted him). Cute blue embroidered designs also form on his black jumper at peak happiness, such as butterflies, simple cats, pawprints and frogs.

Logan:

So Logan is the only side I have decided to leave with the same official trait title: Logic, although he also has the orange trait Anger within him. He will also be taking the place of Virgil as the Dark Side who is prematurely accepted.

However Logan here is still different from canon Logan: he represses and denies his emotions even more than canon due to the other dark sides attitudes towards him (Delusional Roman in particular does not appreciate the truth bombs and logical reasoning the calculator watch drops), leading to more angry outbursts / orange showing through. This makes Logan a horribly unstable side, with him appearing completely apathetic to any sort of feeling for an undetermined period of time until he next reaches his limit and has an explosion of rage - he holds both Logic and Anger/Orange in him here, but the anger shows through a lot more due to his circumstances.

His clothes are always shredded and falling apart due to him tearing them when he’s angry + the rage can come out like an explosion that wrecks everything in his surrounding area, including the clothes on him. He sticks to plain black t shirts and trousers to start with as he claims he doesn’t see the point in putting effort into an outfit as he has no desire to please others.

However when Thomas starts making videos Logan can’t help but show up from time to time. He is unsure why as he could not care less what Thomas or the idiotic “Light Sides” think of him, though he figures while he’s there he might as well educate the buffoons so they can reach more informed, educated conclusions to their constant dilemmas.

At first the Lights don’t take his presence well, and more times than one he’d leave towards the end of an episode to explode in the privacy of his room. But surprisingly they eventually start listening to him, considering his inputs, and Logan leaves filming shoots satisfied, even popping into the Light Side’s area occasionally outside of filming days to talk to them.

However Logan notices a pattern as time goes on: the more he’s around the Light Sides, the less he goes Orange. He tests it by spending a week only hanging with the Lights and finds that his anger barely built up at all. Logan quickly reaches the conclusion that his orange trait isn’t actually uncontrollable, it’s how the others treated him that made it so hard to act civil. That is what leads to Logan hating the Dark Sides (much like canon Virgil does) and finally joining the lights.

Soon after being accepted Logan has an outfit change, where he goes from his burnt, tattered rags to his canon outfit, as he finally feels stable and appreciated enough to trust himself in not ruining a nice new Logic outfit. From then on his journey is about accepting that he has feelings and learning that they’re valid.

Extra note: Logan’s worst fear is the idea of going Orange in front of Thomas or the Light Sides - he finally has people who listen to him and if they see his orange side it might scare them off or they’ll lose any respect for him they had. Worst of all they could get hurt…

Extra extra note: Neither Thomas or any of the Light Sides apart from Janus are aware that Logan holds the Orange trait, believing that he only ever was Logic, just more apathetic to start with (and they actually all buy his reasoning of his old outfit being trashed due to him not caring enough about appearances to fix it, to Janus’s dismay but not disbelief - a bunch of himbos, the lot of them!).

Virgil:

Virgil still represents the “Fight or Flight” response in this AU, just without the excess Anxiety. His official title would be “Instinct”, and he would be more confident than canon Virgil. The decrease in anxiety would also make him better at making rational decisions, though he would still freak out and make not-so-great choices in stressful situations.

Rather than a spider, I decided to link this Virgil more strongly with a cat, with heightened senses, lightning reflexes and eyes that reflect light much like a cats. These additions also match with his change of aesthetic from patchwork emo to fantasy vigilante mixed with bright purple punk, plus the addition of purple eyeshadow applied actually correctly. I made this choice as both canon and this Virgil see themselves as a protector of Thomas, yet Virgil is still slightly more morally grey than the other 2 Light Sides (sort of like canon Logan) hence a darker design. Plus is it really Virgil at all if he doesn’t spend his free time listening to MCR?

Virgil also takes the role of canon Roman when it comes to Patton being accepted: he initially falls strongly for Patton’s caring qualities, with the Dark side helping sooth his anxious moments and suggesting that Thomas make other non-selfish options that don’t make Virgil feel as anxious as some of Janus’ options. So for Patton’s first few conflicts Virgil sticks up for him, claiming he’s not all bad. Then he witnesses how Patton’s selfless choices affect Thomas and realises he’s been manipulated; there was no reason to go all the way with Patton’s choice and hurt Thomas, yet Patton had convinced him that it was either his way or the wrong way, no compromises available.

So by the time Patton reveals his name Virgil really dislikes him and makes a snarky remark in which Patton replies with a jab at how he didn’t realise being Thomas’ protector meant that you could be as evil as you wanted with none of the consequences. Virgil’s equivalent line to Roman’s hero one could be something like “Don’t you trust me?” or “I thought I was your best friend?” - then again Roman’s hero line does work with this version of Virgil.

Janus:

This was one of the easiest traits to decide: with a lot of his more manipulative and deceitful traits being distributed between Patton and Roman, Janus is officially titled “Self-Preservation”, and while he doesn’t claim the father role like Patton does, he is still very much seen as a parental figure and guiding light for Thomas and the lights. He tries to be warm and welcoming to the Light sides (part of his role is to take care of Thomas, hence taking care of the parts that make Thomas), and they naturally gather around him as he gives off a safe aura.

However he is not quite as kind to the Darks - he still has the role of managing what truths Thomas can handle, so he controls which sides stay hidden from him. The darks being revealed tends to be down to him slipping up or the side finding a way around his defences more than by him deciding Thomas is ready to meet them, and each time it happens he beats himself up over it and tries to work harder to not let it happen again. The problem he doesn’t realise is that the slip ups tend to happen in the first place due to him overworking himself to make the others / Thomas happy - he doesn’t quite perform the self-care he preaches about.

I’m still not quite sure where I want to go with Janus’ outfit: the initial thought was to put him in a more Patton inspired attire, however this is still Janus, and he is still a theatrical boi. I ended up settling for a mainly cottage-core aesthetic with a flowy long sleeve yellow shirt made out of a light fabric, brown trousers and an overly large sunhat. He also drapes himself in bright patterned shawls and wraps (still predominantly yellow in colour) as while he doesn’t look as snake-like as he canonically does he still has certain snake traits, such as a weakness to the cold and a yellow tint to his left eye.

However snake features do begin to form later on into the AU as Thomas’ views on Lights and Darks alter over time: he begins to realise that despite how it appears Janus is not always in the right, such as how if it hadn’t been for mistakes Thomas would never have met the Darks and learnt to grow as a person - in fact if Self-Preservation got the say in everything he would likely do little growing whatsoever. He and in turn the other Lights begin to find Janus too stifling until SvSR happens where under the stress Janus becomes a true snake boi. The scales and proper snake eye don’t fade afterwards due to Thomas’ subconscious change in perspective, and while it is a big new insecurity at first over time Janus learns to accept these new changes to himself and the Mindscape, and begins adding a touch of darker mystical aesthetic to his look (slightly fantasy fortune teller based) to match his new look better - although cottage-core remains his go to!!

Extra note: In this AU Janus is definitely the side that would most likely be seen going around the Mindscape in a dress (Roman would also wear dresses on occasion but mainly only within his daydreams in the Imagination); he is all about taking care of yourself, and that includes wearing what makes you happy! Though I’m still kind of tempted to put him in a dress full time...

Extra extra note: while Janus is very much the “adult figure” in the Light Mindscape, he still has his goofy moments like in canon - in general he is more relaxed and jokey with the others...though he’s still a sarcastic shet.

(I struggled finding images that matched at all with the ideas in my head, so take these as very vague links to the actual design)

Remus:

Oh boy, Remus is a fun one...

So now that Roman is the twin known by a different title (like how canon Remus is referred to as “Intrusive Thoughts”), Remus now has claim to the Creativity role!! However Remus isn’t going to do a 180 personality wise - he’s still going to be a chaotic gremlin, just with a light side twist.

His design is purposely all over the place: his aesthetic is mainly pirate based with a long sleeve pirate shirt, loose black trousers and heeled black and silver pirate boots, alongside a dark green pirate jacket and slightly brighter bandana. However he has other seemingly random elements thrown in there, such as a white and green hero cape (fuck what Edna says) coming off the back of the coat, and random colourful potions in the green belt under his coat alongside a knight’s sword. This mismatched look is due to the type of imagination Remus provides: while he still represents and creates intrusive thoughts, he also creates adventure stories and life goals/dreams for Thomas, hence takes a form that has mixed elements from Thomas’ self-inserts and protagonists for said stories. While he personally loves his messy design (do you know how much fun can be had with magic potions, swords, tentacles, and a day in the Imagination? Remus sure does), it does cause some arguments between him and Logan over how illogical him and his ideas are (like canon Roman and Logan).

Roman makes this Remus....uncomfortable. Not necessarily because of his ideas (those are just dull and vomit-worthy in his opinion), but because of how he can’t separate dreams and reality - while Remus loves coming up with Imaginative stories for Thomas and setting slightly outlandish goals for the future, he has a level of awareness that Roman lacks in how he knows Thomas won’t ACTUALLY end up being a morally grey pirate travelling the seas to claim back the magical pendant of octopus powers (unless...). He’s also uneasy with how easily Thomas can fall for Roman’s delusions of grandeur and romance, in fact it opens up quite a major insecurity on how despite being the “good” twin his brother seems to succeed more as the creative role, eg. how Thomas will come up with a dream future career path, husband and even car in a matter of seconds yet Remus has to slave and hone in on decent ideas for weeks to reach his own standard.

This leads to another thing about Remus: while he doesn’t care what others think of his ideas (the trait I mentioned earlier that Roman was jealous of) he hold a high standard to himself and gets extremely happy when he perfects an idea. Besides he still wants his ideas to actually be used by Thomas as them being dismissed for not being good enough does hurt (a bit like how Remus got frustrated in the recent episode with how his “good” intrusive creations were being torn apart by Logan’s methods).

Extra note: The fact that Thomas doesn’t like or appreciate some of his darker ideas / intrusive thoughts doesn’t bother Remus too much as he tends to put less effort into them as he knows they won’t be liked - he just can’t help that they pop into his head and he has to get them out - repression is bad after all! However maybe there can be some episode drama about Remus wanting to be less stifled and have Thomas at least consider some of his more mature themes that he thinks would be good to expand upon.

Extra extra note: Just assuring the fact that Remus not caring what the others think about his work does not correlate with him not caring about the others. He loves his fellow Light Sides and Thomas - he’s just confident in his own craft and while appreciates advice and improvements from the others (he and Logan have a field day on creating biologically accurate gore together) he also is aware that HE is Creativity, and he understands his craft better than the others.

Extra extra EXTRA note: Wasn’t really sure how to put it in there but Remus still represents Thomas’ lust. Do with that what you want.

Thomas:

So all these changes to the sides....of course it has it’s effects on character!Thomas! However I’m getting REALLY tired now so this will be done in bullet points:

Not as Disney-centric as canon/real Thomas.

Has less issues with Anxiety, and more issues dealing with Depression

His morals start off a bit more flexible than canon due to always having we-live-in-a-society Janus as his guide

Still has intrusive thoughts, but not as debilitating with the lower levels of anxiety and the much better relationship with Remus.

Still overworks himself trying to help others (nice one Patton!)

Might have a different career due to Roman being more out the frame - maybe goes into writing instead with Remus’ more diverse form of creativity.

Does explore more diverse creative ideas and darker themes, but still out of habit sometimes puts down possibly good ideas as on surface level they appear too morally wrong.

However could possibly be in a non-creative career, and his major longing for a new career path could be what allows Roman through for the first time.

Less dad jokes but still incredibly goofy with both Remus and Janus being more present.

I think I’m going to wrap up there for now! I may make some art for this at some point, but I also want other’s opinions and ideas for this AU.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!!

[evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn]

5 Reasons Roman Is Infuriating (And Why I DO NOT have a crush on him)

Chapter 4: A Date With Destiny

Read on AO3 Chapter 1

Word count:  2991

Tw: Food, Almost an innuendo, Fear of not being accepted for orientation

~~~

"I think I'm ready."

Logan looks at himself in the mirror, adjusting his bowtie. He hadn't gone super extra with his 'date' outfit, despite Roman's insistence to go big or go home. (Which wouldn't really matter, as Thomas is home right now, and therefore they wouldn't need to go very far.)

Just a few changes, to treat himself. The blue striped bowtie, obviously, some black dress pants, black socks and a black dress shirt instead of a polo. He also tried out a new shampoo, just for that extra self-care. That may sound like a fairly big change, but Roman looked uncomfortable when he presented the outfit.

Roman waves his hand about, diverting his eyes. "Ugh, whatever. You look great. I still think a full tux would've been a better choice."

"That would most likely be overdressing. I don't want to go into this date looking like a buffoon, now do I?" He retorted, slipping on his dress shoes. They're sleek and black, with a heel that gives him just that extra added height.

"Pfft, coming from the Nerdy Professor! You look like a buffoon all the time, I'm just doing you a favor."

"You don't think I'm ready like this?" Logan asks.

"You do. You're rocking it. No romo." Roman says, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"No... Romo?" He asks.

"Uh, yeah. Like... Uh, romantic. I invented it. Just now." Roman says, nervously fiddling with his sash.

"Oh." And if that doesn't feel like a metaphorical stab to the gut, Logan's not sure what it is.

Roman stands for a few seconds in silence, before looking away, into the mirror. "Now, go get your Daisy, Loguigi."

"That was a stretch, but thank you." Logan takes Roman's hand, squeezes it (he's sure Roman won't mind. He may think of it as a reassurance to calm Logan's nerves. Logan thinks of it as he wants to hold Roman's hand), and walks to the door.

"Logan-" Roman says before he can leave, and Logan turns back to him. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and seems to realize that Logan's waiting for him to say something. His hand reaches towards him, then recedes.

"Yes?"

"Good luck." He slumps, giving what seems to be an encouraging smirk. Logan nods, adjusing his bowtie once more, and strutting out of the room. If he had a cape, it would be flowing behind him dramatically, due to the sheer energy of his determination. Tonight is going to be the start of a big change.

"Alright Patton, prepare yourself for the strangest date you'll ever go on." He says in full confidence.

~~~

Patton sat at the dining table, feeling certainly awkward. Things certainly looked... Different. It was dim, mostly because the only light sources were an array of candles and a strand of fairy lights. There was a silky tablecloth thrown over the table, and a lovely bouquet of red roses in a glass vase as the centerpiece. There were also two glasses, and a bottle of red wine. Soft violin music played from an unknown source.

Usually this was something Patton would coo at. He always loved romance between people. Whenever Thomas and his boyfriends over the years hung out, it would be all he'd talk about. How happy he is for them. He'd even help Roman out with helping Thomas in his gestures of romance. It's true, Patton loved romance.

However, not when it was directed at himself.

He didn't want to be rude and leave, obviously. Logan set this up, and the last thing Patton wanted to do was break his heart beyond repair. He loves Logan as a friend, and he cares about him, and the emotions he barely lets himself show.

Patton twiddles with his thumbs, sweating quite a bit. He wonders what Roman has to do with this. He's certainly not also going to be here, unless this is a three-way date. That is unlikely, as there are only two chairs. Perhaps he's the wing-man? That would make sense, as he's much better in the romance category than Logan. But wait a minute, why would he help? Doesn't Roman-

"This is atmospheric." Patton gets pulled out of his thoughts by Logan standing there, looking at the decor. He takes a seat. Pouring himself a glass of the wine, he takes a big sip, before setting it down. "Patton, I have something to tell you."

Oh no.

Patton's sweating buckets now. "B-before you do, I just want to tell you that I respect you Logan, and that you're a very good person, and that I cherish the time we spend together, but I guess I haven't told you some very important information about myself, and I hope this doesn't hurt you too bad, it's that-" He takes a deep breath, about to spill. He's always been scared of this moment. Didn't he already tell Logan? Does he not believe in his identity? Patton opens his mouth to speak.

"You're aromantic. I know that Patton, and I respect that. Your orientation is completely justified and valid. I was going to tell you that this was not my idea. I do not harbor any romantic feelings for you, and I certainly don't expect you to either." Logan says, taking another sip of wine.

"Oh."

Well, that makes Patton feel much better.

"Then... Why are we here?" He asks, the nervous feeling replaced by confusion.

"Well..." Logan blushes as red as the wine. "I happened to be... Discussing my 'lack' of romantic feelings for... a side, which I realised was in fact a falsehood, and then that side happened to swoop in right after I realized, and mistook my presentation for being about you. Therefore, he decided to set us up."

The cogs in Patton's brain start to turn. He's not exactly known to be the brightest of the bunch, but he thinks he can decipher this one.

"Nm...Teh... Oh, it's Roman." He looks at Logan, who lowers his head into his hands.

"Yes. Yes it is." He admits.

"So, he doesn't know." Patton concludes.

"No, no he doesn't."

The words finally settle in, and Patton's face brightens significantly in a matter of milliseconds. "Oh my god! Logan! You like him!" He stands up, and jumps for joy. He twirls around the room a few times, and then pulls up Logan and gives him a hug. "I'm so proud of you kiddo."

"Thank you Patton. It certainly felt strange admitting it." Sighs, hugging him back. They break off soon after.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Patton asks, a little bit worried.

"I don't think I'm quite ready yet." They both sit down. "That's actually why I'm here. I was wondering if we could keep up a sort of facade for a while, until I'm ready to tell Roman. Obviously, we won't make anything official, but I could use your help, as I am not very skilled in this romance business, and we could use fake dates as a sort of counseling session. I could.. Use your help." Logan admits.

Patton is surprised, but delighted. "Oh! Well, thank you for telling me kiddo. I wouldn't mind helping you out." He pats Logan' shoulder encouragingly. "Do you... have a plan?"

"Not yet. I didn't want to start without you, in case I would need to scrap the whole thing." Logan takes another sip of wine.

“That’s absolutely A-okay. I don’t know if I’d be much help today though, cause this roller-coaster ‘date’ has really tired me out!” Patton says. (He’s never quite been put on the spot, and then given a plot twist like that one before. Oh wait, haha, he has.) He needs a bit of a mental break before he does any of that adultery thinking.

Logan looks around the room. “We aren’t on a roller coaster.”

“It’s an expression.” Patton clarifies. He sighs, adjusting himself on the seat. “I forgot that I haven’t come out to Roman yet. Or the others, for that matter.”

“You don’t have to if you aren’t comfortable. There’s never a bad reason not to come out.” Logan assures him, finishing his glass of wine. “And if you ever need my help, I will be there to support you in whatever ways I can.”

“Alrighty kiddo.” He smiles, looking to the kitchen.

“Do we have any leftover cookies?”

Patton suddenly looks guilty. “Well… About that.”

“Patton.” Logan’s gaze snaps to him, surprised. “Last time I checked, there were at least five left.”

“It wasn’t just me! Janus had one too!” He pleads, stating his case.

“One? That leaves four.” Logan squints at him. “I wanted at least two more for myself.”

A light in Patton’s brain ignites, and he jumps up. “Oh! What do you say we turn this into a baking ‘date’ then??” He does over exaggerated quotations with his hands on ‘date’.

“Bake ‘date’ it is then.” Logan fixes his bowtie in steely determination, and they both make their way to the kitchen.

~~~

“How did the date go?” Roman asks when Logan returns to his room, a giant fluffy red robe draped over himself, face mask on, and nails in the process of being painted. He’s got some showtunes that Logan doesn’t know the name of playing from a vinyl record player, which is illogical, because he’s pretty sure the musical is modern and that they can’t play voices, but he doesn’t comment.

“It went surprisingly… Well. He told me he may need a few more dates to make a decision.” Logan lies, trying to put anything other than indifference in his voice.

“Oh.” Roman looks taken aback for a second. “That’s great Specs. I’m proud of you.” The shaky hand he was painting swerves off to the side, and nail polish gets all over his finger. He looks at it, sighs, and puts the brush back into the bottle.

“You know, it isn’t a good idea to paint your nails in bed.” Logan sits on the edge, (of his own bed. Strange how Roman didn't just go back to his own room. He’s quite the stark contrast, him and his items bright red in a sensible dull, midnight blue room.) and turns his torso to face him.

“But it’s so much more dramatiiic. Besides, you told me not to touch your desk, and I am a princ- uh, a man of my word.” He laughs a little nervous laugh. “Besides, I can just clean it up with the powers of magic.”

“That’s nice.” Logan says, distracted by Roman’s nails. He’s hiding the hand he messed up. On his non-dominant hand, he has masterfully done nails, red with golden designs, such as a crown on his middle finger, a flower pattern on his pointer, thumb and pinky, and on the ring finger there’s an ‘L’...

Logan gently extends his hand. “Can I see?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” Roman lets him take his hand. Up close he notices that the gold is sparkly. Certainly a touch that is in character.

“What does the ‘L’ stand for?” Logan asks, looking at him.

Roman seems to burst red in the face. “O-Ooh it means ‘Left’. I… Often forget which direction is which, so I put it on my nails to remember. There’s no second meaning behind it or anything. Not at all.” He smiles wide.

Now Logan suspects there may be a second meaning, but he does not comment. “Is it okay for me to see your other hand?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to, I mean, it’s not nearly as good and it isn’t at all finished and I just made a mistake-”

“I didn’t ask if I would want to see it. I asked if you were okay with me seeing it.” Logan cuts his self-deprecating ramble off, assuring him softly. “I won’t look for the imperfections if you don’t want me to.”

“I…” Roman sighs and nods. “Go ahead.”

Logan takes Roman’s right hand gently with his own, and brings it close enough to inspect. It retains the same colors, but even with just the base red layer it looks a little bit less neatly done. The color extends past the cuticle, and you can see little bumps and imprints of things that accidentally touched the nail before it could fully dry. It wasn’t bad, per se, because those things could easily be fixed without removing the entire coating, but it probably seemed pretty bad to Roman when comparing it to his other hand. And then there was the streak, which was unfortunate but can be arranged.

“I can help you with this hand, if you’d like.” He offers, much to Roman’s surprise.

“Sure… But you don’t have to-”

“Preposterous. I want to help, and although I am not a master in the arts and creating designs, I happen to be a master duplicator. I believe Virgil described it as ‘cloning but like without the technology part and shit’. I even remade an exact duplicate of a frankly disgusting and creepy doll for Remus from scratch.”

“Oh.” Roman laughs softly. “Talented.”

“Yes. I am.” Logan says, internally giddy from the compliment. He uncaps the nail polish remover from a very fancy tray, where all the supplies are stationed on. “We just need this for the stain.” He takes a cotton pad, letting go of Roman’s hands to wet it, and recaps the bottle. He retakes Roman’s right hand, and lightly swipes the pad across the smear.

“You smell like baking.” Roman notes, barely over a whisper.

“That makes sense. We did some baking. Mostly me, and he kind of watched until they were ready to decorate.” He places the cotton pad in a little glass junk bowl on the tray.

“Are you sure he’s not just going to use these dates to make him cookies?” He says lightheartedly, tapping his other hand along to the sound of the music.

“Perhaps” Logan laughs a little bit. “Actually, I set aside a bunch for you. They’re in a bag, wrapped in a ribbon. That usually wards off everyone else from eating what’s inside for a few days, but do get to them before the fourth day because that’s often when Remus loses his patience.” He doesn’t admit that it was a spur of the moment decision, and that he felt like a lovesick fool setting aside those for him. He did admit that to Patton though, who chuckled.

“Mmm, thank you. What kind?” Roman asks, as Logan uncaps the red nail polish bottle and starts applying a light coat on each nail to even things out.

“Cranberry and White Chocolate Chip.” Roman’s favorite. That may have also been on purpose.

“Oh.” He says, and that’s where that subject of conversation ends. Logan continues applying the coating, then recaps the bottle.

“Alright, this will need to dry.” Logan guides his hand to a solid resting place. They sit quietly for a moment, only the sound of what he recognizes as Razzle Dazzle playing. It’s quite strange to have music in here. The rows and rows of dark-wood bookshelves, kept neat and clean, seem much brighter like this. His planning cork-board, with strings run around and pictures and notes in a neat order (along with the depressing sight of his calendar), looks less dull. Maybe it’s his mood. Maybe it’s just Roman.

“Logan?”

“Yes?”

Roman scoots over, without moving his drying hand. He leans in closely, looking just above Logan’s eyeline.

“Y-yes?” He squirms as Roman reaches with his dry hand to the top of his head. He shakes Logan’s hair, and he presumes it looks like a mess now.

“Flour.”

“What?” Logan asks, as he returns to sitting like he did before.

“You had flour in your hair. It was bothering me.” Roman informs him, pointing to his head.

“Ah.” They return to their silence.

When Logan determines the perfect time for the polish to dry, he uncaps the glittery gold nail pen. Using the other hand as reference, he copies the designs finger by finger, putting all of his concentration into it.

“And… We’ll put an ‘R’ here... ” He tries his best to copy the font of the swirly ‘L’. It looks pretty good, if he does say so himself. Which he does say out loud.”

“Yeah, it does. Thank you Logan.” He looks up at Roman, who smiles a very shy smile. He suddenly brightens, and jumps up, rattling the tray and scaring Logan. “Aha! I’ve thought of a perfect nickname! Holm Office Photopy Machine! I need to write that down.” He fumbles around, and then summons himself a very used-looking sketchbook. He stays standing on the bed, flipping through pages and then scribbling it down.

“That certainly is long.” Logan adjusts his glasses in surprise.

“Long like my- Sorry that was a strange thought.” Roman makes his things disappear, checks his nails, and then flops back down onto the bed.

“I hate to bother you, but at one point I’m going to have to sleep on here.” He watches as Roman unsticks his face-masked face from the bed in disgust.

“Why did I do that- Oh, yeah, sorry.” Roman gets up, looking guilty, and certainly not as fancy as he did before, fibres from the blankets stuck to his face mask and some of the mask still attached to Logan’s bed. Still, he’s got his stupid smile on his face, and that power stance. He’s…

“Wonderful.” Logan says under his breath as Roman’s turning to leave.

Unfortunately, he heard, and he turns back, confused. “Huh?”

“One earful.”

“Alright.” Roman looks perhaps even more confused, but turns back and sinks out, with a “Buh-bye Specs.”

When he’s out of Logan’s room, he snaps his fingers to rid of the mess (He left the tray there too. The nerve. The gall. He sends it to Roman’s room, and prays that it lands somewhere incredibly inconvenient just for revenge sake. He also keeps the record player, because he could use some music in his life) and prepares for bed.

Step 1: Complete.

~~~

Taglist:

@crossiantgay

[spiritshaydra]

Looks like I haven’t posted art here in months and this is my fourth time trying to add a description to this because it keeps getting purged whenever I switch tabs >:( 

Anywho, here’s some Pokémon gijinkas I finished earlier in the week ^^

Additional info stolen from my amino post down below c:

Howdy!

This took me WAY longer than I thought it would. I started this group back in December, and only now just completed it ^^

I’ll be showing them off in the order I finished them along with some info on each character c:

✨Here they are!✨

🏙 Reshiram 🏙

She’s not as complex as the rest of the batch because she started off as just a headshot test and practice for drawing humans ^^’ then everything else kinda just got more complex. Her design is more of a work in progress than the rest.

She’s a living lie detector :)

🎆 Palkia 🎆

[

She took a LONG time to draw and is probably the most complex. Sorta. She’s also probably one of the first gijinkas I’ve designed so her design is pretty solid for now. She’s based off of Roman gladiators and Valkyries. Palkia is also a total jock with a short fuse that constantly gets in fights with her brother, Dialga. She’s kinda a loud idiot but that’s okay. She’s also very rash and tends to act before thinking. Will kick down doors and attempt to put brother in a headlock. Probably chugs sport drinks and punches drywall. Will challenge poor unfortunate souls into doing arm wrestling matches. Has very strong opinions on science fiction. (Stuff with space is superior!) Curses like a sailor and likes to get creative with insults. Cannot organize things at all. Room probably looks like a bomb went off. Has the worst handwriting in her family. Middle child and the shortest out of her siblings. Is uncomfortable around Giratina but feels bad about it.

🌄 Giratina 🌄

Giratina’s another one that I’ve had designed for a while and am pretty happy about it! I tried to give her a more inhuman and unsettling appearance (gaunt features, pale skin, sunken eyes, long limbs, digitigrade legs, four arms, etc) She’s pale from the lack of sunlight and her hair is borderline uncontrollable. It’s in a constant state of poofy rat’s nest.

Believe it or not, she’s probably the friendliest out of her family despite her off putting demeanor. She completely lacks social skills and is still trying to learn how to speak normally after being locked away for eons. She’s best friends with a Shaymin and has gardening as a hobby. She just really wants friends :( She likes stupid paranormal shows and animated movies. Not violent at all unless provoked. Absolutely fascinated by car windows and toasters. She’s the second tallest and the “baby” out of her family. She wishes to have better relations with her siblings and parent but struggles :(

🌺 Shaymin 🌺

Shaymin. Oh boy Shaymin. So with her I was wanting to do something completely different from the usual Lolita and cutesy based gijinkas. So I made her a punk :) Shay acts like she eats nails for breakfast and isn’t afraid to fight god. She’s short but by god, she’s going to go for the kneecaps. She has a nasty temper and is very protective of her strange noodly demon bestie. Taught her how to garden. She’s loud, argumentative, and ‘Tina’s siblings are probably more scared of her than the Terror of The Distortion World. Does not do well in cold weather. She rides a motorbike, and is the one who generally drags ‘Tina around to get her used to the normal world. Big fan of slasher films and loud aggressive music. Loves nature and is generally enthusiastic about funky plants.

Very short. Very aggressive. Wears stud covered platform boots.

🪐 Arceus 🪐

Oh boy. Arceus.

He was VERY hard to design but I think I’m happy with the results. For now. I wanted him to look somewhat regal and nasty, and not exactly human.

He’s a major asshole, prick, and elitist, and is petty to the highest degree. Got offended whenever someone suggests that he should go to an anger management class. Probably a Karen. He’s the type to wear a fluffy bathrobe while drinking box wine on a lawn chair on the porch to look scornfully at the neighbors whenever they get too close. Not a great parent. (Loves his gaggle of goblins in his own strange way) Kinda hates everyone. Rude. VERY VERY short temper. VERY stubborn. He’s short and is going to make it everyone else’s problem. (Refuses to just... change his height himself. ‘Cause he’s some primordial creation entity. He just... doesn’t) He woke up one morning and just chose violence. takes great pride in his creations. Awful taste in music. No sense of style. Cant dance. He’s offputting and unsettling to be around because he has a very “off” feeling about him. Really really likes to get the upper hand on others. There are a f e w times when he actually acts like a decent person. Likes to put an air of regality onto him even though he’s a total train wreck. Wears three to four inch heels.

🌌 Dialga 🌌

DIALGA. I also wanted to do something different with him! So I made him a nerd. He likes to take things apart and put them back together. Especially clocks. He’s more level headed than his sisters and has a longer fuse than Palkia. But he’s also very stubborn. He’s a total workaholic and perfectionist. He doesn’t sleep much and can be a nervous wreck whenever he’s behind on whatever schedule he runs on. He gets into fights with his younger sister a LOT and will often try to use her as a lab rat. They’re sorta like Yzma and Kronk. But he’s less diabolical and Palkia’s more aggressive. Like Palkia, He also has very strong opinions on science fiction (Stuff with time travel is WAY better!) he’s also very organized if not organized chaos. He wears a heavy pair of boots that one could hear from a mile away. Think large goth boots with metal in the soles somewhere. Also a metal head. He will blast loud metal or rock music (sometimes more classic rock. Depends on the mood) as he works on whatever insane project he decided to tinker on. He has a large collection of very cursed socks. Somewhat poor eyesight. Generally easier to get along with than Palkia who’s more abrasive. He tends to think more before acting upon things. Probably runs on entirely coffee and energy drinks. B A D taste in fashion. But not worse than Palkia. Likes to read. Not very good handwriting. Tends to bump his head on doorframes. Will walk into things if lost in thought. The tallest out of his family and the oldest out of his sisters. He’s somewhat afraid of ‘Tina.

Approximate Time Taken: About 27 hours

Program Used: Procreate

[wisherbysharlight]

I Wanna Get It, I Didn't Get It, Til Now

Word Count: 4084

Pairing: Analogical

The second in a series of different pairings being capital O Oblivious because that’s a trope I will never ever get tired of.

Virgil sits at the same library table every single day, alone, until one day, Logan needs a seat.

They are both kind of idiots.

Warnings: none that I can think of

AO3 Link

Virgil loved his library table. He would get there after his work study shift in the registrar’s office, around 7pm on weekdays and 1pm on weekends, and the section on the second floor would be mostly clear. Second floor was quiet but not silent, so it didn’t feel oppressive, and he didn’t feel insecure about whether his headphones were too loud or not. His favorite table was just to the left of the water fountain, had an outlet built into it, and the chairs were adjustable enough that he could lean back and press his knees against the side of the table while he typed. He loved his table so much that he’d come even if he didn’t have homework to do, just to scroll through endless Tumblr pages or work on his personal writing. He’d had his table for 3 months with no problem at all, which was why he was baffled when someone came up to him while he was reading and stood expectantly next to the table, overly full backpack hanging off his shoulder.

 He recognized the other man immediately, he was another library regular who usually sat two tables away, always messing with his hair and adjusting his tie pushing his glasses up his nose and drawing Virgil’s eye with movement. He took his headphones down and put them around his neck, though he could still faintly hear his music, “Hi? Can I help you?”

 “The outlet is broken on my table, and I was wondering if I could join you and utilize the other half of yours?” mystery-man asked, gesturing to where Virgil was only using two of the four outlets.

 “Oh sure, of course, go ahead. Sorry about your table,” Virgil offered, brandishing his hand vaguely at the chair across from him.

 “You have nothing to apologize for, of course. I appreciate your amenity. I submitted a work order request, hopefully it will be repaired soon,” the other man took the seat and set his things down before extending a hand across the table, “Logan Perry. I believe I’ve seen you here frequently so this is at least a good opportunity to get acquainted.”

 Virgil blinked a bit, trying to process, then hurriedly pulled his hand out of the makeshift paw he’d made out of his sweatshirt sleeve and shook Logan’s hand so he wouldn’t think that Virgil didn’t want to, “Um. Yeah. I’ve seen you around too, I think. Virgil Storme. Nice to meet you.”

 Logan tipped his head to the side curiously when Virgil leaned over, as though he was listening hard, then adjusted his glasses, “Hmm. Interesting melody. I appreciate the solid bass rhythm. Who is the artist, if you don’t mind my asking?”

 “The... Artist? Oh, you mean the band I’m listening to?” he picked his headphones up but only put one ear on, “It’s Arctic Monkeys. They’re like, known, for solid bass lines, which is probably what you could hear.”

 Logan hummed like he was intrigued, then began pulling books out of his bag and… wow. That was a lot of books, each one thicker than the last. Chemistry I, Physics II, Theory of Numbers, Discrete Mathematics… Virgil had a headache just looking at the titles, “Uh… Wow. That’s some collection you’ve got there. What year are you?”

 “I am a first semester sophomore. I struggled choosing a major, so I opted to dual major in Math and Physics and minor in Philosophy and Conservation Studies. Also a minor in Astronomy, but that came with no extra courseload, just strategic choices in electives. I enjoy learning quite a bit, so I opt to stay during break semesters, and I am on track to graduate on schedule with no more than 18 credits a semester,” Logan rattled off, like he’d gone through the spiel before and was expecting certain questions and wanted to head them off, “And yes, before you ask, I do take breaks, I am not a hermit with no friends, and as far as I know I am not a robot.”

 Virgil blinked dazedly again, trying to absorb the bucketful of information being thrown at him, “Cool. Sounds like you’ve got it under control then. I’m dual-major too, but creative writing and interactive media design have a bunch of overlap.”

 Logan nodded, pulling out what must have been the notebook he was looking for with a triumphant noise, “You want to be a game designer then? Very lucrative career to choose, especially with the current market for such employs.”

“I wanna write books, actually, but like you said, markets good for game writers and I wanna have a fall back in case everything sucks, ya know?” Virgil admitted. He’d been told his stories were good, sure, but there was always a chance it would all go to shit, and the only way to account for that was to put 110% in and have a backup plan for his backup plan’s backup plan.

 Logan gave him an indecipherable look that passed in a moment before he went back to his neutral expression, “Understandable, I suppose. If you would ever like a second opinion on a piece, please allow me to offer my aid. I may not be as fluent in creative ventures, but I am a fan of such works, and my roommate often uses me as a sounding board for his own ideas.”

 Virgil tried not to let his surprise show, he didn’t want to offend his new… desk-mate? Acquaintance? Study partner? Whatever Logan was to him now. “Sure, uh, that’d be great. I don’t know if I can offer the same, since, ya know, science is really not my strong suit, but I can try?”

 Logan pushed his hand through his hair and pulled a hairtie off his wrist to pull it up into a slightly messy bun that kept his hair out of his eyes. Virgil noticed it actually looked more red than brown as the light hit it, and was so distracted he almost didn’t notice Logan offer a genuine smile, green eyes sparkling and catching Virgil off guard yet again with just how attractive he actually was, and flipped his laptop open, “That would be much appreciated Virgil. Thank you.”

 They worked together in silence for the next hour and a half, then both headed back to their dorms. Virgil felt even more productive with just Logan’s presence and aura of concentration, and he found himself hoping the work order took a while to be completed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Virgil arrived at his table to find Logan already there, two coffee cups in front of him, studying a tome of a textbook raptly. Still, he looked up when Virgil took his seat across from him and pushed one of the coffee cups his way, “I made myself a tea downstairs and figured I’d make a second in case you wanted one. It’s a vanilla flavored English black tea, not the garbage they serve in the dining halls.”

 Virgil grabbed the cup greedily, “Oh shit this is perfect, I had an 8am and desperately needed caffeine.” He took an experimental sip and groaned a bit as it hit his tongue, closing his eyes as the warmth passed through him like a calming fire, “Thank you, Logan, it’s delicious.” He thought he heard a choking sound, but when he looked up, Logan was looking back down at his notebook. He thought he saw a slight flush to his face, “Hey, you alright?”

 “Oh yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my throat,” Logan insisted, though he did not look up from his book and his cheeks got even brighter. Virgil supposed he was probably a little embarrassed since he was normally so poised and put together.

 “Ok, if you’re sure!” He opened his laptop and checked his to-do list, and was thrilled to realize he didn’t have anything urgent in terms of schoolwork. He opened his novel document instead, and immediately remembered why he’d left off where he did as the frustration resurfaced. Well, he thought, now was as good a time as ever to see if Logan meant it when he said he was willing to help. “Hey, Lo, could you help me find a word for what I’m trying to say here?”

 Logan finally looked up from his book, sticking a bookmark in and closing it before adjusting his glasses and giving Virgil his full attention, “Absolutely, I could do with a break from formulae. Go ahead.”

 Virgil felt a little off balance with the full weight of Logan’s stare, and his brain suddenly chose this moment to remind him that he was very, very gay. He cleared his throat and looked back down at his laptop so he wouldn’t be distracted, “Oh. Um. Thanks. So this guy is looking at his friend who he hadn’t really noticed in a romantic sense before, but i need a word for ‘‘momentary gay panic at how pretty he is’ without saying it like that. Like more poetic? Or just less casual.”

 Logan cleared his throat, face flushing again, and Virgil had a moment of alarm when he realized he didn’t even know if Logan was ok with LGBT stuff, and oh god, what if he was a homophobe and yelled at him or he just made him super uncomfortable or - “While romantic language is typically much more my roommate’s forte, I can certainly, er, relate, to the situation you are describing, and attempt to describe it as Roman would.”

 Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, relaxing once he realized the source of Logan’s hesitation was not derived from intolerance but instead from hitting a little too close to home. Then, in a moment of emotional whiplash, his breath caught again as he realized it hit a little too close to home and that meant Logan was likely attracted to men and that was nerve-wracking in an entirely different way. He forced himself to relax, knowing that Logan was likely waiting for an answer, and stammered out, “Y-Yeah, that would be good. Anything would help.”

 “I believe a good way to phrase it would be ‘Suddenly caught unaware by the realization that he may be attracted to this man’. You could also describe side effects of the feeling itself, such as flushed skin or quickened heartbeat or what I believe my friend Patton calls butterflies?, rather than spelling it out explicitly.”

 Virgil couldn’t hold back a grin as the inspiration hit him, “Oh! Duh! Show don’t tell would work perfect here, thank you Logan you rock!”

 He didn’t miss the way Logan looked momentarily shell-shocked and made a mental note to be sure to give him more compliments in the future, if he was that maladjusted to them.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Virgil hissed as his pencil broke again, clicking the end to get more lead a bit more aggressively than he probably needed to. Calculus was the devil, he’d decided. He was in hell and series and sequences were his instrument of torture.

 Logan cleared his throat and Virgil’s head shot up in surprise. When had Logan gotten there? Oh good, tea, that was always welcome. He grabbed the cup Logan extended towards him and started chugging before Logan could even give him the usual background on what kind it was like he had every day for the past month. The other table was definitely fixed by now, but the two of them had gotten so used to the company that they’d just kept sitting together. “Virgil, are you… alright?” Logan asked tentatively, and Virgil looked up again, guilty and a bit crazy eyed.

 “Fuck that was so rude. Yes. Yes, I’m fine, sorry, thanks for the tea Lo, I’m just stressed about this godforsaken calc II exam I have Monday. I don’t understand any of this stuff,” he gestured to the packets and notebook and textbook spread out on the table.

 “That’s quite alright, I’m familiar with the stress of midterms. Though I may be able to help alleviate some of yours? I am a junior TA for Calc II, I could potentially provide assistance,” Logan offered.

 Virgil let out a breath of relief, twisting one of his rings in an attempt to quell some of his nervous energy, “Oh that would be incredible. My Grad TA’s office hours are during when I have work, and he’s kinda a dick anyway.”

 Logan exhaled heavily like he was trying not to laugh. “Chad, I assume?” he asked and Virgil nodded, “Well I can definitely be more helpful than that glorified orangutan.” It was Virgil’s turn to be startled into laughing, “Here, let me see what you’re working on....”

 An hour and a half later, Logan was watching him work carefully and when he tentatively circled his final answer he gave him an encouraging nod and a smile, “You’ve got it now. See, it’s all about the rules and the patterns.”

 “Oh Logan I could kiss you,” Virgil enthused, still looking in amazement at his own work, “You just saved my entire life, thank you.”

 Logan cleared his throat and turned away, though when Virgil looked up he could see that the tips of his ears were red. Ugh, you’d think after a month he’d be used to being complimented by now. “Well, if that was all, I, er, I need to work on some of my own assignments.”

 “Yeah, yeah, of course, I can do more practice myself,” Virgil told him, waving him away with a smile, “You’ve absolutely helped enough,  I’ll get you that jam you like so much or something. I owe you so much.” 

 Logan mumbled something in return but when Virgil asked him to repeat it he stammered, “I’ll be right back!” and ran off to the bathroom. Virgil shrugged and went back to puzzling through the rest of his study guide.

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“-so, theoretically, there could in fact be another planet in this solar system, but it would need to be far enough away or small enough to not affect the gravitational pull of Pluto’s moons in a significant way or just in a way which is balanced by another gravitational pull which forced our equations to not identify any irregularity.”

 “Well shit,” Virgil breathed, “So, theoretically, how possible are aliens?”

 “Damn close to guaranteed,” Logan told him with a grin, “Intelligent life, that’s another story, but I still believe they are highly likely-”

 Virgil set his head in his hands, pushing his work to the side so he could simply listen.

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“I’m going to head down to the cafeteria to make another cup of tea, would you like to join me?”

 “Sure thing, Lo, I desperately need to not look at this anymore.” Virgil felt a teeny bit of pride when Logan choked on nothing in what Virgil assumed was shock as he stood up to stretch and revealed his outfit, his heels giving him the extra three inches he needed to be what Remy called scary tall, which was actually enough to effectively tower over Logan, and the confidence to leave his sweatshirt unzipped over a mesh crop top and ripped jeans that he knew looked good, as he had been assured so around 100 times before he agreed to go to the library in it in the first place, “Sorry, forgot you got here after me, my friend’s playing a show tonight after this and I told him I’d hang with his boyfriend and make sure no one gets obnoxious. So I got a little dressed up, cuz I didn’t wanna have to go back to my apartment in between. Besides, when I’m this tall no one fucks with me in general, not just in the mosh pit.”

 “That is… certainly an outfit,” Logan wheezed, then took a sip of his water in an attempt to wash it down.

 “You ok L? You’re all red, I don’t need you dying on me,” Virgil asked, concerned his friend was actually drowning on his own water bottle.

 Logan waved him off, gulping water down like he’d been stuck in the desert for days. “Yes, yes, just a little, erm, parched. Got a bit too focused and forgot to drink and you startled me.”

 “Whatever you say, Professor,” Virgil teased, stretching his arms up to try to roll his shoulders, “Just don’t get too enthusiastic there. Last thing we need is you to choke to death cuz you were thirsty.”

 Logan seemed to make a concentrated effort not to choke again, adjusting his tie and turning on his heel quickly to head down to the cafe, and Virgil considered it a win.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was someone else at their table. The new man was broad shouldered, with dirty blonde hair that had just a bit of a beachy wave to it, skin tanned perfectly like he’d never spent a day out of the sun. How was that even possible? They went to school in Massachusetts and it was January. He was gesturing wildly while he spoke and Logan was doing that half-laugh he did when he thought something was funny but didn’t want to admit it and Virgil felt… something… pang deep in his stomach. Of course, Logan was ridiculously hot, Virgil had no chance at all, even if he’d been starting to feel like there was something between them. He definitely didn’t have a chance if Logan wanted someone that looked like that. He couldn’t help but be a little vindictive though as he plastered a smile onto his face and headed over, setting his bag down with a resounding thump, “Wow, this quiet corner just keeps getting more crowded, huh?”

 Logan startled a bit, and Virgil could have been imagining it but he thought he saw a flash of hurt at Virgil’s tone, “I-I suppose. This is Roman, he needed some assistance with his screenplay and I suggested he come here, but we can go back to our apartment if it will be too much of a nuisance for you.”

 Virgil would have eaten his own shoe to take back his original words, but he couldn’t, so he covered up as best he could, “R-Roman. Your roommate. Of course. Hi, I’m Virgil, you can definitely stay. Sorry, just had a long day at work, I’m a little - er- cranky, or whatever.”

 Roman gave him a smirk that was just a tad too knowing for Virgil’s taste, “Don’t worry, Mr. Prince of Darkness. I’ll be out of your hair soon and you two can get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do every day. Just need the human thesaurus here to help me out a bit, and it’s not like he’s ever home anymore with how often he hangs around here for your little study-”

 “Roman,” Logan hissed quickly, and Virgil saw Roman shoot him an unimpressed look.

 “Study sessions.” Roman finished, “Now come on Pocket Protector, what’s another word for pining. I’ve already used it twice, and longing and yearning are both not quite a right fit.” Virgil had a momentary thought that Roman should be very glad looks couldn’t kill, with how Logan was glaring him down. “Nothing? How about some flowery language for black hair or blue eyes, hmm? Think you can help me there?”

“Roman Michaels.” Logan bit out, and Roman gave him a bright, shit-eating grin.

 “No? How about helping me with a sweatshirt sharing scene, how about that? I mean, it’s a cliche, sure, but I’m sure we can put a spin on it, like make it clearly well used and important...”

 “I will dye your hair fluorescent orange in your sleep Roman, I swear,” Logan seethed, and Virgil was stock still, eyes wide as they darted between the two roommates.

 ”Maybe some music recommendations then? Those are slightly less cliche…”

 “Destroy your conditioner and hide your blow dryer, add cheap hair gel to all your shampoo,” Logan continued, attempting to speak over him.

 “I know you’ll suggest a height difference, I believe I can fit that in,” Roman’s voice was rising too, and the new occupants of Logan’s old table were firing dirty looks at them.

 “Guys?” Virgil asked quietly and both of the roommates stopped immediately, turning to him with fire in their eyes, “Um. I guess this is like... a touchy subject? But people are staring cuz you guys are sorta… loud.”

 Roman and Logan both flushed brightly, turning to give awkward waves to the other table while Virgil tried to comprehend what had just happened, “So like… Logan you’re pretty passionate about Roman’s screenplay, huh?”

 Roman groaned dramatically and shoved his laptop in his bag, standing abruptly. “I can’t believe there’s two people as oblivious as you,” he muttered like a curse, then almost literally flounced off with a clearly meaningful look shot at Logan that Virgil couldn’t quite figure out but made Logan flush brighter.

 It was silent for a couple minutes, just the taptaptap of Virgil’s pen against his notebook sounding out through the space between them, before Virgil couldn’t take it and spoke up, “You wanna talk about why that was a thing for you or nah?”

 “Y-You don’t know? Seriously?” Logan looked incredulous, then laughed a little to himself, “Virgil. He was teasing me.”

 “Teasing you? About what?” Virgil asked, trying to think through what it could possibly be, “You that against, like, cheesy romcom cliches?”

 Logan shook his head, still looking like Virgil had amazed him in some way, “Virgil. Please. Think about it. Black hair, blue eyes, height difference, well-worn sweatshirts and music recommendations. You don’t have any idea what he could possibly be mocking me for?”

 Virgil’s brow creased in thought, and suddenly it hit him and he audibly gasped, making Logan swallow nervously, and the word pining soared to the front of his mind, “Y-You. You mean?”

 “I am… Interested in you Virgil. Romantically. I have been since far before I ever sat at your table, the broken outlet just provided a good excuse for me to finally attempt to talk to you. Roman was… blunt but he had informed me that he was, and I quote, ‘Coming to see what the fuss was about’ after I got, I admit, a bit too in depth in lamenting my inability to ask you out on a date. I had no idea he would be so infuriatingly obtuse about it, I hope he did not make you uncomfortable. Obviously, you do not share the sentiment-”

 “Whoa whoa. Hold on there. Who said I didn’t?” Virgil cut in quickly before Logan could keep babbling, recognizing social anxiety when he saw it, “Cuz I sure didn’t.”

 “...I’m sorry?”

 “You should be. Can’t go assuming stuff about people, L. Now why don’t you ask me, straightforward, if I am interested. Because I can guarantee you will like the answer.”

 Logan cleared his throat, then swallowed thickly, his cheeks lightly pink, “Well then, Virgil, I like you very much and would like to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner this Friday night? As a date?”

 “I’ll do you one better, since I also very much like you back, and I don’t think my anxiety could take waiting that long. Let’s go get some food right now. I’m starving and I would very much like to kiss you and I want to get at least one date in before I totally ruin your opinion of me and do that right here in this library, and Friday can be our second date, deal?” Virgil offered, extending his hand across the table to Logan.

 Logan grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a heady glance up through his glasses, “V, I think you will find that there is not much that you could do which I would not fully endorse at this moment. But I absolutely accept this proposal. Let’s go.”

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 5 years later, almost exactly to the day, Roman is insufferable during his best man speech about the fact that he is the reason they even got together in the first place, and insists that if left to their own devices they would still be meeting at 7pm on weeknights and 1pm on weekends at a table in the corner of the library with the good chairs and never, ever confessing their love. Logan and Virgil are too busy clinging to each others’ hands and staring into each others’ eyes to dispute it at all.

[pumpkinparade]

Palpatine, Obi-wan, and tea

So, this is a very stupid idea, but I needed to get it out of my head before I did something extreme like writing fanfic. As a heads up, I've used real-world meanings for various details since there presumably isn't a Star Wars equivalent.

The story begins when Anakin is late for a social engagement. Both Palpatine and Obi-wan are anticipating his appearance. The Sith lord presents a kindly and patient front but fumes at this egregious waste of his time internally while the Jedi pushes his dissatisfaction into the force. He disapproves of the Chancellor, but his former padawan's discourtesy is off-putting. The fact that he has put the Chancellor of the Republic on hold merely aggravated the situation.

The Jedi informs the politician that Skywalker should arrive shortly. He doesn't. The chosen one is with Padmé at present and has forgotten he's meant to be elsewhere. Kenobi ultimately invites Palpatine to offers him some tea aboard his ship while they delay action until Anakin materializes.

Normally, Jedi eschew worldly possessions, but Kenobi owns an old miniature tea set that once belonged to Qui Gon. His tea supplies are generally supplied by colleagues who offer him the leaves when he's not on Coruscant. The ship is equipped with an electric tea kettle and a portable Hot Plate for cooking. He goes about preparing Green tea for both of them when he remembers the Sencha, while excellent in quality, has since gone somewhat stale. It hasn't gone bad, but it has lost some of its fresh flavours.

Jedi are practical(in theory), and tea can be costly.

Lower-income individuals in certain Asian countries have roasted stale green tea to enhance the taste. As this is an accepted practice, he takes the loose leaf tea in his possession, grounds, roasts, and serves it with minimal preamble. Palpatine debates whether or he'll actually drink peasant tea. When Anakin appears, apologizing profusely for the delay before noticing his ex-teacher has brewed tea and claims a cup for himself, supplementing copious amounts of sugar. On Skywalker's recommendation, the Sith decides to take a chance. It's not bad, so he compliments it. The evening wraps up without an event. http://mattchasblog.blogspot.com/2012/05/experiments-with-re-roasting-stale.html?m=1

Later on, the bureaucrat invites the Jedi to attend a senate afternoon tea party. It's an opulent affair. Flowering (Gyokuro) tea with Jasmine flowers bloomed within transparent glass teapots sat next to elegantly designed tiered trays. On hundreds of tables, they rested; the flat surfaces were loaded with the first, second, and third courses, from petite pastries on the top to the tiny tea sandwiches on the bottom, the aggregate sum had been skillfully prepared for the guests. Palpatine had the wherewithal to afford a party grand enough to unsettle a Jedi. To his delight, he had succeeded.

Nearly everyone in attendance had been bequeathed a box of 16 Jasmine Pearls green tea blooms, the dried bundled ball of tea leaves and flowers would open like a plant in "bloom" when placed in hot water.  

Kenobi had "accidentally" received 17,  an unlucky number. In Roman numerals, 17 is XVII. One anagram for XVII is VIXI. In Latin, vixi means "I have lived," the implication being that the person(Obi-wan) is now dead. Jasmine is a plant that symbolizes purity and takes its name from the Persian word "Yasmine". This term translates to "gift from God". Put together; your death is a gift from God(the Sith'ari). Darth Sidious finds himself deeply amusing.

Obi-wan is grateful for the tea, especially since he's recently finished off his supply and always felt sheepish defending the expenditure to the Council. Official regulation dictates that he's not permitted to keep the gift. However, Jedi can distribute the donations to others in the order or, better still, add it to the communal ownership and shared at the temple. There are enough in the box for all parties to experience the high-end tea, so he gladly donates it to the Jedi temple and appreciates it along with everyone else.  When Sidious hears what happened to his gift, he's pleased his secret message was brought to the rest of the Jedi as well.

Obi-Wan is averse to socializing with lawmakers in general and Palpatine in particular. Still, he makes a mental note to invite Chancellor to have tea with him again next time Anakin has them waiting for him as recognition for the expensive gift. Nevertheless, the opportunity doesn't come along until a few months later. Thankfully this time, the tea isn't stale. Unknown to Obi-wan, Anakin is in the middle of winning an illegal pod race. Skywalker wanted to purchase a present for Ahsoka, but as a Jedi, the lack of personal funds to his name meant he had to be creative if he wanted to show the people that meant the most to him how much he loved them, rules against attachments be damned.

This time he has Maghrebi mint tea. Traditionally the drink is sweetened, but he hasn't used sweetener. There is a bowl of rock sugar grown in the shape of tiny purple lightsabers on the counter. It was available if either party wanted to utilize the sweetener. The ingredients, as well as the tea, had come from Mace Windu.

Jedi were generally not meant to accept gifts from clients unless it's culturally necessary for them to do so. The tea was a regifted thank you gift from an ambassador. As the items couldn't be shared equally with everyone, Mace decided Obi-wan, as Anakin's minder had a more significant need for it.

After all the passive-aggressive messages he'd sent at the party, Sidious isn't expecting anything to receive any in return but still looks for any possible messages Obi-Wan might covertly send him through the tea anyway.

His actions don't seem to convey a particular message... unless Kenobi considered serving him a herbal tea that also happens to be an appetite suppressant is a message. Perhaps he intended to inform the wealthy politician that the Jedi felt Palpatine's tea party Palpatine had been too lavish and wanted him to know he'd offended the man utilitarian sensibilities, but that was likely a reach.

The tea itself was one of hospitality, meant to welcome guests by the male head of a family. As Kenobi poured the tea in three rounds as expected of tradition, he wondered if he had missed something and resolves to reflect on it more in the future. Each of the three rounds poured has a different meaning: life, love and death. The sugar represents the sweet aspects of life, and Sidious wonders as the sugar dissolves within his cup if the Jedi is aware of what he's saying about his life by going without it.

The Chancellor certainly knows the symbolism of prolonging the second cup to avoiding the third. Love as a concept was not something he neither wanted nor needed, but he had no fear of it. He drank to the idea without hesitance. If he played his cards right, Anakin's love would pave the way for the ascendancy of the Sith. As for death, he had designs on immortality. He would pass on even the metaphorical notion of his own demise.

When Anakin arrived, he doesn't go for any of the tea. He's tried the tea Mace had given his former master. It's tolerable, yet he has another target. Instead, he seizes the rock candy and laughs when Obi-wan protested that grinding on the purple sugar crystals might ruin his teeth. Nevertheless, he drops the bowl back on the counter after taking two and takes off with Palpatine.

Obi-wan is surprised the next day when the Chancellor has a package delivered that contains four(because four means death) kombucha starter kits(kombucha was considered to have "yang" energy in traditional Chinese medicine) and silver needle tea. As before, Obi-Wan gives the white tea to the temple, but he feels self-conscious. This incident marks the second time the Chancellor has given him something extravagant, and he feels like there are strings attached to the gift even if the politician hasn't said as much.

Politicians don't give gifts without reason—especially politicians who are not friends with the receiver.

Uncomfortable by the thought, he waited until one of his friends gifts him with tea.  It's Bant who visits him first—intending to give her friend Pu'er tea(flavoured with dried honey ginger chamomile) she'd received at a medical conference. Obi-wan explains the situation and asks if he can send the tea to the diplomat as a sign of gratitude. Bant isn't bothered by the question and wishes him success.

Little does he know that although he intended nothing untoward with his regift, Palpatine had, after considering the possible implications, managed to be offended by it. Pu'er tea was often used to treat hangovers(among other things). His former teacher, Darth Plagueis, had once kept several kilos of it in his home. The muun would consume premium Poo Poo Pu-Erh Tea the morning after he'd had a night of excess on Sullustan wine. After he'd given the Jedi kombucha, a very mildly alcoholic beverage, he'd apparently proceeded to criticize the gift by implying he (Sidious) was a drunk who needed it. Indicating he shared the same weakness that had gotten the deceased Sith Lord murdered was exasperating, even if Obi-wan couldn't have identified the reason.

And that's when the situation becomes, for lack of a better word,"serious". Obi-wan thinks they're exchanging gifts, almost they're friends, but he's becoming increasingly frustrated because they're uneasy allies at best. Still, he doesn't want to feel like he owes the Chancellor anything, so the cycle begins anew. His financial circumstances still haven't changed, so he's been forced to regift a few presents from his friends to have something to present to the politician who won't leave him alone.

Kenobi is frustrated by this. He already spoke of the issue with several of his friends. Usually an honest man, he felt compelled to share what might happen to tea they might give him. Always while out of Anakin's earshot. They're sympathetic but unsure what could be done about the man who holds so much power, especially considering the relationship his former padawan has developed with the politician. It's difficult to entirely avoid the man without avoiding Skywalker, who would notice any attempts at evasion and likely take umbrage, even if the Chancellor did not.

Palpatine, for his part, is honestly surprised to learn how very snide Obi-wan appears. He can sense the Jedi's frustration building and is aware it's related to the tea. That said, he hasn't guessed the actual cause. Instead, he believes Kenobi has managed to guess at the intent of his gift and is ostensibly reacting to the Chancellor's actual message.

Amused, he no longer sends veiled death threats. If he does it one time too many time, someone at the temple, likely Yoda, will start asking awkward questions he doesn't want to answer. Yet, he continues to send hidden messages with the intent of antagonizing the Jedi as he proceeds to misread the situation. As the other Force-user's better, Darth Sidious refuses to be out-performed in a game of pettiness by Obi-wan Kenobi.

Anakin assumes they're just two older men who love tea and have found a way to bond over that. He's pleased to finally witness two people he respects burying the hatchet and getting along. Ahsoka doesn't have the heart to tell him that Obi-wan is not happy with whatever madness he's been dropped into. Madame has resigned herself to remaining silent regarding her husband's bond with her former friend. She no longer trusts the Chancellor and knows bringing up her feelings with Skywalker will only end in arguments with the man she loves.

Matters take a turn for the weird when Obi-wan receives cacao maca tea from Quinlan Vos. His fellow Jedi had gotten it from a secret admirer with a crush. After tests came back proving it wasn't poisoned, he'd given the herbal tea to his tea-loving friend.

Like most of the gifts he'd received lately, obi-wan presents it Palpatine. He wouldn't have the ability to keep up with the bizarre back and forth otherwise. He doesn't have the money. He's thankful his friends understand how much he dislikes the idea of being beholden to Palpatine and encourage his efforts to circumvent it.

What he'd failed to account for was the reaction he'd spark by presenting a herbal tea that was viewed, by some, to be an aphrodisiac. Obi-wan himself hasn't realized he'd done anything problematic. Vos hadn't mentioned maca had a reputation because he hadn't known himself. When he'd dropped it off, he'd simply named the vitamins the healers had said it contained.

Palpatine is confused. He's politically powerful and comes from a wealthy family, so it's hardly the first time anyone has been interested in pursuing him. However! Just the other month, they'd been politely abusing one another. There hadn't been any reason for the change.  

Sidious can't decide Obi-wan attempting to insult his virility since maca is reported to help with reproductive health or if the Jedi is propositioning him. He hadn't thought Kenobi was interested in hate-based romantic overtures. That said, making mockeries of a sexual nature is astonishingly inappropriate given their positions. He wasn't offended, the possible slight was far too childish for him to take it sincerely, but he hadn't taken the General as the type of man who would make the insult in the first place. Complicating matters is the fact that the General is Anakin's former master.

He's hesitant to assume the situation would work out in his favour if the Jedi is twitterpated and if he should allow it... whatever it was, to persist. Would developing a relationship with Kenobi hasten Skywalker's fall to the dark side, or would the interaction convince the boy to turn his back on Darth Sidious.

Sexual relationships were irrational, messy little things and far more unpredictable than pretended friendship. He tended to avoid non-transactional sex due to the wildly unpredictable nature of the beast. If an uncompensated connection didn't service his ambition, didn't cultivate his power or influence, it was deemed irrelevant and discarded. An ill-defined situation occupied a troublesome grey area he despised, leaving him in something of a quandary on how to advance his agenda. Sidious knew he'd have to adopt a resolution expeditiously, and that inaction was as much a choice as any other.

[delimeful]

you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

-

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain. 

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them. 

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share. 

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently. 

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it. 

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill. 

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these. 

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice. 

His version of normal, anyhow. 

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use. 

—- 

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything. 

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment. 

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere. 

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him. 

“Remus! Good morning!” 

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool. 

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy. 

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling. 

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.” 

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules. 

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them. 

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.” 

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything— 

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him. 

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking. 

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him. 

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you. 

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled. 

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?” 

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you. 

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.” 

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle. 

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.” 

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously. 

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away. 

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows. 

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.” 

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up. 

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone. 

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?” 

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight. 

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room. 

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily. 

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.   

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.” 

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them. 

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose. 

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.” 

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution. 

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?” 

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.” 

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.” 

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?” 

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.” 

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding. 

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him. 

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.” 

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!” 

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly. 

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.” 

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity. 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied. 

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.” 

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?” 

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint. 

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

[baka-monarch]

What The Fuck!?

(A.N: before we start with the story I just wanna say that this is based off of this post by @lance-alt​ . Also, alot of creators on here got mentioned in the story, like actual mentions so if you got mentioned just know that I love what you create and wanted to include you because I love your interpretations of the sides, and you do not have to read this at all if you don’t want to and if you want me to take you out of the story please DM me and tell me so that I can)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SLIGHT MENTION OF VORE FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS, MENTION OF USYEMPETHETIC SIDES, SHITTING N SOME HEADCANONS EVEN THOUGH I MYSELF LOVE THEM

The Sides are lost. They find themselves in a familiar and yet unknown place.

They will soon find someone dark. And someone far too shiny and bright… Too innocent.

The Sides meet…

their fanon-selves.

 ...

 It had started like any normal day. The sides existing as a part of Thomas, helping him with his daily dilemmas, the usual things. Until Thomas took a nap. Then the sides suddenly found themselves in a white void. It wasn’t a dream, they could confirm that much from the other dreams that Thomas had. Also from the confused looks on the twin’s faces who were in charge of dreams, like how Remus had caused Thomas’ nightmare that they had disgusted in Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts.

“Where are we?” Logan spoke up, voicing everyone’s concerns.

“Wherever it is, Thomas has never thought about it before.” Roman muttered as he glanced around.

“Yeah, I know his brains can be scooped out at times, but not even he can have a mind this empty.” At Remus’ comment, most of the others cringed in varying degrees, with Logan being the only one unaffected, only rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Although your metaphor usage could use some work, you are correct. This place is too empty to be a part of Thomas.” Logan conceded.

“If this isn’t Thomas...then where are we?” Virgil gleaned around wearily, trying to come up with his own explanation for this situation.

“It’s really blank here...maybe Thomas is in a coma?” Roman tried, to which Virgil’s eyes widened.

“Impossible, how would we be active if he is not?” Logan debated.

“I don’t know! Do you have any ideas, Sherlock Drones?” Roman rebutted, causing Logan to roll his eyes and fix his glasses.

“Unfortunately, no. There is not enough evidence...anywhere to make a proper inference on the situation.” Logan finished adjusting his glasses by the time he finished, gaining an annoyed huff from Roman.

“Heya, kiddos? Maybe we shouldn’t argue. We’re all confused right now, and getting upset isn’t going to get us anywhere.” Patton butted in to make sure things didn’t escalate.

“Thank you, Patton.” Logan gave a curt nod of agreement.

“Fiiiine!” Roman whined after a bit.

“It would be wise to explore, to see if we can find any clues as to where we are.”

“I’ll do it!” Remus jumped in. “Who knows, maybe we all died a gruesome death!” He cackled.

“No need.” Janus approached the group from behind, having already explored himself. “Look behind us.” When turning the sides were surprised to find the area behind them was not all whit. On it there were words like what one would find in a google doc currently describing their situation as they lived through it. 

“What the fuck?” Virgil muttered. He had a Tumb.lr so he knew what fanfiction was, and this looked like it. “This can’t be happening…” He groaned, knowing it was happening.

“Aw, they’re writing about us Virge! Like the people on that one app you use.” Patton cooed, only knowing of the fluff part of fanon.

“Pat, you don’t understand. This isn’t good.”

“Oh nonsense kiddo.” Patton dismissed. “Have you guys seen the art they draw of us? It’s so cute!” Virgil internally cringed knowing that not all of it was like that.

“Either way,”-Janus cut off their small conversation.-“We need to find a way out of here.” Janus focused slightly more on Virgil for his next comment. “Whether this is real or not.” Virgil shivered at the thought of them not being real, or even acting like they do in the things that people create. 

Everyone agreed, and soon they were on their way to explore this strange new environment.

 …

 Soon enough, however, the sides are lost. Which brings us back to where this story began. As they searched for their original location, or even the mysterious floating words, they come upon a familiar and yet unknown place. It looks strikingly like a Disney movie kingdom. With one half, filled with bright colors, lush fields, enchanting forests, and a large white castle with a red roof. The other half being dark and dangerous, the colors fading, plants rotting, instead of animals there only creatures of unknown origin, and in the middle, a black, crumbling, castle, with striking green roofing. It was almost as if...it were made for the twins.

In fact, as they got closer they could hear two far off shouts, with simultaneous silhouettes, motioning towards them, as if pointing them out to someone...or something, else.

“Uh...guys?” Virgil trailed off wondering if the others had noticed.

“On it.” Romas was quick to pull out his sword, Remus quickly following suit with his morning star.

It was unnecessary however, as once the silhouettes were in view, they looked exactly like the twins. 

“Wha…” Roman lowered his sword as he saw this. As they got closer more figures came into view. All of which looked like the sides to varying degrees. There were thousands. Some were small, some were even giants, and there were alot that weren’t even human.

“Oh! Hi there kiddos!” A Patton(?) came running past the twin’s doppelgangers. “You’re probably really confused right now, I know alot of us were when we appeared!” The sides just looked at the Patton look-alike  dumbfounded. The first to break out of it was Logan.

“I do not wish to appear rude, but, who are you and where are we?” Logan queried.

“Oh, I’m Patton by @baka-monarch !” Patton chirped. “And you’re in The Imagination!”

“The what now-?” “How did you-?” Both Roman and Virgil asked at the same time.

“Hm?” The other Patton tilted his head confused.

“One at a time now kiddos…” Their Patton silently reminded them. Roman nodded to Virgil to let him go first.

Virgil inhaled, taking his cue. “How did you say a mention? That only works when typed in social medias.” Virgil wondered confused.

“Oh! That’s just my fander creator kiddo!” This Patton didn’t miss a beat as he answered happily. Virgil stared at him blankly as he came to a horrifying conclusion.

“We’re in a f*****g fanfiction.” He jumped slightly at his bleep out. “What was that?”

“Oh, Jan Jan did that I wouldn’t have to hear any vulgar language.” All of them looked back at Janus who looked forward, uninterested, definitely trying not to hide his embarrassment at what this other him did, definitely not. 

“...Okay… My turn!” Roman exclaimed. “What is “the Imagination”?” He used air quotes.

“Yeah, I was wondering that too, Mr. The 6th Day clone.” Remus added.

“Oh! Don’t you know? It’s the place you and Roman can go to to summon anything.You can even change the entire world around you!” Patclone chirped.

“What.” They all said in unison with worry, apart from the twins who were excited.

“Yeah! Isn’t it cool!” Patclone said oblivious to the consequences of the twins having this power could cause. “Oh yeah, do you want me to introduce you to everyone?”

“Please, I am intrigued about how our counterparts might act.” Logan conceded.

“Okie dokie then! Follow me!”

 …

 It had been a few hours at this point and they still weren’t even an eighth of the way through yet. There were so many headcanons, variations, AUs, OCs, OOCs, designs, everything. It was almost too much to handle.

“-this is @tscampfireau ‘s sides from their au-” The Virgil hissed and bit towards them as they almost walked on their pentagram that they were making out of… was that blood? The Patton and Logan were helping them by t-posing as a barrier against the other sides. “-yeah they can be a...fun bunch to hang out with. Oh, and here’s @bleepblopbloop56 ‘s sides.”

“How, and why are they hotter than us..?” Roman mumbled to Virgil, only getting a weird look in response.

“Then there’s @mango-shpango ‘s and @rondoel ‘s ones, he’s got a lot-” Patclone shrugged it off, but King caught all of their eyes. He didn’t have to look like the one they knew for them to know who it was… “Oh, hey there @that-prey-lounge and @tiny-peter-rabbit ‘s sides!” He greeted them. As they turned a corner there was a group of sides that were made of metal like robots. “Oh, there’s @burnadolt ‘s fnaf au!” He waved. As they approached a tavern the last group greeted was, “Heya @nommy-thoughts ‘ sides, how are you adjusting?” there were several positive responses from many of them, and as the sides looked closer they could see that a few were smaller than a human hand not only that but nearby (possibly made by someone else), were the sides they’d seen from afar earlier that were giants.. They hadn't noticed them yet here because of how closely compact the buildings were and how their size made what was visible from their perspective look like buildings.

As they all entered the tavern, they saw that there was only one group of sides here. “Hiya guys! New sides I’d like you to meet @baka-monarch ‘s group.” There were several different hellos. “And my friends, I’d like you to meet… to meet..? I’m sorry but who’s your creator?” Virgil was the one to answer.

“@thatstha-MMPH!” Virgil was only part of the way through before the other’s Janus made him slap his hand over his mouth as the other sides in the room went pale. “What was that for?” Virgil asked, his voice muffled by his hand.

“You can’t say his name. Not here.” Patclone explained cryptid. They all fell into an awkward silence, until Roman changed the subject.

“Why are there...two of you?” Roman observed.

“Oh!” Patclone chirped. “I was created just for this au! Just so I could be your guide!” He paused for a moment thinking before continuing. “I guess I’m like the Monika of this world.” Again, everyone paled, some not understanding, others...understanding too well. “Welp, I guess you want to go explore now! Jan Jan, do you and Patty wanna go have fun while they look around?” Both mentioned sides blushed.

“I told you not to call me that…” Janus mumbled as he took Patclone’s hand and the other Patton stood up to quickly join them as they went off to a separate room.

 …

 Only an hour had passed and the sides had already split off into groups with their counterparts. The Roman’s comforting each other while being completely random, some of them being sad little puffballs that the strong egotistic Roman’s had decided to protect, while others were a mix or just completely unsympathetic and degrading anyone the came in contact with, especially the Virgils. Virgil had kind of separated himself from the other Virgils since 90% of them were cowering away from everything and just having constant anxiety attacks, while the few who were different either had power that they abused, or were fawning over the other sides. The Logans had formed an army of science lead by the Logan from @askdarksidelogan and the other dark sides from his au, this Logan was very robotic looking, cruel, and unfeeling...well, almost unfeeling as the Deceit from his au was his boyfriend and the Remus was really close friends with him. Janus was busy trying to coral in all his different counterparts as some of them made plans to kill everyone around them and end the government, while others were hiding due to PTSD about the angst they have been through. The Remuses just vibed in their corner, killing, being gross, and annoying the other aspects. Finally the Pattons. Patton had basically adopted the ones that were child-like and too innocent for their own good while avoiding the unsympathetics that were teaming up with other unsympathetics and the ones who were...horny… Actually everyone was avoiding the horny ones.

But that was just the simplified version of the chaos. Logans were capturing people to test, Deceits were arguing over their name even though one was already canon, Romans were either being complete idiots or crying silently to themselves, while they were targeted by the unsympathetics along with the Virgils, everyone too scared to even try to tussle with the army of Logans.

Virgil sat back on a hill and watched it all unfold. How had the community gotten this far without this much chaos? He had no idea. A few other counterparts were up there with him but he didn’t mind since they mostly seemed chill. A Virgil approached and sat down next to him exhausted, and judging by the paint he was covered in he had just come from the Romans’ corner.

“Romans a little too much?” Virgil tried making conversation.

“Yeah…” He breathed. “It was getting a little too rowdy and I wanted to get my Roman out of there so he wouldn’t get hurt.” With no Roman in sight, Virgil assumed that he had been unsuccessful.

“So, which Roman is yours?” Virgil wondered.

“Hm?” The counterpart tilted his head confused until it clicked. “Oh, no, he’s not down there right now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny Roman. “See.”

“Oh…” Virgil was at a loss of words. What does a person say to that? After that they just sat there in silence as Virgil’s counterpart and the Roman snuggled slightly through a hand to body contact. 

“So…” Virgil decided to try again. “What’s it like, y’know, being shipped?” Virgil wondered, seeing how it seemed these two were in some kind of relationship. Virgil had always found it kind of weird, but, maybe there was more to it…

“I mean, it’s like any other relationship I guess… falling in love and deciding to be together.” The counterpart mumbled as the tiny Roman rubbed his hand to comfort him.

“But isn’t it weird how it isn’t real? How, you’re literally just playing out your creator’s fantasies because they enjoy the idea of you being together?” Virgil wondered.

The counterpart just shrugged. “I try not to think about it… but, it really isn’t that weird, even if we’re fictional characters we have memories, motives, morals, opinions, feelings. Those are real. Even if they aren’t created by us, they are real. Every thought, every motion, every breath. That is us. Just because it was written, drawn, or even just imagined, it happened and that makes it real. Makes this feeling real.” He explained as he rubbed the little head of his Roman.

“Huh I… I guess you’re right, I never thought of it that way.” Virgil shrugged.

“No one does. Why do you think people are told not to cry over fictional deaths when they actually had feelings for a character, platonic or not?” The counterpart said. “It’s just a story on the outside, something thought to not affect people even though when our memories are shared with them, it can change them.” Virgil looked at his counterpart, curiosity growing about how he had so much knowledge.

“Who’s your creator?” Virgil finally asked.

“Why do I have to have one?”

“Touche.” 

They went back to a comfortable silence. It was nice. Until this one Janus came.

“Hey, Virgil, does Roman mind if I had him for a bit?” They asked.

“I don’t mind at all!” The tiny side exclaimed as he got on Janus’ hand. They soon left, but when that Janus vired the Roman they weren’t far enough away from Virgil for him not to catch a glimpse. He shivered. 

“Is that normal?” He wondered.

“Depends on the part of the community, but pretty normal and usually safe, so don’t worry.” The counterpart comforted him. It barely helped but at last Virgil knew that that Roman was safe… probably.

“Can I try!” Remus came brelling up the his, straight (heh) to the counterpart.

“Only if you want to.” They replied.

“I do!” Remus wriggled with excitement.

“Alright, let's go find you one of the groups of sides either with the power to shrink you or are giants.” Virgil led Remus off the hill as Remus kept talking about everything that could go wrong but probably wouldn’t.

Weird. Was all Virgil could think as he watched them leave.

 …

 He saw a lot that day but never saw that Virgil again, as if he had vanished mysteriously. It didn’t matter to him right now though as he had been stuck with babysitting duty over all the little kid sides.

“F*** this.”

 …

 Virgil looked over the story he just read one more time. It was written by a small creator called @baka-monarch , who focussed more on reblogging than they did their own content.

“That was trash.”

…

…

…

“Reblog.”

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and vilains

Virgil Anker: Confrontation

Virgil hates confrontation. That is probably why it took him until now to talk to Janus. And even now it can’t be avoided any longer, he wants to.

When he saw Roman again the next day, he was momentarily speechless.

When he said he’d try out wearing his flag, Virgil hadn’t expected him to do this. The theatre kid entered the classroom with rainbow hair and a rainbow backpack slung over his shoulder, his red varsity jacket open, showing off his matching rainbow shirt. Roman locked eyes with him and strode over to his desk with an excited grin, sitting down on top of it. “You are extremely extra any chance you get aren’t you?” Virgil chuckled. Come to think of it, he really should have expected this. “I am,” Roman agreed, proud of it, as he took off his jacket. Virgil smiled as he saw the writing. Gay Disney Prince indeed. “Well it looks good on you,” he told him honestly. It did. It was like he was glowing. “Why thank you, mi caballero guapo.” Before Virgil could begin to decipher that, their homeroom teacher walked in and Roman took his seat. The second they were handed their schedules, Roman compared them with a growing smile. “We have almost every class together!” he exclaimed, sounding about as happy about it as Virgil felt. This year was looking better and better with every minute. “Aside from our electives that is. Why am I not surprised you’re taking drawing classes? Though you don’t really need the extra help. You are amazing as you are. Which reminds me. Did you think about sending in your designs?” Virgil didn’t really have the chance to react to anything Roman just said, and when he did, he wasn’t capable of it. Roman had been leaning over to read Virgil’s schedule and hadn’t moved away while ranting, and now he looked up and Virgil could feel his breath on his face. Roman quickly sat up with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Got a bit ahead of myself there.” Virgil looked away to hide his emberasment. He played with the edges of his hoodie for a moment. He knew he was blushing and that his foundation wasn’t covering it up anymore. Why had he let Picani and the counselors convince him to slowly build off the amount he put on every morning? Sure it was part of letting others in and all that stuff. But he was still nervous about it. Blushes and freckles and heaven forbid any sort of tan hadn’t been seen by anyone other than his dads in ages. Even uncle Thomas hardly saw him without make up on. And J… Well, it’d been a while for him too. Start of last year come to think of it. The last time he’d stayed over at his place for a night. It was a thing that just happened sometimes, when they were too lazy to go home. They both had a bag of stuff in the other’s house for just such occasions. Those days of having so much fun that hanging out just evolved in staying over were something he’d missed a lot. And part of him still hoped they’d come back soon. That Janus had woken up and was back to his old self. “No problem…” he assured Roman, forcing himself not to dwell on those thoughts. Instead he thought about the answer to his question. “Well… I don’t know. You really think he’d want it?” he checked, looking up to read Roman’s face. “Are you kidding?” Roman exclaimed with a look as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “If I were forced in that atrocious ‘crime against fashion’ as you adequately called it, I’d be wishing on every star for a new outfit. And what you have drawn up. It’s not just an answer to his every prayer, it’s the most awesome costume he could ever hope for.” Virgil felt a corner of his mouth lift and looked away again. “Alright… I’ll send it in… But with some adjustments and under an alias,” he insisted. He wasn’t sure how his dad would feel about him restyling the city’s newest hero. “How about Dante?” Roman offered. Virgil did his best not to show how happy that choice made him. He’d gotten the reference. He knew the book. Of course he did. He was a theatre nerd. He was bound to know the classics right? Virgil nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed. When the door opened Virgil had actually been in the process of taking out his sketchbook to show Roman the finished design, but then the teacher spoke and he immediately found every nerve in his body on edge. Not a great reaction to have when hearing your life long best friend’s name. Virgil couldn’t make himself look at Janus. He’d promised himself over and over again that he’d face him head on when the time came. Principal Stokes had warned him that they were in the same homeroom. But once class started he’d foolishly hoped that they managed to move him in another group after all and had just forgotten to tell him. He should’ve realized he was just late.

Before he knew it, Janus was in front of the desk. “Move, that’s my seat,” he said through gritted teeth. What had him so agitated? He’d taken peace with Virgil sitting next to Roman last year right? Why was he back to being a jerk about it? Sure he’d never liked it, but hadn’t he learned his lesson about telling Virgil who he could and couldn’t sit with? “De ninguna manera,” Roman replied, leaning back in his chair with a confident smirk. Virgil wracked his brain. He’d just told Janus, “No way,” if he remembered correctly. Roman had never talked Spanish for no good reason before though. Was this because Virgil asked about it? Some kind of learning by exposition? “You want to sit with the coolest kid in school? Get here on time.” And then he has to go ahead and say that. Roman definitely did not know the power he held over Virgil’s mood. Hearing Roman say that, without a hint of doubt or insincerity, made Virgil a lot more confident about what he had to do today. Roman Castile had his back, and a lot of other people too. People liked him. He had to remember that. “Excuse me?” Virgil’s eyes widened as he saw that Janus raised his fist. He’d never seen him actually hit anyone. He’d threatened to do it a few times. But never in front of a teacher. Had he lost his mind? “Mr. Bullard! Seat! Now!”

Janus’ gaze moved from Roman to Virgil, waiting for him to say something. Too bad for him, Virgil wasn’t going to say what he wanted to hear.

“You heard the teacher Jan. Just go.” After a few moments of disbelieving silence Janus went to sit at the empty desk on Virgil’s other side. Luckily there was a bit of open space between them. “Good,” the teacher sighed as she continued her class. “As I was saying, I hope the rest of the year will go without any more incidents like yesterday. Mr. Anker, Mr. Castile, I speak for the whole school when I say that we are happy to see you two are back and unfazed by yesterday’s incident.” “Thank you Mrs. Foster,” Virgil muttered a little embarrassed by the attention. He just hoped some different type of gossip would grab everyone’s attention soon. And maybe it already had. Roman’s coming out might distract a little from what happened yesterday. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of my radiant presence for another day,” Roman jested, stealing the show effortlessly as usual. Virgil joined his classmates in their laughter, feeling himself relax. The bell rang and Roman and Virgil were among the first to leave the class. Janus, luckily, had to stay back to get his schedule.

Virgil was happy to find that Roman’s locker wasn’t that far from his. “Where are we headed next?” Roman asked while he was collecting his things. “Um…” Virgil muttered as he dug in his backpack. He was pretty sure he knew the schedule by heart already, but they had enough time to make sure. The second Virgil confirmed their destination, the paper was snatched out of his hand. “Hey!” he exclaimed turning around to find Janus studying his schedule. He looked very unhappy.

Virgil was angry enough not to worry about that. His attitude from earlier and now combined made him not feel sorry for the cold shower Janus was going to get once he learned the full truth. “How can we have no classes together? I thought we were going to take sociology?” And he just pissed him off even more. “No!” he snatched the paper back, surprising Janus. When their eyes met he could see surprise shift to hurt confusion. “You were. I tried to tell you that I wanted to do art, and you didn’t listen. Like usual.” And that was all he was going to say about it right now. He was so mad at himself for hoping today would go well after that stupid text. He always got him like that. But this back and forth was hurting him. Hurting others. He couldn’t let it continue. “We’re in building C. Let’s go,” he told Roman, who nodded, collected his last things and starting to follow him to class. Staying out of the argument, like Virgil had asked him last year. “Virge, come on!” Janus was blocking his path, looking at him pleadingly. Looking like the real Janus. No. It’s a trick. Or not a trick maybe. But it wasn’t… He couldn’t back down now. “You are mad, I get it, I’m sorry okay?” Virgil felt his heart clench. It had been a while since he’d said sorry like that. But saying sorry, while a good step, was only a start. He and Picani had made a list of things that needed to happen before Virgil could start letting Janus back into his life. If ever. “Can’t we talk about this? We always work things out,” he pleaded  and Virgil flinched. He wanted to. He really did. Not here and not now though. He had to do this. For both of them. They both needed some space. “My decision is final J. I’m done enabling your behavior. I thought I was helping you out, but I was making it worse. I can’t protect you anymore… You are right. Sometimes we have to do what’s best for us. And for me, that is not being around you anymore.” Please, please let it be now. Virgil wished. He didn’t, he was reaching out, and once more, Virgil found himself looking at Roman’s back. “He’s asking you to back off. Give him some space.” He sounded soothing. He wasn’t trying to taunt Janus. Just to diffuse the situation. Janus didn’t see it that way. With a loud bang, Roman was pushed against the lockers, making Virgil flinch. This wasn’t good. He could feel his self-control slipping. He couldn’t have an attack right now. He hated that he’d taken a pill yesterday. If he hadn’t then he might have allowed himself to take one today. Now he was going to lose it in the middle of the hallway and… “Stay out of it Chapero!” This was followed by another bang. Virgil looked up and was surprised to find Roman was now the one holding Janus against the lockers. He looked livid. “You better not know what you just called me,” he warned. Janus grinned at him, clearly feeling vindicated for some reason. “I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Payaso.” Virgil had to put a stop to this. He wouldn’t let Janus taunt Roman into getting in trouble. “Roman! What’s going on? Let him go. Let’s just go to class. Please,” he pleaded, wondering if it would help to lay a hand on his shoulder or make things worse. Roman looked back though and once their eyes met he seemed to calm down. “Sorry. You’re right. We’ll be late,” he sighed, letting go and letting Virgil lead him to their class “Get to class Jan!” Virgil called back. “This isn’t over!” Janus promised, but to Virgil’s relief, he didn’t follow them. Virgil waited until they left building A before he looked over to Roman. He looked really upset. After taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he carefully laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked. “I’ll be fine, just pissed off,” Roman assured him before looking at him concerned. “How about you? He was your friend for a long time right?” Virgil sighed sadly. “He lives in the house next to mine. We basically grew up together I guess.” Virgil wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or cry as he thought back to the countless memories they shared. Janus and his parents had always been a part of his life almost as much as his dad was. “And I tried to protect him from bullies as best I could, you know because of,” he made a gesture to his face. Roman nodded. He understood. “I didn’t realize he isn’t that same kid anymore. I guilted myself into sticking with him. He was my friend, if I didn’t help him who would? He needed me. He stuck with me too. You get the picture,” Virgil shrugged dismissively. Though it was so much more complicated than that. He didn’t want to get into the nuances of his past and his decision now though. There was simply no time. “When he told me to take the same elective as him. I had enough. I told you about the summer camp I went to. What I didn’t mention was that it was a camp where they teach you to stand up for yourself. ‘your needs are important too’ and all that stuff. So when I got home I asked my dad to help me convince the principal to make sure I shared as little classes with him as possible. I felt shitty doing it.” It still felt like a betrayal on his part. “But at camp, I also learned that me tolerating Jan so long isn’t helping him. Mrs. Danvers was on the right path when she separated us last year. We both need to learn be us without the other. And maybe when we’ve figured that out, we can try again.” God he hoped they could try again. He missed his friend. But that might take some time. And the ball was entirely in Janus’ court. Speaking of. How badly had he just messed up with Roman to make him loose his composure like that. “What did he say?” he asked Roman. “Janus likes to brag that he is fluent in Spanish and French. I didn’t know he’d also learned slang.” “He learned slang alright,” Roman scoffed. “I’m pretty sure he was just trying to get a rise out of me, which succeeded.” Roman took a deep breath, calming down considerably. “You sure you want to know?” he asked, much more gentle. “Yes. If it upset you that much, I do,” Virgil said firmly. He wanted to know how mad he had to be with Janus when they inevitably talked later. “Alright. Payaso, means clown,” Roman told him. Clearly he was starting with the less offensive term. Virgil gave him an encouraging nod. “And… Chapero,” Roman’s face when he said the word filled Virgil with dread. It must be really bad. “It means- It refers to my…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he gestured to his coming out shirt. No… “Seriously!?” he growled as he turned, about to tell Janus that he’d have to work twice as hard to make Virgil trust him again now. Because this… This made him want to keep Janus away from his family. What if he’d said something insensitive in front of Logan or Patton? He would not allow it. Suddenly he felt a pull at the back of his hoodie. Stopping him in his tracks. “We can’t be late. Not for him,” Roman reminded Virgil. “You’re right.” There were priorities in his life other than Janus. He could not let him take up a leading role in it any longer if he wanted to heal. Man, he was started to sound like Picani. They arrived in their class and sat themselves at a desk fairly central. Virgil was secretly happy that Roman chose to sit next to him again.

“Well, what do you know? My two favorite boys at one desk. Must be my lucky day!” Virgil looked up. Stacey was sitting on Roman’s desk, subtly respecting Virgil’s personal space while still drawing his attention. He appreciated that. She was good at this flirting thing. “Good morning to you too Stacey.” Roman greeted with a smile. “Hi,” Virgil said casually. “Ro. Guess where we’re going for our date?” Stacey asked excitedly. “No clue,” Roman shrugged as Virgil tried to find a polite way to correct Stacey. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go on a real date with Stacey yet. It wouldn’t be fair to her to let her think he was. And even though Roman clearly wasn’t into him, he wanted him to know that it wasn’t a real date for some reason. “The art studio! We’re going to go nuts on a blank canvas together. Isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever heard?” she gushed. Virgil was kind of flattered that she was so enthusiastic. But still… “Well… It’s basically just hanging out,” he corrected her gently. To his relief Stacey seemed unbothered by that. “Yeah. What did you call it? Vibe check?” she verified. “Something like that,” he nodded to which Stacey started rambling again. “Basically we’re going to roll with it as friends and see if we click romantically while we are pouring our souls out on canvas. No click? No hard feelings.” Before anything else could be said the teacher arrived, sending Stacey to her own seat. After History he had art with Stacey. Connor Grant was everything he had imagined he would be. “Virgil Anker… You won the prize at last year’s exhibition. I see here you never took an art elective, did you follow classes somewhere else?” he wondered warmly. They were all sitting on the floor in the studio and getting to know one another. “Um, well I watched some tutorials and stuff online and took some inspiration from that,” he explained. “No formal training? Well such raw talent… It’ll be a privilege to help you find your way Virgil. Such a gift, deserves to be developed with proper guidance.” Virgil grew flustered at the praise and the cheers and claps he received. No one seemed envious. Grant was full of praise for everyone’s unique talents though, so that could have something to do with it.

After class he walked over to him. “Um, Mr. Grant. I kind of have two questions, if that’s okay?” he asked timidly. “Ask away,” the man smiled warmly.

“Thanks. Um… I kind of made a portfolio of sorts. Would you mind looking at it?” he asked shakily as he handed the binder over to him. “It would be my pleasure,” Mr. Grant assured him. Feeling empowered Virgil pressed forward. “Is… Are we allowed to use the studio after hours for private projects?” he wondered.

“Of course. The muse does not work on any arbitrary schedule set by us. You can always ask me for the key,” he said as he locked the room and handed the key over to him. “What… Really just like that?” “I have a spare should I need it. But I’ll need that one back after your date with Miss Stacey.” Virgil blushed and bit back his protest. It didn’t matter. He had the key, he could get on with his day.

He hurried to his locker, hoping to find Roman there so they could walk to Math together. Roman hadn’t arrived yet. Drama must be running late. Virgil packed his things humming to himself when he suddenly felt an hand grab his shoulder and turn him around roughly. “We need to talk, now,” Janus said, clearly in a hurry. Virgil frowned. He was right, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore.

“Are you going to apologize to Roman?” he bit. “What?” Janus asked baffled. “Or any of the people you’ve tormented over the past year, if not years?” he doubled down. “Because the only way, you and I are ever going to be on speaking terms again is if you stop acting like everything I despise in this world. Which, in case you are unaware, is a narrow minded, homophobic, bully.” Janus looked down, ashamed, and that gave Virgil hope he really shouldn’t be feeling now. “I already told you Janus. I’m done. When you start acting like my friend again, I’d like to have him back. I miss the Janus I’d stick by no matter what. But the guy I’ve seen the past year… I don’t know who that is. All I know is I want him nowhere near my family.” Janus looked up. “Listen, I messed up. I got mad and I just said the worst thing I could think of okay? I know that won’t excuse it. What with your dad and his boyfriend situation…”

Virgil stiffened. His protective instincts fully engaged. “What do you mean…” when did he learn about Patton? Why hadn’t his parents told him? “If you said something to upset Patton or Logan, I swear!” “NO! I didn’t… I promise. I just… Need you to hear me out, like now. I need to tell you something important. Let’s just go somewhere quiet for a bit. Okay? I swear I’ll leave you alone after… Just, please Virgil, I need you to know…” There was a part of Virgil that saw Janus’ desperation and wanted to answer. Wanted to lower his guard and follow him. Help him out. He shook his head. “I can’t Jan. I want to. Trust me, I really want to be friends again. But I know that if I go with you now, things will just go back to how they were and that… I was being suffocated by you. I didn’t feel like me with you anymore. Even when we were just us, I couldn’t fully be myself. I’m sorry. But I’ll listen, once you’ve proven you're over this whole,” he gestured to the general space between them. “Thing where you think you can control my life. It’s not good for me.” He was about to head to his class when he was pulled back and slammed against the locker, hard. He didn’t have time to protect himself. The impact hurt. But he kept his composure. “Damn it Virgil! Just stop being dramatic and come with me!” Virgil heard people gasp and shout around them. He just stared Janus down, to make sure he saw that there was no doubt in his mind when he replied. “No!” “Let him go Bullard!” Virgil looked up surprised. Roman had come. He was happy to see him. But he didn’t want their friendship to start off with Roman thinking he couldn’t take care of himself.

“I’ve got this Roman,” he told him. Roman looked at him, his gaze steady and calm. “I know. But you don’t have to do this alone.” Virgil took a moment to process that. Right. Roman knew he was capable of standing his ground. This? was different from when Janus would try to ‘protect him’. Roman was being supportive. Not controlling. He had not once decided in Virgil’s stead. The closest he’d gotten to that was that one time he’d been openly critical of his friendship with Janus, for which he’d been apologetic right away. Two of Roman’s friends flanked him, one, Kelly, whispering something to him. Roman nodded in acknowledgement. He raised his head, squared his shoulders and spoke clear and decisive. “I’ll ask one more time. Leave him alone.” Virgil barely registered Janus stepping away. He would’ve crashed to the floor if he hadn’t stabilized himself a little with his shield. He was glad that that power was a rather intuitive one, because he never seemed to have time to decide to use it. And catching himself was not an application he would have come up with on his own. He rubbed at his chest where Janus’ arm had pressed into him, speeding up the recovery. “Think you can take me Castile?” Virgil looked up at Janus, he was walking towards Roman arms lifted as if daring him to hit him. What was he doing? This was the opposite of helpful if he wanted… Didn’t he want them to be friends again? Roman wasn’t intimidated. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of getting me in trouble,” he replied once Janus came to a stop. “So you’re just talk then huh? Afraid to get your butt kicked in front of everyone? Trying to score easy points with Virgil? Hoping I’ll let you steal him from me that easily?” Was he trying to blame Roman for this? Virgil had worried something like that would happen. Janus clearly thought he had no agency of his own. But still… Had he completely lost his mind? “Trying to repay him in some small way for saving my life yesterday. But none of that is any of your business.” Virgil was in awe of how passionate Roman sounded. “Virgil’s decision to finally break free from you has nothing to do with me, and everything with how you’re treating him. I don’t understand what he saw in you that made him stick around this long. But you took it for granted and now it’s done. Leave him alone.”

Just then, Roman’s other friends, including André, arrived and immediately they all started to tell everyone in the audience to get to their classes. As the crowd disappeared Virgil saw the tension leave most of Janus frame. Though he could see him tap his left hand against his leg, a dead giveaway that he was growing more nervous.

“What’s wrong Castile? Don’t want an audience? I thought you lived for the cheers of a crowd?” Roman didn’t budge. “Or maybe this is an exclusive event? Just for your little fanclub and Virgil? Is he your newest devoted follower?”

Virgil winced at the sting of hurt and betrayal in J’s tone. “You guys should head to class,” was Roman’s response to that. His friends did not like that. “You’ll all get in trouble if you don’t get to class in time. Now go. Tell our teacher that Virgil and I will be there soon. I’m not feeling well and Virgil is looking out for me.” Janus scoffed. “Making your friends lie for you Castile? Some friend you are.” Roman quirked a brow, not impressed. “Or tell them the truth. Apparently Bullard wants detention on the first day.” Virgil could tell Janus realized he had made a mistake. Roman’s friends left and Janus doubled down on the false display of confidence. “Now we’re talking! A private show, just for you Virge,” Janus looked back at him, but Virgil didn’t want to reward his behavior with the slightest bit of attention.

He just kept soothing the imprint on his sternum and looked at Roman making sure he wasn’t in any kind of distress right now. “Virge? You okay?” Roman asked. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered. When he tried to walk past Janus though, he was stopped by a brisk hand gesture. He could’ve ignored it, but he could see Janus was seconds away from snapping. He didn’t want to set him off. Not so close to Roman. And besides that, he didn’t like seeing him in pain. “Just get to class. I can handle myself.” Virgil appreciated the thought, really he did. Roman was doing for him what he’d seen Virgil do for others plenty of times in the past. But Virgil had learned by now that that kind of behavior wasn’t very healthy of him either. “Stop mocking me!” Janus exclaimed. Virgil acted without thinking. He ran up to throw himself in between Janus and Roman and then he felt Janus’ fist connect with his stomach at full force. It hurt a lot, and likely would hurt for a while. He fell to his knees, groaning in pain. Roman was at his side in an instant. “V… I...” Virgil looked up and as he blinked away the tears that threatened to overtake his vision he could see Janus was horrified with what just had happened.

Roman was furious. “Messing with him emotionally and mentally isn’t enough for you? You have to resort to physical violence as well? What kind of friend are you?” Virgil flinched. Roman had really picked up on everything hadn’t he? He wanted to argue that Janus would never intentionally attack him, but the way his chest still ached, even though it was drastically overpowered by the pain in his abdomen, was proof that J could lose his temper with him. Janus didn’t respond. He looked down and walked away. Virgil could swear he’d seen tears in his eyes.

Once he was gone Roman turned his attention back to him. “You okay? Should we go to the nurse?” he suggested worriedly. Virgil felt is heart flutter a little at his concerned tone. Roman was making it really hard to get over his crush. But he knew that the nurse wasn’t an option. Besides, he was already healing. “No. Dad will lose it if he knows someone actually hit me. Let’s just go to class. I’ll be fine by the time we get there.” Roman looked uncertain. “Okay, if you are sure.” Clearly he wanted to argue, but he was respecting Virgil’s boundaries. “Thanks for catching that one, but you didn’t have to. I did some self-defense courses. I would’ve been able to get out of harm’s way without hurting him.” Oh? That was interesting. Maybe he could ask Roman for some lessons just in case. He’d watched some videos online on basic self-defense and parkour. The later he’d been practicing every time he went out. Just in case his cloak failed him next time the cops sent someone to figure out who was leaving them packages. You’d think they’d take the intel and not ask too many questions. But clearly that wasn’t the case. They even had heroes on the lookout for him in his regular spots. They must really want to catch him if they went through the footage to get hints on the location where he recorded some of the evidence. “I’ll remember that,” he grinned, trying not to show that most of his upper body was still in various degrees of pain. “Seriously though that’s the second time you’ve jumped to my rescue. Thank you,” Roman said as he helped him up. Virgil once again played off how it hurt with a grin. If not for his healing factor he would probably want to go to a doctor to be safe. And even now he was wondering if whatever he did to heal bruises was good enough to fix more serious injuries. Was it even a serious injury? Or did it just hurt a lot? He promised himself that if he was still in pain when they got to class he’d agree to go to the nurse’s office. It normally didn’t take him long to fix himself. “Guess DreamPrince inspired me to be heroic,” he joked. Because apparently, Dream Prince was now his codename for Roman whenever he was too scared to make his feelings for him obvious. “He does seem to inspire a lot in you. I’m almost envious of him.” Virgil’s heart skipped a beat at that. Did Roman mean…? “I’d love to be the one to inspire someone so much, artistically and the like I mean. Oh, that would be the dream. To be someone’s muse and have them be mine in return.” You already do, Virgil wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Not when he already agreed to give Stacey a shot. “That would be pretty cool I guess,” he said instead finally able to walk without wincing each step. “You sure we don’t need to have you checked out?” Roman was clearly not convinced. Virgil nodded firmly. It was not worth worrying his dad over. “I barely feel it anymore. He didn’t hit that hard,” he shrugged, feeling a little bad for that lie. But he wasn’t ready to tell Roman about his powers yet. Maybe he would be, one day. The rest of the day was hopefully a sample of how the rest of the year would go. Virgil sat next to or near Roman for every class they shared, and he’d allowed himself to sit next to him during lunch. Stacey got a kick out of the fact that Virgil had ‘charmed’ the key from the teacher. Virgil insisted that it was not that big of an accomplishment. They had fun. Stacey had a lot of energy and a curious and adventurous nature. He liked hanging out with her, and he thought she was very attractive. But when the cliché paint fight broke out and they came close enough to feel each other’s breath… Virgil knew that he could kiss her. He could see that she was okay with that. Hoping for it even. It would just take one question and a slight tilt forward… And he wouldn’t mind kissing her. He felt attraction that was for sure. He was even wondering if she’d be as energetic when being kissed as she’d been all night. But he didn’t feel a spark. He’d felt the spark a few times. The little jolt to his heart that told him that he didn’t just want to kiss a person. If that made sense. Not just with Roman, though that spark was still the strongest he’d ever felt. He knew that he liked Stacey, platonically. And he found her attractive, physically. But he wasn’t romantically interested in her. And while he didn’t see the harm in casually kissing... He didn’t want to do that with Stacey. For various reasons. He’d stepped away and Stacey pouted. But she’d agreed that she wasn’t interested in him long term.

She did offer to let him kiss her anyway. For practice. He’d laughed and politely declined to which she pretended to be dramatically disappointed.

When he got home and he told his dads that it was fun, but they were just going to stay friends, he didn’t miss the relief on Logan’s face. He bit back the comment about turning sixteen next October. His dad would have to come to terms with the fact that he was of the dating age sooner or later. But he wasn’t going to push it. He let himself fall onto his bed that night, thinking of Roman and how he definitely would have kissed him. About Janus, and what he’d needed to say. He let those thoughts go though. One day at a time. Today had been okay, all things considered. Maybe tomorrow would be fine too.

Masterlist

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An Analysis of The Ninth Gate

I finally got around to watching The Ninth Gate after it was recommended on Occultism with a Side of Salt. Seriously, why did it take me so long to watch this film? This is pretty much everything I like! It’s a film from 1999 (incidentally, the same year as Eyes Wide Shut) starring Johnny Depp as an expert on rare books called Dean Corso. It’s based loosely on a novel by Arturo Pérez-Reverte called The Club Dumas, and was directed by Roman Polanski (who’s the man behind Tanz der Vampire, but who is extremely problematic and we do not stan). Corso is employed by a rich book collector named Boris Balkan to authenticate his copy of a grimoire called The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, which may be the coolest title for a grimoire ever. The book is supposedly designed to summon the Devil himself, and was copied from another mysterious book that the Devil was said to have written. Corso compares the grimoire with the two other existing copies to find out which one is the real one, but there are mysterious deaths and other unsettling events around the book, and he has a mysterious girl helping him.

The film is very spooky and has a wonderful Dark Academia aesthetic. What’s most interesting to me about it is, although it isn’t authentically occult, it feels very authentic. The grimoire is clearly modeled after real ones. The engravings in the book also could easily be mistaken for real ones if I didn’t know better. I think that the pentagram on the cover is a little too on-the-nose, especially since pentagrams weren’t associated with Satanism until relatively recently — I think the Sigil of Lucifer would be a better fit, since it’s reasonably well-known (for example, the Mother Superior of the Satanic Nuns in Good Omens wears one instead of a cross) and it comes from a real grimoire. That’s me being very nitpicky, though. Although this film follows some tropes of Hollywood Satanism, its portrayal of that is still more realistic than normal. Real-life occult ritual groups are more like book clubs or potlucks, but the actual ritual part can in fact look something like the one in the film. (Sure, it wouldn’t be in a mansion with cool-ass gargoyles, but this is certainly more realistic than Eyes Wide Shut.)

This film feels authentically occult becuase a lot of real occultism is pouring over old books and analyzing symbolic images. I do a lot of that! Right now, I’m reading a dictionary of alchemical symbolism. I hope to eventually be able to look at all the weird images in alchemical manuscripts and make some sense of them. This film is basically about doing exactly that. I noticed the tarot symbolism in the engravings immediately, and I felt a little like I was trying to decipher them right alongside Corso. It reminded me of solving Nox Arcana puzzles, and that just makes me incredibly happy. The approach this film takes is also realistic — (slight spoilers) it could have gone the classic Hollywood route of summoning Satan to destroy the world and all that, but it doesn’t. Instead, the end goal is more abstract and spiritual, much more in-line with occultists’ actual goals in real life. Just as in alchemy, the goal is not to make gold or live forever, but to experience spiritual transcendence, and this is encoded in alchemists’ notes and artwork.

So, I want to try my hand at deciphering the engravings’ secrets, and test my own knowledge of occult symbolism in the process. Everything that follows involves major spoilers, so I will dispense with the exposition and assume that you have already seen the film.

I’ve seen it argued on YouTube that the engravings represent actual events in the film, and some of them seem to. Bernie is murdered and hung upside down, the collapsing scaffolding is the “danger from above” arrow, Corso is hit in the back of the head in one of the film’s most chilling scenes, and the Girl (who is implied to be Lucifer) ends up… well… “riding” him in front of the burning castle. But come on, that is way too easy. For one thing, the related events don’t seem to occur in any specific sequence, either the engravings’ numbered sequence or Balkan’s rearranged sequence. It would make sense if Corso would have to experience every engraving and “pass through each gate” — that happens a lot in films like this one, where an eerily coincidental series of events plays out just as in the book/prophecy/whatnot. But that doesn’t really happen, or if it does, it’s not obvious enough for the only interpretation of the engravings to be literal. What impresses me the most about The Ninth Gate is that it goes for that more figurative, spiritual dimension. That is really what makes it feel realistically occult.

The real solution to the engravings seems to be spiritual growth or enlightenment, which is the goal of most occultists. Balkan sort of understands this, which is why he disdains Telfer and her coven being edgy and playing dress up instead of really making an effort to understand Lucifer’s secrets. And yet, Balkan also fails, because he is after power, not enlightenment. It seems as though both of them misunderstand Lucifer, believing him to be the kind of Lucifer that you usually see in these movies. (That would fit in well with his name and his role in the Eden story, if you interpret it that way.) If we assume that the Girl is Lucifer, then she is more benevolent an influence than anything else. Hell, Corso doesn’t even suffer any “temptation” consequences from having sex with her. Corso wins in the end because he actually puts in the effort, and the Girl helps guide him toward enlightenment. Maybe Lucifer is a good force in this film’s world. Lucifer’s own versions of the engravings seem to emphasize that s/he is genuinely invested in helping his/her followers towards enlightenment.

When Balkan assembles the engravings in the proper order, this is his interpretation of the riddle:

To travel in silence, by a long and circuitous route, to brave the arrows of misfortune, and fear neither noose nor fire, to play the greatest of all games and win, foregoing no expense, is to mock the vicissitudes of fate and gain at last the key that will unlock the Ninth Gate.

First, I want to say that this riddle reminds me a lot of the Emerald Tablet. It’s similarly cryptic, and I only sort of have it figured out. I love that something like that is real and authentically ancient. Anyway, moving on. I’ll go through the engravings in the order that Balkan puts them in (as opposed to their numbered order), and see if I can make sense of them.

The first engraving shows a knight traveling towards a castle. In the AT version of the engraving, the castle has four towers, while in LCF’s version, it has three. Balkan’s interpretation is “To travel in silence,” while the caption is “Silence is golden.” That immediately reminds me of the common occult maxim, “To Know, to Will, to Dare, to Keep Silent.” I’ve never been much of a fan of keeping silent, which is why I post things like this on the internet, but in general occultists tend to be secretive folk. According to this article, another translation of the caption is “Only one who has battled according to the rules will prevail.” I’m not sure whose rules are being referred to here. Lucifer’s, maybe?

This is one of the only engravings in which there is no obvious tarot symbolism. There are four Knights in tarot, one for each suit — wands, swords, cups, and pentacles — but this knight doesn’t have a symbol of any of the suits or anything that could suggest that. The difference is in the castle towers — three in LCF’s, four in AT’s. In traditional numerology, three is a number symbolizing perfection and creation, as in the Holy Trinity, while four is the number of the solid and material and unlucky. (Source: Richard Cavendish, The Black Arts). Sets of three are especially common in fairy tales and mythology — three siblings, three tasks, three encounters, three magical objects, three questions, three trials or tests, repeating an action three times with the third time being different or conclusive, etc. Lucifer’s castle at the end also has three sets of towers. The most obvious interpretation of this is that your destination will be either material gain (AT) or spiritual advancement (LCF).

In the tarot, the threes represent the completion of the first stage of a venture — the Three of Wands represents a successful enterprise, the Three of Cups represents celebration and fulfillment, and the Three of Pentacles represents recognition for your achievements. All of them have something to do with attainment except for the Three of Swords, which represents loss, heartbreak, betrayal, etc. The fours aren’t bad, representing stability and structure — the Four of Wands is joyful and peaceful, the Four of Swords takes time to rest and recoup, the Four of Cups is bored and listless, and the Four of Pentacles receives material abundance. All of them are a bit more grounded and material, so I think it makes the most sense to interpret the difference in this engraving as being the spiritual three vs. the material four, and leave it at that.

The fourth engraving, which is second in Balkan’s sequence, is of a jester standing at the entrance to a labyrinth. In LCF’s version the labyrinth’s exit is open, while in AT’s it is bricked up. Balkan interprets this as meaning “by long and circuitous route,” while the caption reads “Fate is not the same for all.” that seems fairly straightforward — Balkan and Corso have different fates. Corso is able to find his way out of the Labyrinth, but Balkan’s exit is bricked up. This is because he never properly experienced the journey the way Corso did, he just wanted the payoff and tried to take shortcuts.

The Labyrinth is a very old symbol, and it carries the dual symbolism of a death trap in which there is a Minotaur, and a path to spiritual enlightenment. It can represent the Underworld or the darkness of the subconscious mind, with the Minotaur being your Shadow. Either you are trapped in the Labyrinth and eaten by the monster, or you find your way back out into the light having gained some self-awareness. The jester is probably meant to represent 0 The Fool, who, in the Tarot, is the naive adventurer who sets out on a spiritual journey over the threshold and into the realm of the subconscious and symbolic — i.e. the Labyrinth. As for the dice in the foreground, this seems to reinforce the caption’s point about fate. But dice, like tarot cards, can be used as both a game and a divination tool — it is the assumption of the diviner that random chance is always meaningful. And indeed, the visible faces on each die add up to 6 — 666.

The third engraving depicts a traveler walking towards a bridge. In the clouds above him, there’s a Cupid-like figure with an arrow pointing down at him. Balkan’s interpretation is “to brave the arrows of misfortune,” and the caption is “The lost word keeps the secret.” AT’s version is pictured here; in LCF’s version, there are two arrows, the other one pointing upwards in the quiver.

This traveller looks much more like the traditional Tarot depiction of 0 The Fool than the jester. The Fool is happy-go-lucky and doesn’t notice the danger he might be walking into. TV Tropes describes The Fool trope as referring to a person who, despite having no idea what they’re doing, doesn’t come to any harm because of their luck and innocence. So, the traveler will probably not be hit by the arrow, the same way Corso avoids the collapsing scaffolding. The two arrows in the LCF version seem to reinforce the idea of there being two possible outcomes. The arrow pointing up and the other one pointing down could also reference the famous occult maxim, “As above, so below,” adding another spiritual dimension to it. Balkan’s interpretation of the engraving reminded me a lot of a certain famous soliloquy: “To be or not to be, that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles / And by opposing end them.” In this scene, Hamlet is considering whether or not to take his own life. But when applied to this engraving, these lines seem to once again suggest the two possible outcomes — you can suffer and die, or move on towards your goal.

And then there’s the caption. “The lost word keeps the secret.” Well, it’s pretty obvious what that refers to — the ninth engraving, replaced with a forgery that changes the meaning of the entire thing. The missing engraving contains the secret. But that caption seems completely irrelevant to this engraving, except that the face of the archer doesn’t look remotely like a baby’s, as putti usually do — it looks like an old man’s, specifically, the Ceniza brothers’, who removed and replaced the missing engraving.

The sixth engraving, fourth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man hanging upside-down by his ankle, and an arm with a flaming sword reaching out of a castle tower. Balkan’s interpretation of this is “and fear neither noose nor fire,” which proves he knows fuck all about tarot. No wonder he got the riddle wrong. This one is so blindingly obvious. The man isn’t hanging by his neck, he’s hanging by his foot. He’s the Hanged Man.

XII The Hanged Man is a strange and disturbing card at first glance, but it has become one of my favorites. The Hanged Man is almost never depicted hanging by his neck; he hangs by his foot, and has a serene expression, indicating that he wants to be there. He represents going through a period of tribulation, suffering, surrender, or introspection in order to obtain wisdom, enlightenment, self-awareness, and insight. He goes through a metamorphosis, just like the caterpillar that hangs upside-down in its chrysalis to become a butterfly. He’s a Christlike figure, evidenced by the halo around his head in the Rider-Waite deck, and the fact that he willingly suffers for a higher purpose. He even wears the same colors as Jesus in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper in the Rider-Waite deck, although I’m not sure if that’s on purpose or not.

The caption to the engraving is “I am enriched by death,” which is a million times more meaningful than Balkan’s interpretation. If you’re an occultist, that line is probably self-explanatory. Pretty much everything mystical involves that theme of (symbolically) dying and being resurrected. The alchemical process has three stages — nigredo, which is death, albedo, which is the ascension of the soul, and rubedo, which is returning to life in a “purified” body as a more spiritual being. The Hero’s Journey follows this same pattern — the hero entering the Underworld or the Labyrinth and facing trials that allow them to spiritually ascend and achieve apotheosis (or something close to it). It’s everywhere in books, movies, and video games. It is the initiation ritual. Most occultists figuratively go through it in one way or another. And in tarot, XII The Hanged Man is at the rough midpoint of the Fool’s journey through the Major Arcana, and immediately followed by XIII Death. “I am enriched by death.” You cannot be reborn as a new and better version of yourself without first having died.

The difference between AT’s and LCF’s engravings is that AT’s has the Hanged Man hanging by his right foot, while LCF’s has him hanging by his left foot. I don’t think this changes the meaning of the engraving too much. In Rider-Waite, the Hanged Man hangs by his right foot, but in the Tarot de Marseille, which is older, he hangs by the left foot. The only significance to this that I can see is that the Latin word for “left” is sinistram, and the word “sinister” has its current meaning because left was considered Satanic. Left-handed people were discriminated against for this reason, until as late as the mid-20th century. In occultism, the “Left-Hand Path” is an approach to magic that involves rejecting tradition and dogma and generally being edgy. I think that the right-hand and left-hand paths are a false dichotomy (you use both your hands, don’t you?), but anything Satanic is considered part of the Left-Hand Path. Jung associated left with the unconscious, so we’re back to the Labyrinth.

I don’t have much to say about the flaming sword. It could be foreshadowing Balkan’s death (more on that later), or it could represent the flaming sword of the angel of Eden (i.e. guarding spiritual knowledge).

The seventh engraving, fifth in Balkan’s sequence, is of a king and a peasant playing a chess game. Two dogs are fighting in the background, and the moon can be seen through the window. In AT’s version, the board is black, and in LCF’s, the board is white. Balkan interprets it as “to play the greatest of all games,” and the caption is “The disciple surpasses the master.”

The tarot symbolism that I see here is that of XVIII The Moon, which has dogs baying at it in the Rider-Waite deck. The Moon represents the subconscious, imagination, and dreams, but also nightmares, madness, and illusion. The illusion here is probably still the missing engraving being replaced by the forgery. The themes of the subconscious get reinforced. Underneath the Moon, a black dog and a white dog fight each other, almost seeming to create a yin/yang shape. This brings the dark and the light into balance, the same way the Moon spends equal times dark and bright as it goes through its phases. The game is chess, which is played with black and white pieces, and the board is either black or white. The game seems to be a draw, making the peasant and the king equals, just as the dogs are unable to defeat each other. So, this engraving is all about reconciling dualities.

There’s another layer to this. God is the “King of Kings,” so this could demonstrate a human becoming God’s equal. This is basically the goal of occultism — to become like God, in some form. Left-Hand Path’ers in particular seem to like the idea of becoming gods themselves, or even “surpassing” God. Since the book was created by Lucifer, this could tie in to Lucifer’s desire to become God’s equal that got him cast out of Heaven (but I’m not the biggest fan of that story, so I won’t go any further with that). To the occultist, man is God, just as God can become a man — as above, so below. That’s also a form of reconciling the duality of human and divine.

The caption, “The disciple surpasses the master,” probably refers to this, but it could also refer to Corso surpassing Balkan and succeeding where Balkan failed. Any good teacher wants their students to have learned so well that they surpass them. God (or Lucifer) intends for his disciples to surpass him, but Balkan tries (and fails) to prevent Corso from surpassing him.

The fifth engraving, which is sixth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man counting coins while Death stands behind him with a pitchfork and hourglass. Balkan’s interpretation is “and win, foregoing no expense,” while the caption reads “In vain.” Balkan is an idiot. Exactly like the man in the engraving, he is focused entirely on the money and completely misses the literal shadow of Death standing behind him. How does one overlook the significance of that? There’s a big difference between “I won the game so now I get money” and “in vain”! Of course, this means that Balkan is too focused on material pursuits and misses that he is about to die. In AT’s version, the sand is at the top of the hourglass, while in LCF’s version, it is at the bottom — the man has run out of time. The expression “you can’t take it with you” comes to mind. Money and material goods don’t ultimately matter compared to spiritual growth. “In vain.”

In tarot, XIII Death almost never represents physical death. Instead, it represents change, usually a change for the better. Death is about letting go of old things so that new things can come, stepping through a threshold into another life or state of being. This can be difficult or emotionally painful, but it is necessary and ultimately beneficial. If The Hanged Man is the chrysalis, then Death is the emerging butterfly (the Greek word psyche means both “soul” and “butterfly,” because butterflies represent the souls of the dead). Once again, Death is a required step towards spiritual advancement. And if you refuse to acknowledge this, it isn’t going to go well for you.

The checkerboard floor probably continues to reinforce the theme of duality. As for the pitchfork, maybe the reason Death has a peasant’s pitchfork instead of a scythe is because pitchforks are associated with Satan, or it could be a representation of peasants taking revenge on rich people. Or it could be a reference to American Gothic. I think it’s the first one.

The eighth engraving, which is seventh in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a praying man about to be bludgeoned by a knight with a mace, with the Wheel of Fortune in the background. Balkan’s interpretation is “to mock the vicissitudes of fate” and the caption says “Virtue is defeated.”

The Wheel of Fortune is a medieval motif that shows how fortune is apparently random. Some get to be kings, others are serfs, and your fortunes can turn at any moment. Just when you think everything is great, someone hits you on the back of the head. In tarot, X The Wheel of Fortune means exactly what you would expect it to — a twist of fate, a change of fortune. Whether it’s for better or for worse depends on the context and the cards around it. Life is full of ups and downs, so enjoy what you’ve got while you have it, etc. Sometimes when it shows up, it can mean that you should trust in fate.

But that’s the background. What to make of the foreground? Honestly, this is the most disturbing engraving to me, especially with the accompanying scene where Corso gets hit in the head. By whom? It’s probably Telfer’s lackey, because the knight in the engraving kind of looks like him. And if the caption is “Virtue is defeated,” the praying man hasn’t been defeated yet. The knight is about to hit him, not already standing over his body. It could be an example of “bad things happen to good people” — being virtuous won’t stop you from suffering. Since Corso is the one who gets hit in the back of the head, maybe that indicates that he’s the most virtuous character (which is saying a lot, since he’s not exactly an upstanding person). In LCF’s version of the engraving, the knight has a halo — does that mean that defeating Virtue is a good thing? I guess that would make sense if the artist is Satan? Or does it mean the knight is protecting the praying man? I don’t know. I genuinely am not sure how to interpret this one. What I do know is that Balkan is still an idiot. Nothing about this suggests mocking fate. If anything, this is an example of succumbing to it.

The second engraving, eighth in Balkan’s sequence, shows an old man with a dog, holding two keys in his hand. In AT’s version, the keys are in his right hand, and in LCF’s, they are in his left hand. Balkan’s interpretation is “gain at last the key,” and the caption is “Open that which is closed.”

This is another obvious tarot image. This is clearly The Hermit with his lantern. IX The Hermit represents withdrawing into solitude for contemplation and meditation, to gain spiritual wisdom and awareness. Like the Hanged Man, he indicates a need to be passive in the service of introspection. He’s the archetypical guru on a mountain, and he holds the keys to enlightenment. Keys represent access to information, and the ability to pass between worlds. “Open that which is closed” is pretty obvious — unlock the gates, receive spiritual insight. LCF’s version having the keys be in the left hand just reinforces everything I said about left earlier.

Also, that Hebrew symbol next to him is the one for the number nine. That suggests that the Hermit is right in front of the Ninth Gate. In numerology, nine is a magical number, being three times three. It represents completeness, spiritual achievement, and initiation. So, that’s self-explanatory. In tarot, tens are the ultimate state of completion, so the nines are the penultimate step — the Nine of Wands gives you the strength and willpower to overcome obstacles, the Nine of Cups represents success and contentment, and the Nine of Pentacles represents celebrating an accomplishment. (Once again, the Swords are the outlier, representing fear and despair.) Nines in general are good, the perfection of three multiplied by itself. (The Hermit is also the ninth card of the Major Arcana, if you noticed.)

And finally, we come to the ninth and final engraving (that Roman numeral should read “IX”). This depicts a woman who looks suspiciously like the Girl reading a book, ostensibly The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, and riding a dragon with seven goatlike heads. There is a castle in the background, and the castle is a real place. There are three versions of the engraving — this one, which is signed by AT and has the castle as-is, a forged LCF engraving that shows the castle in flames, and the real one. Balkan’s interpretation is “that will unlock the Ninth Gate,” and the caption is “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.”

The woman is apparently an image of the “Whore of Babylon” from Revelations, who rides a seven-headed dragon. I’m not really sure what she’s supposed to represent, beyond being generally Satanic. Of course, Crowley recasted her as a sex goddess. The seven heads of her dragon are significant — seven is the number of secrets, mysteries, magic, introspection, and searching for inner truth, which have been running themes this whole time. It also signifies creation, completeness, and rest, since God created the world in seven days. In tarot, the sevens present a new challenge after the perfection of the sixes — the Seven of Wands brings new obstacles that require determination to overcome; the Seven of Cups represents imagination, dreams, and illusions, so back to The Moon again (and the illusion of the forgery); the Seven of Swords also represents deception or a con artist (like the Ceniza twins, or maybe Balkan); and the Seven of Pentacles represents a threshold or a new opportunity, and reflecting on one’s achievements. That all aligns scarily well with the situation here.

The critical illusion is that the “LCF” engraving with the burning castle is a forgery. So, Balkan sets himself on fire for no reason other than egomania. This image is similar to XVI The Tower in Tarot. The Tower is one of the scariest cards to get. If Death is a difficult but beneficial change, The Tower is a dramatic turn for the worse, complete destruction and devastation. It is struck by lightning and destroyed, going up in flames. I drew this card shortly before the pandemic hit. That was The Tower — destruction, upheaval, devastation, but with the promise of rebuilding. I also had to deal with a lot of emotional turmoil because of an unrelated thing that happened around the same time, and it shook me to my core. So, obviously the forged engraving leads to Balkan’s destruction.

The true ninth LCF engraving shows the sun shining from behind one of the castle’s towers:

Replacing The Tower with The Sun is a drastic difference. If The Tower is one of the worst cards to get, XIX The Sun is one of the best. The Sun is a good omen in every capacity. It represents everything that these engravings have been working towards — spiritual growth, fulfillment, success, enlightenment, revelation of secrets, good fortune, etc. It fits right in with Lucifer’s status as the Light Bringer, and it is the solution. (The true engraving is also very reminiscent of The Star, which directly follows The Tower, and represents hope and the light at the end of the tunnel. I drew it recently, signifying the end of my emotional turmoil.) The jagged rocks at the bottom of the castle in the other two versions are missing here, and the castle is more accessible, with a visible path. The woman gestures directly to it.

The rest of the scene is much more shadowed in the true version, which fits right in with the caption: “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.” I, in my obsession with Shadow work, interpret this as confronting the dark parts of oneself and bringing them out into the light to become a whole person, and to grow spiritually. This goes back to the Labyrinth, needing to enter the dark Underworld or the realm of the subconscious in order to gain spiritual wisdom and finally achieve enlightenment. Everything in the engravings seems to point back to that — needing a period of introspection, reconciling of duality, obtaining safe passage through the various trials until you see The Sun, which is followed by Judgement (resurrection) and The World (fulfillment). The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows are like the seven gates of the Underworld that Inanna must pass through (and that eight-pointed star is a symbol of Inanna). Corso passes through the Ninth Gate, out of the Kingdom of Shadows and into the light.

Balkan’s interpretation is clearly off. So, let’s rearrange the engravings back into their intended order:

Silence is golden. Open that which is closed. The lost word keeps the secret. Fate is not the same for all. In vain. I am enriched by death. The disciple surpasses the master. Virtue lies defeated. Now I know that from darkness comes Light.

If you, who seek after secrets, wish to unlock the gates to wisdom and enlightenment, be wary of potential dangers and missing pieces. You can either suffer and die, or move towards your goal. You will either find a way out of the Labyrinth or find that your path is blocked. Do not pursue material gains, and miss the shadow of Death hanging over you. Face Death, and you will be enriched by it, gaining spiritual insight that will allow you to surpass your superiors and become God’s equal. After a final challenge, test of virtue or twist of fortune, you will emerge from the darkness and into the light.

Am I reading way too deep into a spooky movie? Maybe, but come on! How could I resist? Do any of you have interpretations of your own?

Sources:

https://slapphappe.wordpress.com/2009/03/22/symbolism-in-the-ninth-gate/#%3A~%3Atext%3DThe%20fire%20at%20the%20Ninth%2Cof%20the%20Kingdom%20of%20Shadows.

https://davidjrodger.wordpress.com/2011/08/24/the-ninth-gate-occult-and-tarot-like-symbolism-in-the-engravings-by-aristide-torchia-and-lucifer-plus-wider-meanings-of-the-movie/

[the-sunshine-dims]

amnesia rewrite! (chapter 4)

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 |

original fic

words: 2043

ao3

contents and warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, amnesia, kid!janus, Janus finally gets a hug himself, fluff,

____

Roman couldn’t help but exhale a breath as he finished up explaining the situation to Remus and Virgil, “Any questions?” 

To his relief, no one said anything, Virgil just shrugging at the question. He counted that as a small victory, especially since he was awful at explaining the answers to most questions, actually, why did he keep getting posted at the task of telling people when he was so bad at it? both Patton and Logan would be better at it than him, he was sure of it.

His train of thought came to a halt when Remus spoke up abruptly, his voice both more steady and more serious than Roman’s ever heard it “if that’s the situation then I think I need to stay away from him if J-J started sobbing when he found out the old king-y dude was all-'' he made a slicing of his neck motion along with the noise to go with it -“then I can’t imagine what his reaction would be if my thoughts voiced themselves like they usually do, while around him. So unless he actually asks for me,  which I don’t think’ll happen, I’ll just hang out in the dark side, ooh! and I can experiment with the stuff that got banned for melting the floors! I wonder what would happen if I put it in cupcakes-“ he giggled maniacally to himself at the realization no one would be there to supervise him.

Roman cut him off, “I think for the most part your right, I don’t know how much he can handle right now, and we don’t want to overwhelm him, so yeah okay, Though I’ll make sure they’ll be someone to check on you so your not completely to your own devices because I imagine Janus wouldn’t want his room smelling like chemicals and.. whatever else you use for your... art projects.” He told him, ignoring the last bit of what Remus said. Honestly Roman was kind of proud of his brother, he was a lot more caring and considerate than he let on.

he gave him a small smile before quietly going “I’m glad Janus has you as a friend, you care about him.”

Remus rolled his eyes like a petulant teenager, it wasn’t like he was doing something super amazing for Janus Afterall, he was just being a generally decent person, he knew his presence might hurt Janus currently so he wasn’t actively going to be around him for a minute and sure yeah he cared about him but he cared for the sentiment slime goop in his room too so it wasn’t that big a deal.

As Roman and Remus continued their conversation Virgil slipped out of the room silently, unnoticed. not offering a reason for leaving.

____

Janus walked down the corridor, fingers brushing against the walls, feeling the textures, every now and then the paint changed into a different color, he would guess it was Morality and Roman’s doing since it often went from soft light blues to vibrant reds, making only small breaks to show swirly designs in purples and dark blues. he liked to feel how the different paint changed the texture, even ever so slightly, it was kinda cool to him, and it was something to do while Roman and the others were busy-

Ow

he reeled back immediately as soon as he felt his face slam into someone, luckily it didn't hurt much as the crash was cushioned with soft fabric, regardless though embarrassment still curled up and made itself at home in the pit of his stomach as the realization of he ran into someone finally dawned on him.

After the initial shock subsided, he just started apologizing profusely “I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry!! I didn’t mean to run into you! Are you- are you okay?” He asked as he finally looked up to see who the side he ran into was,

Their face was pale and freckle-clad and.. he knew him!

He gasped excitedly as he began giddily clapping his hands “wait! Hi!! Anxiety I remember you!” He grinned, ignoring how anxiety still hadn’t spoken up, he used to be very quiet so maybe he’s just still like that, either way, he continued “actually Wait- I remember you with a different jacket.. but! I like this one. It's cool!! I like the purple patches!- oh!! Also, guess what! morality and Logic have names! Isn’t that cool?” 

Virgil shrugged and Janus took that as an invitation to continue. 

“Do you have a name too? I bet if you do it’s cool! Like Ummm… uh- what’s a cool name?” He pondered aloud, not able to think of anything besides names like thor-Bonecrusher or other stuff of that variety.

Anxiety once again shrugged and Janus accepted that well enough; maybe anxiety just didn’t have a name, so Janus didn’t push, but he did continue chattering on happily enough. 

At some point, Virgil started to continue walking, if slowly, down the hallway, to where he was trying to go originally, Janus immediately following him like an excited golden retriever puppy as he talked about.. hell knows what, Virgil couldn’t keep track. But regardless of that, honestly, Virgil didn’t think he minded Janus’s presence as much as he thought he would, he was fully willing to just avoid him when He left the conversation with Roman and Remus, not because he would accidentally harm Janus like Remus- well he might Virgil.. tended to be way to blunt but sometimes with things that annoy him, and earlier he was pretty certain Janus would only annoy him, hell, earlier all he wanted to do was avoid Janus because he knew he was still Janus and quite honestly he didn’t want to deal with Janus.

Though honestly Janus himself, while kind of annoying and overdramatic, wasn’t.. awful, like Virgil pretended he was, he inwardly sighed before just ignoring that specific train of thought, something he was actually pretty accustomed and successful at doing.  

As he got around to tuning back into what Janus was doing all he heard silence, which given any other time he may have been happy for But this silence is almost.. somber? He looked over quickly and found Janus looking at the floor as he walked, though much slower than before, hell now he was actually walking a distance behind Virgil.

He was already looking at Janus but he could only double-take as he heard a small voice go “I’m sorry…” it trailing off after a minute before continuing, obviously unsure of what it had done wrong but assuming it’d done something “I- I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry! I don’t wanna be mean I promise! If you just tell me what I did I won’t do it again I promise! I’ll be nice! I- ‘m sorry.. ’m sorry..” his voice cracked and got smaller as he wrung his hands nervously.

And Virgil could only quietly go “shit I messed up.” because he could recognize the signs as much as anyone that Janus was halfway to spiraling, and honestly, Virgil couldn’t blame him after all they were walking a very long 15 minutes because somehow the hallway went on forever, and Virgil doesn’t know 90% of what Janus said because he just stopped listening and on top of that he hadn’t even spoken a word to the kid-  and that was weird to think of him as a kid, but he was, he was an impressionable, anxious kid who desperately wanted other people to like him, and that on top of anything meant he probably thought Virgil was just ignoring him for something he didn’t even remember doing.

And he could only panic quickly as Janus’s eyes remained dead set on the floor, and he didn’t know if Janus was trying to disappear into it or if it was him trying to hide the fact his eyes were starting to get glossy with unshed tears because he wholeheartedly thought Virgil hated him- and oh fuck he really did fuck up. 

He tried to think of what Patton did to comfort him and in an act of pure panic brain, he scooped him up in a secure hug and hoped that would help. 

The result was Janus going almost limp before starting to dry hiccup as he tried to force the tears away after a moment he just confusedly went “but- but you didn’t wanna talk to me And you were ignoring me and you looked really annoyed and-“ he started wiggling from Virgil’s hold “no- wait don’t worry you don’t have to be nice to me if you don’t like me- I promise you don’t have to!” He rushed in telling him, trying to scramble so he wasn’t leaning on Virgil and Jesus this was almost as bad as when they all went to Virgil’s room with how anxious Janus was, he could practically feel the anxiety radiating off.

And he realized he really did have to actually talk to Janus, he wasn’t gonna get less anxious just by getting a hug, Virgil wasn’t Patton he didn’t have that magical ability, so he loosened his hold on Janus just enough to get Janus to stop trying to accidentally on purpose fall onto the floor before just going “I don’t dislike you,” and just those words alone made Janus go completely still, so Virgil continued “and I didn’t mean to Ignore you I just got lost in thought, though that’s definitely not an excuse, because even if I didn’t mean to I did, but the important part is i- I like you,” he told him, not confidently, because while he knew he would be lying if he said he disliked him he didn’t have enough time to sort through his emotions to confidently say he liked him.

But regardless of how uncertain Virgil sounded, Janus still looked up at him with eyes so filled with hesitance but also soft gentle hope as he shakily went “promise? No lies?”

Virgil offered a small smile, “promise, no lies.”  He repeated and Janus barreled into him in a hug, 

And As Virgil wrapped his arms around the shortest side for the second time in five minutes which has got to be some kind of record- he realized hey he was a lot better at this whole comforting thing than he thought he would be, which wasn’t really saying a lot but hey. 

After a while of just standing there, the awkwardness and strain of standing still in a random hallway motivated Janus to unwrap his arms from around Virgil and retrieve his face from his being buried in Virgil’s chest. 

And that only made it more awkward because now they were both just standing in the hallway literally just staring at each other.

So Janus, deciding he hated when stuff was awkward just went “do you know anything fun to do? I’m bored and morality and Logic and Roman are all busy.”

Virgil visibly thought to himself about options before going “are you in a movie mood or music mood? Or if you’re in none of them we might just have to kidnap Roman and see if he has ideas.”

Janus hummed before just happily going “I like music!” practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Virgil smiled before he got an idea, “do you like my chemical romance?” He asked and Janus seemed confused at what that was but eventually decided if Virgil liked it then Janus will like it too, so Janus just nodded in reply and just Virgil grinned.

——

Later Logan had to ask them to quiet down because he needed to work and couldn’t focus and he was almost certain that they were gonna damage their eardrums since he could hear the loud shouts of the lyrics coming from the speakers while in the kitchen, though, even if he failed at getting them to turn it down he was glad they were getting along, Janus was practically bouncing with how gleeful he was, even Virgil had a small smile on his face, so logan supposed even if later they had headaches from the blasting music as long as they were still happy it would be okay in the long run.

[babysizedfics]

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 8: Sink and Float

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary: Roman is anxious, Virgil has some compelling things to say, Logan deduces Virgil’s true regression age, Patton gets emotional, and we say good-bye.

Chapter word count: 11,750

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Content warning: Light angst, but cuteness galore to make up for it.

oOo

‘All right, little prince. What should I write here?’

‘His coolness rating,’ Roman replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His tongue stuck out slightly as he concentrated on his drawing; a picture of Kanga on the top half of a small piece of paper. Underneath the character were five rectangles, all coloured to varying levels of completion.

‘Of course,’ Patton said, nodding solemnly as he wrote “coolness” underneath the fifth rectangle on his own piece of paper. ‘And I’m guessing Tigger’s coolness rating is -’

‘Ten.’

‘Ten. Obviously,’ Patton giggled. He picked up the red crayon from the dining room table and coloured the final rectangle to completion. Just like the four rectangles above it. They signified Tigger’s bounciness, funniness, orangeness, and Roman’s seal of approval ratings, all maxed out. ‘I’m starting to think this card might be rigged.’

‘Nu-uh!’ Roman cried, finally looking up from his drawing with a pout. ‘Not rigged if it’s true. Tigger is the funniest, bounciest, orangest, coolest character, and he’s my favourite. He just has to win all of the rounds!’

Despite the frankly questionable logic, Patton was simply glad that Roman was back to his cheeky self.

While they baked, Roman had been strangely well-behaved. The way he had obediently mixed the batter, rolled the dough, and shaped the cookies without so much as a whinge was highly unusual. Patton was glad he didn’t have to tell the boy off for anything, of course, but there was nothing relieving in seeing Roman stand patiently at the side of the room while Patton washed up. There was no singing, no dancing, no bouncing, not so much as a peep from the little prince. It just wasn’t right.

Roman was boisterous, whether he was little or not; he was excitable and hyperactive and loud. Usually, he would have baulked at the mere suggestion of standing in silence awaiting instructions. Though that was precisely what he had done in the kitchen by his own volition, staring at his feet in quite a pensive manner.

By the time he had set the gingerbread haycorns and hunnypots on the counter to cool down, Patton had made the decision to extend their father-son bonding time. He knew Roman’s strange mood would persist if Patton didn’t get to the bottom of it.

‘Where are you going, sweetheart?’ Patton had asked when Roman had started walking towards the living room once Patton had finished the dishes.

‘Back with Vee and Mom,’ Roman had replied. ‘We can’t decorate them yet.’

‘It’s still father-son bonding time though! Why don’t we find something fun to do while we wait?’

He wasn’t quite as bouncy as Patton had hoped he would be, but Roman at least smiled at the suggestion.

Now, after almost an hour of crafting Pooh Cards (all design credit owing to Roman, of course), the creative side had finally been coaxed out of his sombre, contemplative mood. Patton himself had even perked up from the reassurance that he still knew what was best for his little prince.

‘What if another player that isn’t you gets Tigger’s card?’ Patton asked, neatening the edges of the coloured rectangle. He was careful not to budge Roman with his elbow as did so. ‘Won’t you be sad to lose?’

The scritch of Roman’s crayon paused for a moment, then continued. ‘It will be a worthy loss.’

What a funny little boy, Patton thought with a chuckle. Having finished with Tigger’s statistics, he put the crayon back in Roman’s Lion King pencil case. ‘Okay, last one!’ He slid the card across the table to Roman’s spot. ‘Do you need your dad’s help to draw Tigger?’ Patton asked. (Not so much because he was expecting a positive response, but because he knew the question reinforced both of their respective headspaces.)

‘I got it!’ An orange crayon was snatched from the table.

Patton sat back and watched as Roman drew his favourite character with a bright smile. It was impossible not to mirror it. ‘Once you’ve finished drawing Tigger we can decorate our cookies!’

‘Dad,’ Roman whined without looking up from his drawing, ‘they’re not cookies. They’re haycorns and hunnypots.’

‘Right, haycorns and hunnypots,’ Patton quickly corrected himself. ‘I keep making that mistake, don’t I?’

There was no response from Roman, who was clearly concentrating on getting Tigger’s tail just so.

‘Cutie pie,’ Patton couldn’t help but coo. When he pinched Roman’s cheek the younger side laughed so sincerely that Paton was hit by a wave of equal parts joy and guilt.

Joy because Roman was happy and so utterly adorable. Guilt because Patton clearly didn’t spend enough time with his little prince if this was such a rare sound to him.

‘I’ll get the icing ready,’ Patton whispered, leaving the room quickly.

By the time he had moved the cookies and the icing bowls into the dining room, Roman’s drawing was complete. Patton praised him heartily for his work (to which Roman blushed and giggled) as he arranged their workspace with the three different bowls of glace icing - yellow, pink, and mint green - and the cookies, plus a tube of white writing icing for the hunnypot labels.

Excited to be in charge of yet another creative project, Roman instantly took on a leading role. ‘Dad, you’ve gotta do the writing on the hunnypots and fen - and f-th-then I’m gonna do all the pretty colours!’

‘Right-o, kiddo!’ Patton saluted him, then got right to work. ‘You always have such wonderful ideas, don’t you, little prince?’ The lid to the writing icing tube put up a slight resistance as Patton unscrewed it.

‘Mhm… I’m clever,’ Roman mumbled slowly, concentrating as he spread some green icing onto one of the haycorn cookies.

‘Just like your mom. I’m sure him and Vee agree too.’

‘Vee thinks I’m clever?’ Roman asked, his voice a pitch higher from excitement.

‘Of course, sweetie. He looks up to you a lot.’ The tail of the “Y” that Patton piped accidentally curled off of the hunnypot in his hand. Patton placed the cookie back on the cooling rack and licked the sugary blob off from his fingertip. ‘You two are such lovely brothers - you’re practically inseparable.’

There was a gentle snap. Both Patton and Roman looked down to see that the haycorn in Roman’s hands had snapped in half.

‘Oh…’ Roman breathed as he looked down at the broken cookie. The pout on his face was so intense that Patton was almost worried he would start crying.

‘No, it’s okay. Here,’ Patton gently took the gingerbread pieces from his fingers. ‘Your dad can work his magic and glue it back together with icing. You just keep making them look pretty, sweetheart.’

They resumed decorating in silence, with something indescribable hanging heavily in the air between them. Patton kept quiet, allowing Roman space to speak if he wanted to say anything. Then, after a couple of minutes:

‘Dad?’

It sounded shy, so instead of looking at Roman and possibly making him more nervous, Patton’s eyes remained on the haycorn halves that he held together. White icing oozed from the crack as he waited for it to set. ‘Yes, my bright ray of sunshine?’

The nickname pulled a little giggle from Roman, brightening the atmosphere infinitely. He sounded a bit more confident when he asked, ‘Is, um… is Vee wearing a diaper?’

Patton’s gaze snapped onto Roman’s face in faint shock.

‘There was a weird sound when Mom moved him earlier,’ Roman explained. ‘And you said he feels littler ‘cause you tried something new.’

There was no variation of upset or amusement on Roman’s face, so Patton was not concerned when he confirmed, ‘Yes, he is wearing a diaper, you’re right.’ Though he still felt it important to add, ‘Does that make you feel okay?’

Roman quickly nodded, clearly desperate to show that he was not in opposition. ‘No, it’s fine. W-wait, I mean yeah! Yeah, it’s okay.’ His eyes fell down to the cookie in his hands as he continued decorating. ‘It makes sense. Babies need diapers, right?’

‘Right.’

The way Roman gazed at his cookie reminded Patton of how he had appeared in the kitchen; contemplative. It was clear that Roman had more to say, going by the way his toes tapped at the foot of Patton’s chair rapidly. Patton waited.

‘Okay, wait, so,’ Roman eventually said, sounding as if he were a student troubling himself over a difficult math problem and Patton was the teacher who could shed some light on its solution. ‘Virgil really can’t go to the toilet?’

Patton readjusted himself to lean his elbows on the table, settling in to patiently help Roman through his confusion. ‘Not when he’s regressed, no.’ The cookie halves wobbled a little in his hold.

‘And can he really not speak properly?’

This time Patton had to take a moment to think over his answer. He hadn’t actually considered questioning whether Virgil’s hindered speech was genuine. Now that he thought about it, Virgil did appear to try hard when he spoke while regressed. Although the babbles were quiet and seemed to meld into each other, they were notably forced. As if he was putting a lot of effort into getting them out. And yet they were only ever half-coherent at the best of times.

‘No,’ Patton said, smiling to himself at the realisation. ‘I don’t think he can.’ The reminder that Virgil’s regression was all-encompassing sent a rush of excitement racing through Patton’s veins. He truly was responsible for an incredibly vulnerable baby. While that thought might have been intimidating to some, Patton was filled with pure comfort at the mere thought. It was like he was finally fulfilling his purpose. It was like coming home.

‘So… Vee is really, actually a baby.’ Roman’s eyes were wide and his voice laced with astonishment.

‘Yes,’ Patton confirmed with a giggle. It sounded like this was a new revelation to Roman. ‘Your baby brother is really, actually a baby.’

Roman’s brow pulled into a light frown as his spoon swiped over his cookie one last time before dropping into the icing bowl with a clatter.

It was clear Roman wanted to ponder over the answer, for whatever reason, so Patton turned his attention to testing the cookie in his hands. At the slightest pressure, the two halves broke free from each other, and he tutted. Replenishing the icing more liberally this time, he held the jagged edges together firmly again.

‘I like that,’ Roman muttered.

‘What’s that, sweetie?’

‘I like having a baby brother.’ Patton saw Roman nodding as if assuring himself of his decision. ‘I don’t want Vee to be like me, I like that we’re different.’

The last part seemingly came from nowhere, and the whole discussion seemed oddly disjointed, though Patton didn’t show his confusion. Instead, he opted for his standard smile of loving support, which would always be appropriate in any situation as far as Patton was concerned.

‘Well, I’m glad you like it!’ His tone bounced cheerfully. ‘And I know that Vee really loves having a big brother.’

‘Hm,’ Roman hummed and picked up a hunnypot cookie to decorate. Something in the slow movements of his fingers as he iced the treat felt off.

Patton nudged him gently, jostling his elbow. A sympathetic smile wormed its way onto his lips when he saw distant eyes snap onto him. Roman’s throat rolled with a gulp.

‘What’s the matter, little prince?‘ Patton murmured sweetly. It never took Roman long to blurt any troubling thoughts that hurtled through his mind when Patton asked about them with such softness.

Right on cue, Roman sighed explosively. Then he began: ‘Now that I’m part of the family -’

(Patton’s heart twisted. Now that Roman was part of the family. As if he hadn’t been before.)

‘- I’m kind of…’ Roman paused, nibbling his lip. His eyes fell to the table as he whispered, ‘I’m scared.’

Patton instantly dropped his cookie to the table. He didn’t care that it split apart once more, leaving a thin line of white, sugary goop on the wooden surface - his only priority at that moment was Roman. His little prince always placed so much importance on being fiercely brave and strong. Patton knew this must have been an exceptional circumstance for him to actually admit to feeling afraid.

‘What are you scared of, honey?’ he asked, his tone as steady and firm as the arm he placed around Roman’s shoulders. It was of utmost importance that Roman saw him as a supportive, strong father figure during that moment of rare vulnerability. It had to be known that Patton would protect him from anything that was causing him distress.

‘I’m scared it’ll end.’ Thankfully, Roman clearly found Patton supportive enough to lean against him as he spoke. ‘You know, us being a family.’

It was difficult to contain the urge to shrug off the mere idea. Though Patton knew better than to dismiss his loved ones’ worries, no matter how seemingly unlikely. ‘Why do you think it will end?’ he asked instead.

A sharp shrug jostled both of their bodies. ‘I don’t know… What if Vee stops regressing?’

‘I don’t think that will happen,’ Patton said gently as he swayed them to and fro. The weight against his side got heavier as Roman leaned into his one-armed embrace. ‘Your mom thinks the regression is written right into Virgil’s brain since he’s done it for so many years. It’s a part of him.’

‘Okay…’ Roman sounded uncertain still, reaching forward to fidget with the hem of Patton’s cardigan. ‘What if me and him start arguing all the time again?’

Taking the long fingers in his own, Patton whispered, ‘You won’t,’ with absolute confidence. ‘I don’t think you could go back to how you used to be after everything you boys have shared with each other.’

When Patton pressed a soft kiss to Roman’s cheek, he honestly expected to feel the tension leave Roman’s body.

Instead, the grip around Patton’s fingers tightened painfully. ‘What if he says he doesn’t wanna be brothers anymore?’ Roman’s words were frantic, panicked. ‘I don’t wanna lose him, he’s the best brother I…’

Silence reigned.

Patton’s gaze sunk to the tabletop where the two halves of the haycorn cookie lay torn apart, joined only by a thin trail of icing.

‘I just don’t want us to be split up,’ Roman whispered brokenly.

Memories flooded Patton’s mind. Of two boisterous children, identical twins, perpetually by each other’s sides despite their constant arguing. Of fearsome fights; scratching and biting and screaming. And of a thought, just a thought, that had passed through Patton’s mind one sunny day like an innocent floating cloud. The thought that one of the twins had potential and that the other was… wrong.

Memories of the following day and only seeing one child come out from their room. Of little snippets of conversation between Janus and Logan. Of realising that the other twin had not ceased to exist, but had been moved to the lower parts of the mind. (No one understood how. It was the only time a side had been moved between the conscious and the subconscious.) (That would change over a decade later when Virgil timidly knocked on their door.)

Memories of the “good” twin - Roman - seeming unaffected by the loss of his brother. Happier, even, that his ideas had no contenders. That there was no longer a double of him suggesting all manner of disturbing things that Patton simply could not stand to hear.

Warm fingers tightened further around his.

As Patton’s awareness was reeled against that cold, crashing wave of regret, his mind spluttered. Unaffected? Patton realised now the ridiculousness of the mere notion that Roman would have been unchanged by the split. By the fleeting thought from Patton - he himself still being a child at the time - that had acted as the catalyst for such an irrevocable shift in the twins’ lives. In everyone’s lives.

‘Dad?’ Roman’s gentle voice broke the surface of Patton’s turbulent reverie.

With a steadying breath, Patton forced himself back to the present and clasped both hands around Roman’s. He prayed that the tightness of his grip would dispel the trembling of his fingers.

‘You and Virgil love each other very much,’ he said, ‘and you’ve both become a lot better at showing it; when you’re little and when you’re big. Even if you did argue, you could never stop being brothers. Not now. I promise, nothing will -’ Patton’s voice was suddenly strangled by an involuntary gulp. He felt his cheeks burn as he swallowed past the knot of nerves in his throat. ‘Nothing will tear you apart,’ he finished quietly.

‘What if you and Logan break up?’

It was easy to forget how different Roman’s voice was when he was little. Him being such a master at adapting his voice for different roles, the shift in tone was subtle, though effective. The slightest bit higher in pitch, though not unnaturally so. Much bouncier in intonation, but not inappropriately so. Changed, but not overexaggerated. (Perhaps Roman was accustomed to minimising the impact of changes, Patton realised.)

Though now it was clear. This question was deeper, louder, bigger than the previous ones. It was a question from adult Roman.

Patton sighed and met Roman’s eyes equally. At that moment he was no longer a father speaking to his son, but rather a friend reassuring a friend.

‘If, for whatever reason, Logan and I stop dating…’ Patton paused. That was the first time he had verbally acknowledged that they were an item. It truly felt amazing to admit to someone besides Logan himself. Though it was a melancholy experience, to be announcing their relationship while simultaneously theorising its demise. ‘If that ever happens then we’ll still be very good friends. And we will all still be a family, I promise.’

The reluctance faded from Roman’s expression and he wriggled his hand free from Patton’s hold. A finger raised between their faces. ‘Pinky promise?’ Roman asked in childlike hopefulness.

Patton curled his little finger around Roman’s. ‘Pinky promise,’ he said earnestly.

Taking advantage of the fact that Roman’s hand was apprehended - and desperate to distract from the loaded atmosphere - Patton swiped some icing onto Roman’s face.

‘Hey!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Patton asked in mock-confusion.

Roman glared at him past a smile. ‘There’s icing on my cheek!’

‘Oh, let me get that for you!’ Patton pressed a long, wet kiss to Roman’s cheek, the icing spreading between his lips.

‘Da-ha-d,’ Roman giggled, trying to squirm away.

With a loud smack of his lips, Patton pulled away laughing. As he licked his lips clean, he took a moment to appreciate the pure joy on Roman’s face. ‘I love you, little prince. And I love Virgil and I love Logan. And I know for a fact that you all love each other too. That will never, ever end. No matter what.’

There was a loud screech of chair legs against the floorboards then Roman was on his feet, hunching over to hold Patton in a deadly-tight hug. Patton returned it with a strained wheeze.

‘I don’t want it to end,’ Roman mumbled into his shoulder. ‘I don’t want anything to change.’

That was a loaded statement if Patton had ever heard one. The sentiment behind it was clear and admirable, of course. Like Roman, Patton too loved how their family was faring and wouldn’t change it for the world. Though he was hit by the reality of just how much had changed in the past few weeks, the past few days, even the past few hours!

Regardless, he knew what Roman meant, and he wasn’t one to magnify the ambiguity of language choices. That was Logan’s job.

So - despite his uncertainty in the generalisation of the statement - Patton held Roman closer and said, ‘Nothing will change, sweetheart.’

oOo

As much as he had enjoyed his and Roman’s Father-Son bonding time (which they agreed would become a weekly ritual from then on), Patton was more than eager to return to the living room and be the happy pappy again.  It was hard to shake the melancholy from the earlier conversation, after all.

Once the hunnypots and haycorns were decorated and left to set in the kitchen, the two traipsed back down the hallway. Patton stopped just short of opening the living room door when he heard a muffled, unintelligible conversation coming from the other side of it.

He looked behind him to Roman, who mirrored his confusion. The distant voices sounded as if they were holding a full-fledged discussion. Could Virgil have been grown-up again?

Patton pushed the door open with a deep disappointment that he didn’t quite want to acknowledge. Though on poking his head into the room, it didn’t take long to see that Virgil was still regressed and in Logan’s lap. He sighed in relief.

‘Mamanaba,’ Virgil muttered, rattling Meeko with fervour. The inflection of his voice was similar to that of normal speech, even if the actual content was gibberish and his tone was still decidedly babyish.

Logan’s hands readjusted on Virgil to hold him steady as the boy kept bouncing in his lap. ‘My goodness, I never considered such a thing! Though I don’t believe that is quantifiable.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Roman laughed from behind Patton, then stepped around him in the direction of the couch.

There was nothing but pure paternal instinct that made Patton hurriedly reach out and pull Roman backwards against his chest and into his arms. He just could not bear to see the others being so sweet while his own arms were empty of one of his babies. Thankfully, Roman just settled against him and didn’t comment on it.

‘This is an academic debate, little prince,’ Logan explained very seriously, offering one of his false-stern looks. His lips twitched. ‘No interruptions, please.’

‘W-waba, mamama,’ Virgil babbled, his voice now squeaky with excitement.

Logan gasped loudly and looked at Virgil in amazement, to which the regressor giggled. ‘What a fascinating hypothesis! But have you considered the subjectivity of such a theory?’

There was a moment of quiet while Virgil looked over at the doorway to Patton and Roman. It seemed he had only just noticed their appearance. Meeko was raised to hide Virgil’s face as he collapsed against Logan’s chest. ‘Baba,’ Virgil whined, muffled by the toy at his chin.

A loud chuckle rang out. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about,’ Logan said, cupping the back of Virgil’s head protectively.

‘Mom, can you speak baby?’ Roman asked, sounding thoroughly impressed. As he spoke, he launched himself away from Patton’s chest and skipped over to stand in front of the couch.

‘It certainly sounds like it,’ Patton murmured, watching Roman go. The sudden emptiness in his arms couldn’t hold a candle to the emptiness in his chest. Why was he so sensitive all of a sudden? Why did his chest physically ache when he wasn’t holding his boys?

Then his thoughts came to a crashing stop. No. This wasn’t about him and what he wanted. Roman obviously didn’t want a hug so he was perfectly within his right to wriggle out of it. Patton had been keeping him from his brother, after all. The memories of his and Roman’s previous conversation rose in tides, threatening to spill over. Patton had been keeping Roman from his brother again.

‘What did you two get up to, little prince?’ Logan asked. ‘Did you have fun with your dad?’

As Roman launched into an impassioned regaling of the creation of Pooh Cards and his expert cookie decorating skills, Patton floated over to the couch - specifically towards the baby in Logan’s lap. His knuckle ghosted over Virgil’s smooth cheek and elicited a small coo from him. The contact and the sweet sound filled Patton with a sudden motivation that he hadn’t realised he had been lacking.

Then Virgil pulled himself to sit up from Logan’s chest and shook his rattle right by Patton’s ear with a bright smile that threatened to dislodge his pacifier. ‘Babababa.’

‘What a fun sound!’ Patton gushed, only faintly acknowledging that Roman’s monologue had just drawn to a close. ‘I see someone’s woken up a bit since we left.’

‘He is rather enraptured by the rattling sound,’ Logan said, shuffling Virgil in his lap so that he could more directly face the others. (It was true, the way Virgil stared at his toy looked as if we were both confused and amazed by the sounds coming from it; almost spellbound.) ‘I think it’s safe to say that it is a “good stim”.’ He directed his gaze to Roman and said, ‘Virgil appreciates his present from you Roman, even if he is not able to tell you as much at the moment. Thank you for making your little brother happy.’

Roman flopped down to sit on the couch a couple of feet away from Logan with pink cheeks. ‘S’okay,’ he muttered with a nonchalant shrug that was betrayed by his wide smile.

Quite unexpectedly, Virgil whined loudly and dropped Meeko to the couch. Then he wriggled and reached his arms out towards his brother so insistently that he slid right off of Logan’s lap.

‘Vee!’ Logan yelped.

Patton acted lightning fast, dropping to his knees and catching Vee in one fell swoop. A fraction of a second later and Virgil would have hit the ground.

‘Woah, there we go.’ Patton hoisted Virgil onto his hip and stood upright again, keeping a firm arm under Virgil’s diaper to support him. ‘Are you okay, angel?’ he asked breathlessly, residual adrenaline surging through his veins.

The shock didn’t fade from Virgil’s expression for several seconds. Then, at last, his eyes swam with thick tears and he broke into a constant stream of whimpers.

‘Aww, my little baby,’ Patton cooed. He started bouncing him lightly as parents often did with wailing infants. ‘You’re all right, sweetie. Shh-shh-shh.’ Virgil’s whimpers quickly quieted at the bouncing so Patton kept it up, warm adoration swelling in his chest at just how alike a real baby Virgil was.

With a wet sniffle, Virgil buried his face against Patton’s shoulder.

‘That’s it,’ Patton murmured. ‘Papa has you, you’re safe.’ He felt a pinch at his side and looked down to see that Virgil was gripping his cardigan and tugging on the material harshly. Without looking away from his baby, Patton held his free hand out to the couch. ‘Can someone please pass me Meeko?’

A few seconds passed without any softness being pressed into his hands. Patton looked over to find Logan and Roman sat staring at him in stunned silence.

It felt as though he had unknowingly done something horribly wrong. Heat flooded his cheeks. ‘What’s wrong, what did I do?’ Was he being a bad Dad? Would they take his baby away? His grip on Virgil tightened.

‘N-nothing,’ Logan stammered.

A loud snort sounded from Roman. ‘Wow, Dad’s pretty strong, isn’t he, Mom?’

‘Oh,’ Patton breathed with a nervous chuckle, trying to hide how utterly relieved he was. The look of betrayal Logan was directing towards Roman inspired enough amusement for it to be passable. ‘You carried him earlier too, Lo.’

‘I know that,’ Logan defended, his cheeks dusting pink as he looked back at Patton. ‘Just… not with one arm.’

Patton’s eyes trailed down to realise that he was indeed bouncing Virgil easily with only one arm. 

Logan cleared his throat then muttered, ‘It is rather impressive.’

‘Well, I’m a dad,’ Patton giggled lightly. He would never have imagined Logan would be flustered by such a thing. ‘Dads need to be strong for Dad Stuff!’

‘Like catching Moms when they swoon.’

At Roman’s cheeky remark, Logan’s mouth dropped open. The creative side quickly descended into giggles.

Patton witnessed the shock on Logan’s face be wiped away by an evil grin. ‘Oh, I’ll give you something to laugh about.’ Then Roman was being tugged towards Logan’s chest, Logan’s fingers wriggling in his underarms.

‘W-wait! Wait!’ Roman’s legs kicked against the couch as he was dragged into Logan’s lap. ‘Mom, ple-he-he-ase!’ he pleaded through already hysterical laughter.

Patton giggled and shook his head. It wasn’t often Logan tickled their little prince, but when he did he was merciless. Roman’s begging would not help him.

Amongst the raucous laughter and tumbling on the couch, Patton managed to swipe Meeko from the cushion before Roman’s ankles thrust into it with a squeal.

‘Here you are, honey bunny,’ Patton said, worming the toy between his cardigan and Virgil’s fingers.

The weight on his shoulder lifted as Virgil looked up with a curious hum. On seeing that he had been reunited with his raccoon, his eyes sparkled with joy rather than tears. And, as expected, he rattled the toy for what must have been the hundredth time.

‘Why did you jump off of Mama’s lap, Vee?’ Patton asked, fully aware that Virgil might not have been old enough to even understand the question. It was worth a try at least.

The question seemed to break Virgil from the trance the rattle had him under and he started whining and wriggling violently.

‘Baby, baby, it’s okay,’ Patton tried to soothe him. It was only met with louder whines and harder kicks. ‘All right, down we go,’ he sang, doing his best to make the words bounce with joy. It was difficult considering the immense sinking sensation in his stomach as he carefully lowered Virgil to the floor.

‘Is everything all right?’

Patton looked up at Logan’s breathless question, pleasantly surprised to see Roman still in Logan’s lap, finally free of the tickle attack.

‘I just asked him why he jumped off your lap.’

At the reminder, Virgil thrust his arms out towards Roman again and pleaded, ‘Wo… Wo-Wo!’

‘I didn’t do anything!’ Roman’s shoulders raised defensively as he looked to Patton. ‘It wasn’t my fault he fell!’

‘We know that, little prince. It’s all right,’ Logan assured him, embracing him to his chest.

With a gentle smile, Patton realised that Virgil was not blaming Roman for the fall whatsoever. ‘Sweetheart, I think Vee just wants to play with you.’

Virgil’s arms stretched even further into the empty space between himself and the couch. ‘Pway!’

‘Oh, um,’ Roman hesitated, looking at the ground and running his fingers over Logan’s arms, which were fastened around his waist.

‘I would like to stretch my legs anyway,’ Logan said, carefully sliding Roman off of his lap.

There was a short moment of thick quiet. It was over in an instant as Logan quickly rose to his feet, announcing that he would fetch some more toys for them before promptly leaving the room.

Before long, Logan had returned with supplies and the caregivers had set up a baby-safe play area for the boys. A large fluffy blanket lay across half of the living room floor and more than two dozen soft toys sat around the edges of the blanket, cordoning off the area. Around the room, cushions and pillows padded the harsh corners of the coffee table, TV unit, and radiator to avoid any painful bumps.

Roman was as bubbly as ever, overspilling with exuberant playfulness as he finally had his little brother’s full attention.

‘And what doth the King Meeko have to say to this usurper?’ Roman cried regally, bouncing his stuffed dog Bumpkin in his hands to indicate that he was speaking.

Virgil giggled and bounced in place where he sat against the foot of the armchair, carefully propped up by two pillows. His laughter mixed with the rattles coming from Meeko as he shook him.

‘Vee, what do you want Bumpkin to say?’ Logan mumbled from where he sat beside Patton on the couch.

A happy hum rolled from Patton’s chest. It was rare that they got a chance to sit together while both boys were little, but Virgil had gotten surprisingly fussy when Logan tried to sit with him on the blanket. It seemed the excitement of being with Roman had chased away his languid energy and he wanted to sit alone with his brother while they played.

Despite Patton’s increasing panic at seeing his little baby sitting all on his own, not in his arms, Patton felt comforted by Logan’s closeness. It meant he could run his fingers idly over Logan’s thigh as Logan’s arm draped heavily across his shoulders. He took the rare moment of casual intimacy in stride. Usually, they had to sneak around while the boys were asleep to cuddle and kiss. Though since he had spoken so openly about their relationship with Roman in the dining room, and seeing as Virgil was either unbothered by or unaware of their displays of affection, they allowed themselves this intimate moment.

‘A-ababa,’ Virgil babbled, pointing to the soft toy in Roman’s hands.

Roman sucked in a pained breath through his teeth. ‘Oof. That’s brutal, Vee.’ It earned him a bright symphony of babyish giggles.

Over the next few minutes, Patton brought his cellphone out to take pictures of the littles. Then when Logan pointed out that he had taken more than twenty almost identical photographs, Patton rolled his eyes with a playful nudge to his partner. He would have easily taken a thousand pictures if it meant he could remember this day by the adorable scene in front of him, rather than the blunt, heavy regret hammering away within him. 

‘How old is Vee right now?’ Patton wondered aloud, partly because he was watching Virgil through his phone screen. Partly because he just needed Logan’s voice to drown out Roman’s sorrowful words from earlier that kept replaying in his head.

‘Going by his babbling and playfulness,’ Logan replied, ‘I would place him around eight or nine months.’

All of the breath wrung from Patton’s lungs as he snapped his gaze onto Logan. ‘Months?’

Not seeming to notice Patton’s shock, Logan continued watching the boys with a gentle smile and nodded.

‘That’s way younger than he usually is…’ Patton placed his phone down on the couch, feeling shaky all of a sudden.

‘I am not so certain.’ A thumb started circling softly over Patton’s knuckles as Logan explained in a low murmur, ‘At first he told us he regressed from two to five years old. Though I have been observing his behaviour over the past few weeks, and I believe he has been greatly mistaken in this estimation.’

The soft material of Logan’s slacks bunched between Patton’s fingers. ‘What, do you think he’s not that old?’ The new information bombarded him with the horrible thought that he hadn’t been doing his job as a father if he hadn’t even noticed how old Virgil was when he regressed.

Gaze fixed on their boys, lips fixed in an oblivious smile, Logan went on: ‘Nothing I have seen of his regression has suggested he is ever older than two and a half years - though even then, being that old is rare for him.’ He tilted his head in thought, which would have been adorable had Patton’s vision not been pulsating with his frantic heartbeat. ‘I wonder whether he misunderstands developmental stages, or whether it is simply a case of him being unaware of his own behaviour patterns.’

‘What ages does he actually regress to?’ Patton whispered. He stared intently at Logan, desperate for the answer that he had apparently been too incompetent to see for himself.

With utmost confidence, Logan said, ‘Three to twenty-four months.’

Hot tears sprang to Patton’s eyes. ‘Three months…’ he echoed under his breath. Practically a newborn. With a gulp, Patton’s watery eyes settled on Virgil. A newborn who had been alone for so many years.

His wet eyes being glued on Virgil’s steadily blurrier form, Patton was startled when he felt Logan’s arm pushing insistently at his shoulders. Within seconds Patton was on his feet and being swiftly ushered into the hallway. His heart lurched when the blue and purple blob fell out of sight as he was guided past the corner of the doorway and the tears finally fell to his cheeks.

‘Your dad and I are right outside if you need us. Keep playing with your little brother,’ Logan’s voice said, then the door was pulled mostly shut and Patton was surrounded by long, warm arms. ‘What’s wrong, Patton?’

It all happened so quickly that he had no hope of burying his emotions, so Patton didn’t speak. He just clung to Logan and sniffled into his shoulder, thinking about what he had learned. About Virgil being so young and consequently about everything he had ever had to deal with on his own. The loneliness, the accidents, the bullies.

Patton bit his tongue through a wave of overwhelming anger. Over the course of the next minute, he simply took in deep, shaky breaths, glad that Logan did nothing but tap out one-second intervals on his back to aid his breathing.

Then, just as he thought he had overcome the worst of it, a babyish giggle rang from behind the living room door.

A sob wrenched its way from Patton’s throat.

‘My love, please tell me what’s wrong,’ Logan pleaded, his voice gentle though pained.

‘Sorry,’ Patton choked, pulling his face back from Logan’s shoulder to scrub his sleeve over his eyes. When he opened them and caught the utter sincerity in Logan’s concerned expression, the tears started anew. What exactly had Patton done to deserve such a wonderful man?

Patton couldn’t bear to hold back his lament any longer, keeping quiet so as not to upset the boys in the next room. ‘He’s just so - he’s literally just a baby. He’s innocent and - and vulnerable and -’ his voice wobbled and broke off with a shuddered breath. As he recollected all Virgil had told them of the hate he received on his blog, that same boiling rage oozed through Patton’s entire being. It stung and made him tremble. Like poison. ‘I can’t believe those horrible people would bully him for it!’

At the hissed tone, Logan’s face crumpled with a wince. Patton was ready to vehemently apologise for himself - about to claim he had no idea where that came from, it wasn’t him at all - until Logan said, ‘I know. I am angry too.’

There was no way Patton could have predicted how comforting those four words were. They doused the fire in his chest and left him dumbstruck. The raging indignance that had been snapping and flaring within him all afternoon suddenly disappeared and all that was left was a smouldering, pathetic sorrow.

Patton slumped back into Logan’s arms in defeat.

‘He was on his own for so many years, Lo. It’s bad enough he couldn’t look after himself,’ Patton whispered and shook his head, Logan’s shirt rustling faintly with the movement, ‘but on top of that some strangers attacked him just for - for -’

‘For trying to feel safe,’ Logan finished, twining his fingers gently in Patton’s thick hair.

Delighted, squeaky laughter echoed from the living room.

‘Not everyone is accepting.’ The deep voice vibrated in Logan’s chest. Patton held onto him tighter. ‘It is an unfortunate reality in both Thomas’ world and ours, and I understand it is upsetting. As much as we would like to, we simply cannot protect our boys from every possible threat.’

The icy pang of dread in Patton’s gut was twice as toxic as the scalding anger from before. What was Patton’s whole purpose if not to look after his family?

‘Virgil was not completely helpless to it, though,’ Logan continued. ‘He disabled anonymous asks without being prompted to do so. That shows he had the foresight to prevent it from happening again. He was protecting himself.’

Gentle shivers radiated over Patton’s scalp as Logan’s fingernails combed through his hair. ‘That’s meant to be our job,’ he argued weakly, ‘and he didn’t even tell us about it.’

‘Not at first,’ Logan conceded. ‘Still, that does not mean he did not trust us.’ Then Logan pulled back from the hug, leaving Patton cold. ‘You know how reluctant he is to share things that he perceives as embarrassing. Your conversation with him yesterday proves as much,’ he said, turning and walking down the hallway.

‘Where are you going?’ Patton shrieked, his hands curling into tight fists by his sides.

Logan looked back in shock. Then he carefully reached out to pick up the tissue box that sat on the cabinet by the staircase. The movement was slow, and Logan watched Patton all the while as if he were a startled animal that had to be monitored.

Shame flooded Patton. ‘Oh. Sorry, just… not done cuddling you yet.’

A soft smile replaced Logan’s frown and he brought a couple of tissues back to Patton, holding him again and dabbing at his itchy eyes. ‘I didn’t realise you would be competing with a box of tissues for my attention,’ Logan chuckled.

Patton knew it was a joke, of course he did. He loved jokes and he loved that Logan was finally comfortable enough in himself to make them without fearing people's opinions of him. But suddenly the heat in his chest was reignited.

‘Why didn’t you just summon them?’ Patton asked flatly.

The tissue that Logan stroked over his cheekbone faltered.

‘You always say how important it is that we don’t challenge the mindscape,’ Patton went on, glad that this topic had distracted Logan enough from his sudden clinginess. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you summon since you realised the whole - what’s it called?’

‘Equivalent exchange,’ Logan supplied, blushing. It was he who realised that the programming he had set up for their mindscape to follow real world laws of physics glitched whenever the sides took advantage of their powers; summoning an object would make another of similar mass and/or sentimental worth disappear, and breaking the laws of physics would train the mindscape to disparage Logan’s carefully crafted code. For the sake of stability in their environment, they had long since all agreed to sacrifice the convenience of summoning unless in emergencies. Logan most of all, which is why Patton was so shocked when he saw he had summoned a baby book earlier. ‘I understand it was hypocritical of me to break my own rule. I apologise, it won’t be happening again.’

Patton nodded. He didn’t want Logan to think he was upset with him, though he was satisfied that he had redirected the conversation effectively. ‘What was so urgent about a baby book anyway?’

‘I could not think of anything to calm Vee down,’ Logan explained, pocketing the crumpled tissue as Patton’s face was perfectly dry by then. ‘Regretfully, I acted quite impulsively in response to his crying.’

‘Oh no, was the poor thing upset?’ Patton asked, all harsh emotion replaced by softness and concern for his little one.

With a soft sigh, Logan leaned forward to press a kiss to Patton’s forehead. ‘You know how his separation anxiety is,’ he murmured against his skin, lingering there.

Patton frowned at Logan’s chest. ‘He still has separation anxiety?’

‘Of course,’ Logan said, putting some distance between them to look down at him.

‘But,’ Patton blinked rapidly, ‘earlier he was okay with me leaving and he - he hid from me, I thought -’

‘Patton, it doesn’t disappear from one positive experience,’ Logan explained, his arms still wrapped around Patton’s shoulders. ‘It may have been dimmed momentarily though it is still very much present. I believe it may be a permanent fixture of his headspace, simply due to the ages he regresses to and his anxious nature.’

‘Oh… okay.’ It was hard to know what else to say. Earlier Patton had thought he was proud of Virgil for overcoming his separation anxiety. But hearing that Virgil would perhaps never get over it sent a wave of warm comfort over Patton. He wanted to smile, but the fluffy feeling was sullied by something. Something distant that he couldn’t identify. Something unpleasant.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ Logan asked softly, spoken as if it were a love confession.

Patton instinctively reached into his pocket, only to come out empty-handed. ‘Sorry, I must have left my phone in -’

A featherlight touch at his lips made Patton fall silent: Logan’s fingertips. He could feel Logan’s pulse thrumming through them.

‘It’s later,’ Logan whispered, his eyes swimming with utter adoration. Then the soft fingertips were replaced by softer lips and Patton fell into a dream.

They floated together for a while, suspended in the short space between their hearts. After a few gentle pecks and a quick swipe of tongues, Logan pulled away.

‘That was sweet,’ Patton whispered airily, letting his eyes flutter open. Then he saw that Logan was frowning deeply at him.

‘Patton…’ Logan licked his lips and grimaced a little. He started chuckling, ‘Just how much lemon did you put in your tea?’

It wrenched Patton from his dreamy state.

Guilt. The unpleasant feeling that was sullying his emotions was guilt. Guilt because how could he think himself supportive of his family if in the face of their developments his response had been extreme jealousy? So extreme that he had had to literally suck on a lemon to pull himself out of it.

As if that weren’t awful enough, Patton had actually felt happy when he learned Virgil would continue to be distressed by his separation anxiety.  He had failed his baby, just like he had failed his little prince by neglecting him and not recognising his insecurities. He had failed at being a dad; the one thing he thought he knew. Why was he even trying to be a caregiver when he kept accidentally hurting his family?

Roman called loudly from the living room, ‘Dad?’

A switch flipped in Patton’s brain. No, he wouldn’t give up. His boys needed their dad and that had to be him. No matter how many mistakes he made, how wrong he was, Patton would never let go of the only thing in the world he could do. He would never let go of his purpose. The one thing he lived for.

He was nothing if he couldn’t be Papa Patton.

He slipped right past Logan, not caring to check his reaction to Patton’s avoidance. With a huge smile, Patton bounced into the living room. ‘What’s up, my majestic little songbird?’

It was immediately clear why Roman had called.

Where Virgil had been sitting on the blanket before they left the room, giggling and rattling Meeko excitedly, both boys now sat. Roman’s arm was thrown over Virgil’s shoulders protectively, supporting the younger boy as he swayed and blinked slowly. His eyes were decidedly teary and he was tugging at his pacifier again.

‘Oh, my sweet little baby,’ Patton cooed, rushing over to them. The storm of guilt and jealousy cleared from his mind in an instant, leaving him a little light-headed. It was replaced by a muffled determination and affection that made everything seem softer around the edges.

Dropping to his knees, Patton pulled Virgil into a hug. There was a little whimper, and then his shoulder was immediately used as a hiding spot for Virgil’s face. ‘What happened, Roman?’ Patton asked, leaning back against the foot of the armchair. He rested his hand atop Virgil’s head and felt as though his heart had started beating for the first time in hours.

‘He just froze and went super quiet all of a sudden,’ Roman explained, letting go of his brother and collapsing back onto the blanket with a pout. ‘Then he didn’t wanna play anymore.’

‘It’s all right, Roman,’ Logan said, settling onto the floor beside Roman with a reassuring pat on his knee. ‘Virgil can play with you again another time.’ He began clearing the mess of various toys on the blanket, assembling them into an ordered line.

‘Are you upset, baby?’ Patton whispered, rocking Virgil slightly in his hold.

As was to be expected, there was no answer. Virgil only hid his face against Patton more fiercely.

‘Perhaps it was the separation anxiety.’

Patton nodded faintly at Logan’s suggestion, but internally he knew that wasn’t it. In the past, if Virgil was anxious about being separated from Patton he was much more vocal in his upset; sobbing and whining loudly. Plus he certainly hadn’t heard Virgil calling out for him before Roman beckoned him in, so Patton remained doubtful that that was the issue.

Another difference became obvious as Virgil hugged Patton tighter, forcing Patton to hunch down a little to accommodate it. Where Virgil would always scramble into Patton’s lap at being reunited with him, this time he had remained on the floor with his legs pulled tightly to his chest. Patton experimentally nudged Virgil’s knees to convince him to lower them but was met with a whine and Virgil’s whole body tensed up.

As Patton shushed his baby and swayed him back and forth, he just knew. There was no solid thought process he could attribute to his realisation. He thought it must have been his paternal instincts (which sent a rush of pride through him). Though regardless of how he knew it, Patton was quite certain that Virgil’s diaper was wet.

Then Logan spoke. ‘I think I would like to -’

‘I’m handling it,’ Patton assured firmly without looking up from his baby.

There was a short while of silence before Logan spoke again. ‘I was going to say I would like to play Pooh Cards with Roman.’

Shame flooded Patton’s mind. He chased it away by rubbing soothing circles on Virgil’s back.

‘Oh yeah!’ Roman cried, jumping up from the blanket so fast Patton was surprised he didn’t fall face-first to the floor with the momentum of it. As he bounced in place he grabbed and tugged on Logan’s hands. ‘Mom, Mom, Mom, quick, come see!’

There was a slight reluctance as Logan raised to his feet. ‘I said I would play with you Roman. Please do not pull me.’

Patton rolled his eyes. Roman was merely excited, and he knew his own strength. It wasn’t like it hurt Logan. There was no reason for him to be so strict with their little prince.

‘Are you sure you two will be all right?’ Logan asked, and his voice actually wobbled.

Logan - who always kept a steady, calm voice even in moments of distress - was presumably so worried about leaving Virgil with Patton that his voice had actually wavered.

Patton had to unclench his jaw to reply, ‘Of course we will, I’m his papa.’ It came out far more snappish than he had intended. He ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, using the soft tendrils to distract himself from the sinking feeling in his chest. ‘I mean - he’s okay. I know what this is.’ Finally meeting Logan’s gaze, Patton offered a small smile that he knew didn’t meet his eyes.

‘Okay, love,’ Logan said softly, lovingly, and Patton knew he didn’t deserve it.

Then Logan led Roman out of the room to fetch the card game and the papa and his baby were left alone.

For a minute they simply sat, Patton still swaying them gently. Going by the fact that Virgil was no longer whimpering, it was clear the cuddle was soothing him. Patton too felt himself relaxing as their bodies moved as one and their breaths synchronised.

Over the course of those few quiet moments, Patton’s worries all seemed to float away. As if Virgil were a calm breeze, clearing the muggy clouds of guilt and bitterness from Patton’s mind and replacing them with crystal clear skies. Patton nuzzled his nose into Virgil’s hair and breathed deeply, feeling as though he hadn’t tasted oxygen until that very second. There was no other feeling in the world that could compare.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s have a proper cuddle.’

There was no protest as Patton shuffled both of them up into the seat of the armchair. Virgil kept a tight hold on Meeko all the while, clearly afraid of dropping the toy. Admittedly, Patton had hoped he would have an opportunity to check Virgil’s diaper during the movement, but their positions simply didn’t allow for it. As soon as they were seated with Virgil on Patton’s lap, the regressor whined and hurriedly wriggled off of his legs to squeeze into the small space between Patton and the armrest.

‘It’s okay, honey,’ Patton murmured, letting Virgil curl up to his side instead. His knees were flush with his chest once more; hiding his lap on instinct, Patton realised.

‘Dad!’ Roman yelled, skipping back into the living room with a bright smile. ‘Mom really likes my game and says I’m really clever!’

Feeling Virgil jolt at the sudden noise, Patton carded his fingers through his hair softly. ‘That’s wonderful, sweetie,’ he said, trying not to feel disheartened by the interruption to his and Virgil’s time together. ‘I think you’re very clever too.’

Roman appeared to vibrate. ‘And - and n-now Mom is gonna play with me!’

‘Well, I hope you win, little prince,’ Patton chuckled, enamoured by Roman’s sweet enthusiasm. Then he put on a loud stage-whisper, ‘Try to get the Tigger card!’

A deep gasp sounded from the doorway. ‘I heard that, Patton!’ Logan entered the room with a look of mock-offence. He held a red sippy cup in one hand and the stack of Pooh Cards in his other. ‘I cannot believe you’re conspiring against me.’

Patton giggled, twirling a lock of Virgil’s hair around his pinky. ‘I’m a supportive dad, I have to be on Roman’s side!’

‘Hm, I suppose I can concede that,’ Logan grumbled, throwing a quick smile Patton’s way. He handed Roman his sippy cup, praising him when he said, ‘Thank you’.

There was a quiet whine from Virgil and Patton rocked him a little. He was probably upset by the others being so close given his shy headspace at that moment.

‘Come here, little one,’ Logan called, moving to sit by the coffee table at the other side of the room. ‘I need you to teach me how to play.’

Roman did not react.

‘Sweetie, that’s you,’ Patton whispered, reaching out to squeeze Roman’s hand.

A blush overtook Roman as he looked over at his mom, a smile forming on his lips. ‘Me?’

‘Of course,’ Logan nodded. By the casual shuffling of the Pooh Cards in his hands, it almost appeared as if Logan didn’t recognise the gravity of calling Roman ‘little one’, though Patton knew his partner better than that. He knew that Logan must have noticed Roman’s need for coddling in the face of Virgil’s younger headspace.

Patton grinned as he watched Roman rush over, sitting as close to Logan as was physically possible.

Then he felt Virgil trying to burrow into his shoulder further and looked down. The boy’s neck was noticeably strained by the action since he had to stretch awkwardly seeing as he wasn’t in Patton’s lap like he usually was.

‘Do you wanna sit in Papa’s lap?’

A slight nod came in reply.

‘All right, on three. Ready?’ Patton secured his arms around Virgil’s back and under his diaper. ‘One, two… three!’ As he easily lifted Virgil onto his lap, he took the opportunity to subtly pat and pinch the diaper through the fabric of his onesie. Definitely wet. With a swell of satisfaction at being correct in his assumption, Patton lowered Virgil to his lap and kissed his head.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed though. Once he was sitting on Patton’s thighs, Virgil immediately whimpered and hid his face behind Meeko.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ Patton reassured, rocking him again. ‘Papa was just checking if you’re still dry.’

The explanation was met with a tiny squeak. Virgil lowered Meeko, revealing his pink cheeks and rattling the toy once more. Though he did not shake it with the same vigour he had earlier; this time Meeko was gently waved to and fro quite lazily. ‘Bababa,’ Virgil mumbled.

Apparently, the diaper check had comforted Virgil and reinforced his younger headspace. Patton sighed and held his baby closer. That was just utterly adorable.

Logan cleared his throat quite pointedly from the other side of the room, and when Patton met his eyes he mouthed silently: Is he dry?

Patton responded with a slight shake of his head. Then, strangely, he felt his lips curl into a smile. Even stranger, Logan mirrored it, and Patton was quite sure they must have been thinking the same thing:

That Virgil had had an accident again, but this time there was no sobbing. There was no hyperventilating. There was no panic attack. In fact, the only indication he had wet himself at all was the fact that he had been pushed back into his sleepy baby state, and that wasn’t a bad thing whatsoever!

Looking down at him now, it was clear to Patton that the diapers were a hugely positive change for Virgil. Despite his lethargic energy, his dimples were showing at the sides of his pacifier which bobbed lazily in his mouth. As he rattled Meeko softly, his eyes sparkled with babyish curiosity. He was calm and happy. It soothed Patton immensely.

oOo

As their time together went on, Patton and Virgil cuddled and played so much that it was impossible for Patton to wipe the cheesy grin from his face. He had rocked Virgil gently, tickled his cheek softly to watch him blush and giggle, dutifully kissed Meeko whenever Virgil held the toy up to Patton with a smile, and now…

‘Are you ready?’ Patton asked in his most exaggerated baby-talk voice. ‘Is my baby ready for more bounces?’

Virgil giggled and kicked his feet a little by Patton’s hips, facing him in his lap. Meeko was hugged tightly to his chest as he nodded.

‘Ahhhh…’ Patton started, securing his grip on Virgil’s shoulders. ‘Bouncy, bouncy baby!’ He bounced his legs on each syllable, making Virgil bob up and down in his lap with little squeals of happiness. ‘What a cute little stormcloud!’

Sweet laughter continued to tumble from behind Virgil’s pacifier. ‘Baba, g-gen!’

‘Again?’ Patton repeated, chuckling. They had been doing this for several minutes by that point, and his legs ached from the constant lifting. But who was he to deny his baby when his eyes glittered with such joy? ‘Okay. Last one, sweetie.’

There was no protest, only a squeak of anticipation. Virgil really was a sweet baby.

‘Ahhhhh… bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy baby!’

Delighted laughter escaped the pair and danced in the air surrounding both of them. Then Virgil smushed his face into Meeko and made a strangled, high-pitched sound. It was a common verbal stim when he was overwhelmed by happiness.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Patton gushed heartily, huddling Virgil closer in his lap and wrapping him in a tight hug. ‘You are the sweetest, squeakiest, most adorable little baby in the whole world.’ He emphasised his point by pressing a great number of kisses to Virgil’s cheek in quick succession.

Virgil suddenly whined quite desperately and pushed at Patton’s chest to be released from his hold. Feeling a rush of concern, Patton held Virgil at arm’s length, still supporting him but trying not to crowd him. ‘I’m sorry, was it a yucky feeling, honey?’ he asked, fearing he had set off Virgil’s sensory sensitivities.

Though Virgil still smiled and promptly held Meeko up in front of Patton’s face. 

Patton bit his tongue through a wide smile. ‘Why hello again, Meeko! Would you like some kissies too?’

‘Mnh,’ Virgil hummed insistently, rattling the toy a little.

Chuckling, Patton leaned forward and pressed a loud, ‘Mwah!’ right on Meeko’s button nose. When he pulled back, Virgil dropped Meeko to his lap and held Patton’s cheeks softly between his hands.

Patton was frozen in place. His brain simply couldn’t handle the adorableness.

‘Dad, Dad, look!’

Patton held Virgil’s hands softly to stop him from squishing his cheeks for a moment. Looking over to the coffee table, he saw that Roman was holding a full deck of Pooh Cards up to him with a triumphant smile.

‘Yay, you won again!’ Patton cheered, laughing when Virgil giggled and poked his cheeks again. ‘Well done, my clever little prince!

‘He’s a complete expert at this game,’ Logan said, stretching his back with a click. It must have been an awkward position to be sat on the floor hunched over the coffee table for so long (though exactly how long Patton wasn’t sure, he didn’t care to check the time.) ‘I don’t think I will ever be able to outsmart you at Pooh Cards, Roman.’

It was clear that Logan had purposefully let Roman win every game from the snippets of laughter and dramatic sighs Patton had heard as they played. Though Roman either hadn’t clocked it or didn’t care about it going by his extreme happiness.

‘How about we have some hunnypots and haycorns to celebrate?’ Patton suggested, knowing the cookies would have been set by then.

‘Why don’t you and Virgil go and pick them for us - only one each,’ Logan hastily added with his eyebrows raised at Patton. It was a fair point to make; as much as he and Logan didn’t care much for sweets and would be happy enough to share one cookie between them, Patton probably would have let the boys have several if that’s what they so wished. He was grateful Logan was there to be a sort of filter for his blind generosity sometimes. ‘Meanwhile, I think Roman and I may need to expel a bit of excess energy.’

By him and Roman, Logan obviously only meant the creative side, who was currently shaking and fidgeting quite energetically in his place on the carpet. It was true that a quiet card game was quite a rare activity for the hyperactive boy, as was obvious by the energy overspilling from him.

Patton nodded, holding Virgil closely against his side as he stood from the armchair. ‘Okay, let’s go pick some yummy cookies for everyone, baby!’

As Patton carried Virgil to the kitchen, he heard Logan set up the soundtrack to The Tigger Movie on the speakers. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of Roman launching to his feet and starting to jump and dance around.

‘All right, can you look up for me, Vee?’ They were stood in front of the rack of multicoloured cookies now. Virgil lifted his head from Patton’s shoulder and made a hum of interest when he saw the treats. ‘Good boy. Now you’ve got a really important job: I need you to pick some pretty cookies for everyone!’

Virgil pointed at himself with a surprise in his eyes.

‘Uh-huh,’ Patton nodded, jostling Virgil further onto his hip with one arm as he picked up a plate from the drying rack.

‘Baba,’ Virgil mumbled, and Patton looked down to see he was pointing at a cookie that had gone slightly wrong. It was originally a haycorn but as the cookies all spread in the oven it had been crowded against the corner of the baking tray, becoming misshapen and wonky. It was coated in pink icing.

‘This one?’ Patton lay the plate on the counter and picked up the cookie to hold it in front of Virgil.

‘Wub!’

‘You love it?’ Patton asked.

Virgil shook his head and pointed at it again. ‘Harp!’

‘Oh, you’re right,’ Patton smiled, looking at the cookie in a new light. ‘It does look like a heart! That means it’s a special love cookie.’

‘Beshul?’

‘Very special.’ He pressed a kiss to Virgil’s head. ‘Just like my special little baby. Do you want this one, honey?’

In response, Virgil suddenly pushed at Patton’s hand and the cookie got lodged between Patton’s teeth. He giggled in surprise, pulling the cookie back out of his mouth. ‘You want this to be Papa’s one?’

‘Wub Papa!’

Just as Patton thought there were no more harsh, icy emotions in him to thaw, he positively melted at Virgil’s innocent love confession. He smiled and placed the cookie on the plate. ‘I love you too, baby. I think me and Mama can share that one. Now do you wanna pick one for your brother?’

After some quite serious deliberation, Virgil had decided on a green haycorn for his brother and a yellow hunnypot for himself. Patton carried both his baby and the plate of haycorn cookies back to the living room. The hunnypot cookie was held in Virgil’s fingers as he suckled on the edge of it (Patton had stored his pacifier in the pocket of his cardigan, making a mental note to invest in a pacifier clip for the future). It seemed their bouncing game had tired him out once more, as Virgil’s head promptly dropped back to Patton’s shoulder once his task was complete.

‘I’m putting your cookies on the table, you two,’ Patton announced over the sound of Tigger’s theme song once they had returned to the living room. He swerved himself and Virgil around Roman as he bounced (and Logan who bounced only when Roman looked at him, then stopped once Roman looked away), careful not to bump anyone as he lay the plate on the coffee table.

Patton then settled into the middle of the couch with a sigh, letting Virgil drop to his lap again. Thankfully the music was not overly loud and Virgil seemed unbothered by it as he sucked quite lazily on his cookie.

‘Is that yummy, sweetheart?’

The soggy cookie left Virgil’s lips and was held up to Patton’s. He humoured his baby by pretending to nibble it and humming in enthusiastic approval. ‘Ooh, that’s lovely! Mm-mm, very yummy. Thank you, Vee.’

It satisfied Virgil as he smiled and continued sucking on it himself, nuzzling further into Patton’s hold.

Soon Roman had gotten tired of bouncing and Logan switched the music to set up the next chapter of their Winnie-the-Pooh audiobook, claiming that it was quiet time now.

While Logan was preoccupied, Roman had finished his cookie deftly in three bites (making Patton giggle) then he approached the couch quite shyly. ‘Dad, can I…’

‘You wanna cuddle too?’ Patton asked softly, smiling in encouragement.

The acknowledgement of Roman’s unspoken request was apparently enough permission for him and he practically jumped into the spot beside Patton.

‘Excuse me, I believe you are in my spot,’ Logan announced on his way back to the couch. As Roman made a noise of offence, Logan pulled him up from the seat to collapse into it himself.

‘Hey, I was -’ Roman started whining, but cut himself off with a yelp when Logan swiftly tugged him back down into his own lap. Roman’s cheeks flushed pink and he clammed up.

‘You were saying?’ Logan asked in a lightly teasing tone.

Patton shook his head at their silliness. It was strange that whenever the two showed affection to each other they seemed to want to set it off with jokes and teasing. Though as Patton rocked Virgil in his lap delicately, he realised it wasn’t really for him to judge how they showed affection. As long as his family was happy, he was happy. And it was clear from Virgil’s sleepy hums and Roman’s blushing cheeks bunched in a smile and Logan’s soft chuckles that his family were all perfectly happy.

His gaze dawdled a little on his partner until Logan’s eyes met his and softened, crinkling with a smile. Patton bit his lip and looked down, feeling bizarrely like a shy, lovestruck teenager.

‘Dad, can I have a kiss?’

The question threw Patton a little, not ever having heard such a blunt request for affection from Roman. It was unexpected but made Patton extremely proud of his son for being brave enough to ask.

‘Of course, little prince!’ He leaned up slightly to press a firm kiss to Roman’s cheek, noting a very light stubble there.

‘And now Vee!’ Roman immediately cried once Patton had sunk back to his seat.

Patton chuckled at Roman’s strange antics, but complied, pressing a softer kiss to Virgil’s head. The baby squeaked and buried his cheek further into Patton’s shoulder. Some gingerbread crumbs littered Patton’s cardigan, but he hardly cared.

Then Roman spoke again, ‘Now Mom!’ His voice was all childish innocence, whereas his eyes screamed pure scheming adult.

A short, surprised huff escaped Patton as he looked over to Logan. His cheeks felt warm.

‘Well,’ Logan hummed, his lips pulling into a shy, crooked smile, ‘I suppose you have kissed everyone else.’ He looked down at Patton expectedly. ‘It’s only fair, right?’

Patton thought his face would split in two with how he beamed with a smile. No more hiding, no more sneaking around. Not needing to be told twice, he pushed forward, thankful that Logan leaned down to meet him in a quick kiss. It was entirely chaste, lasting a fraction of the time all of their previous kisses had done, but it lingered in Logan’s blush and Patton’s smile as they pulled back from each other.

The look of absolute calm in Logan’s eyes instilled such an overwhelming feeling of content in him that Patton had to take a slow, measured breath. Everything is going to be all right, Logan’s eyes seemed to whisper. I love you and I believe in you, I believe in us, and I believe in our family. We’re all going to be all right.

And Patton believed that. He knew things weren’t perfect, that they might never be. That Roman would not overcome his insecurities overnight, that Logan was still struggling to balance sternness and playfulness, that Virgil still struggled with asking for help and that they would have to deal with the repercussions of Virgil coming out of this new headspace likely confused. Reluctantly, Paton also acknowledged that there might have been something to his own caregiver headspace that was less than ideal if his jealousy and clinginess earlier were anything to go by.

Still, in that exact moment, everything was fine. They weren’t going anywhere. They would continue to be a family no matter what. They had plenty of time to address these difficult things. Presently, Patton just wanted to appreciate the rest of the evening in peace.

‘Is everyone ready?’ Logan asked, holding his phone up to show that the audiobook was ready to play.

Virgil breathed deeply, still sucking his cookie. Roman nodded and scurried back in Logan’s lap to lean back against him.

When Logan’s questioning gaze turned to him, Patton simply nodded and shuffled on the couch to rest his head on Logan’s shoulder. ‘Ready.’

A gentle kiss from Logan pressed to his head and Patton held Virgil closer with one arm while reaching to hold Roman’s hand with the other. He knew now that the perfect family wasn’t possible. Though being surrounded by the three people he held dear in his heart, Patton also knew that this was the closest anyone could get.

‘Chapter Ten, in which Christopher Robin gives a Pooh Party, and we say good-bye…’ 

⤛ The End ⤜

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Bonus chapter

[labyrinth-runner]

Trust in Me

Part of the A Garden in Gotham Series, Roman Sionis x Reader

Read the rest here.

@misselsbells06​

Not my gif

Every week was a new adventure with Roman as the two of you got closer. After two months of dating, you felt like you were truly getting to know each other. You were comfortable together. It was easy almost, and that thought was enough to give you pause. Surely your doubts from when you’d first started dating couldn’t have been that unfounded? You’d caught dangerous glimpses of temper every now and then underneath the shifting mask of his face. They were quickly squelched, but that didn’t make you notice them any less. Those instances usually were whenever he was around Zsasz, though. When it was just the two of you... he seemed more at ease. A different Roman emerged then. A softer Roman, like a flower that only bloomed under a perfect storm of conditions. His delicate temperament had come as a bit of a shock, especially in contrast to the hard persona he projected with his business. Yet, things were progressing smoothly between the two of you. 

That was... until you were offered a lucrative opportunity courtesy of Bruce Wayne. He had been so impressed with your work at his charity ball that he wanted to see what your vision would be with a new community garden that he wanted to build in the heart of Gotham. You’d jumped at the chance to work with some of the city’s best architects to design what would truly be your version of an Eden in such a hell as Gotham. A place where people could escape to the beauty of a world of your design when the world outside had gotten too dark. You were thrilled. The only downside to the project was how much time it consumed. You found yourself working longer days and nights between running the shop and working on the garden. This meant less time that you had to spend with Roman. 

Roman had taken to spending time in his apartment, surrounded by his various vases of drying flowers when he missed you. That worked well enough to placate him for the first week that you were too busy to see him outside of the shop. After all, he still stopped by every morning. But, then you were given the permit to start planting and then you were at the shop less and less. He’d sent you text messages when you were on lunch, and sometimes he’d have someone bring you dinner if he knew you were working late.

Zsasz was pleased at this development. 

“Boss, if she can’t make time for you, then maybe she’s seeing someone else?” he said one day, leaning over the edge of the booth that Roman was sitting in.

“Nonsense, Zsasz. If she had lost interest, she would have told me. She’s very straightforward in that regard. Besides... we have a connection,” Roman murmured.

“Connections fade, boss,” Zsasz sighed, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Maybe.... maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make sure?” Roman asked.

Zsasz grinned. “No, I think that’s what I would do if my girl stopped spending time with me. I’d have to make sure that there wasn’t some other dude.”

Roman sighed, resolve settling in. Maybe Zsasz was right. Besides, he didn’t think he’d find anything, so what could the harm be? He nodded to Zsasz. “Tomorrow we’ll tail her.”

“I’ll let the driver know.”

The next day, you were meeting with Bruce Wayne for lunch. It felt surreal, but he wanted to know how the garden was progressing, and to go over some changes to the budget. He invited you to a swanky restaurant uptown that you felt very underdressed for, but he didn’t seem to mind. What you didn’t see, was Roman’s car parked across the street. He was watching you intently, hands tightening when your hands brushed over Mr. Wayne’s as you went to take the budget sheet. When lunch was over, Mr. Wayne escorted you to the car, driving with you to the garden. 

Once at the site, you walked him through your vision, showing the little progress that you and Piero, your architect, had made. Mr. Wayne was impressed, and that made you smile. Your dreams were all coming true. You couldn’t wait to tell Roman about your day when you saw him later. You had worked out your schedule to take the night off since you were so far ahead of the game. It was going to be a surprise. Just a quiet night in, the two of you, his favorite pizza, and a movie. The thought was the only thing that had gotten you through the week.

When Mr. Wayne left, Piero picked you up in excitement and spun you around.

“We did it, ma chérie!” he grinned, placing you back down. “I’ll finish installing the fairy lights tonight so that you can show your love all the progress you’ve made next week when the roses come in.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you smiled, wrapping your arm around his waist as the two of you looked out over the space. You could see it in your head, and it was magnificent. You saw something weird, though. Roman’s car. He was parked across the street, and he was watching you through the window of the car.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, the smile dripping from your face. You made your way across the street, sneaking up behind the car and knocking on the window.

Roman jumped, eyes flicking up to yours. “O-oh! Hello, darling.”

“Roman, what are you doing here?” you asked in confusion.

“Oh, I was just in the area...” he trailed off.

“You could’ve come to say hi,” you replied.

“You seemed busy,” he said in disgust.

It clicked for you in that moment. Roman Sionis was jealous. 

“There’s nothing between me and Piero,” you said adamantly.

“Oh, so that’s his name? What about Wayne? The two of you seemed fairly chummy at lunch,” he shot back.

Lunch? How did he know about lunch? Your eyes widened in shock. “You followed me?” you gasped. You were hurt. 

“Well, of course I followed you. I haven’t seen you in so long. I had to know,” he replied, not seeing the problem.

“You’re unbelievable, Roman!” You shouted. “I bet you’re not even sorry about it,” you replied in disgust. You shook your head and started to walk away.

“Of course I’m not sorry!” he shouted back. “Why would I be? I was making sure you weren’t doing anything behind my back.”

You stiffened in the middle of the sidewalk and turned back to him. “ ‘Why would I be?’” you repeated in anger. “Roman, you betrayed my trust! If you trusted me, then you would know that i would never do anything behind your back that would hurt you.”

“I do trust you,” Roman replied, getting out of the car to walk towards you.

“No, Roman, you don’t. If you trusted me, then you wouldn’t have followed me around,” you replied sadly. 

He reached out for you. “Darling...”

“No,” you murmured, stepping back from him. “Roman, I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me.”

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“I’m saying... I think we should take a break,” you said, trying to keep your voice from wavering.

“Darling, you can’t really mean that.”

“Good bye, Roman,” you replied, returning back to work. You had a garden to build.

Roman watched dumbfounded as you left. No one ever walked away from Roman Sionis. He got in the car and drove back home. He looked at all the vases in his apartment. He wanted to smash them, but they were works of art. He couldn’t do that.

“Who does she think she is, Zsasz?” he asked angrily. “No one walks away from Roman Sionis! No one!”

His words were angry, but in truth he was just masking the hurt.

“No one does if they want to live,” Zsasz grinned.

He looked at Zsasz in horror. “I’m not going to kill her, Zsasz.”

“R-right, boss,” he replied. “Forget I said it.”

“I just... I don’t understand it. I do trust her. I wouldn’t date her if I didn’t. Yet, she threw the relationship back in my face,” he groaned in frustration. “I’m so tired of being rejected, Zsasz! I’m sick of it. She wants to know why I followed her? It’s because of this. It’s because when you let someone in, they can ruin you, so you have to make sure they don’t ruin you!”

He was in a rage now, throwing the pillows off his sofa. He wanted to destroy something like you had destroyed your relationship. But... no, you hadn’t destroyed anything. He had, and that thought was enough to drive him mad. 

“Boss,” Zsasz sighed, trying to calm him.

“Leave me, Zsasz. I want to be alone,” he muttered.

“Alright,” he replied through gritted teeth before leaving.

Roman looked around at all the flowers surrounding him. He thought back to when shrunken heads stood in their place. A smirk crossed his face as he thought about how much nicer the flowers were. Colorful. His smirk quickly slipped off his face as he realized that he wouldn’t have any more bouquets by you. He’d lose those colors. 

“Fuck. I’ve really fucking fucked up this time,” he groaned, throwing a pillow across the room. It knocked into the vase on the desk with your first bouquet in it. A pit of anxiety rose in him as he watched it teeter, but relief flooded him when it stabilized. He’d have to win you back somehow. 

He devised a plan. If he stopped by every day, you’d see how much he missed you. Except... he didn’t see you there. He’d see your assistants, and they’d tell him that they’d tell you that he’d stopped by. When that didn’t work, he tried to take his mind off things and move on, he threw himself into work at the club, but whenever he glimpsed someone that looked vaguely like you, he’d kick everyone out so that he could mope in his solitude.

Nothing was getting done. If anything, it was somehow worse than when he dated you. Zsasz was growing frustrated with him. He didn’t like you, but he wanted Roman to dump you, not for you to dump Roman. If Roman dumped you, then he wouldn’t be acting like this. He’d be acting like Roman Sionis, on top of his world, and not at the mercy of some bitch. Zsasz couldn’t believe what he was about to do.

“Boss, you have to get your shit together,” Zsasz sighed one morning.

“I have my shit together, Zsasz,” he replied absentmindedly.

“No, boss, ya don’t. If anything, you have your shits scattered in the wind and blowing around being pushed by a fan.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine. What do you propose I do then?” he asked, humoring him.

“Win her back.”

“I tried that,” Roman sighed in frustration.

“You didn’t try hard enough.”

“I went to the shop, I tried to buy flowers,” Roman said in exasperation.

“You talked your language, boss. Maybe... you should try talking hers?”

“You mean... flowers?” 

Zsasz nodded.

“Zsasz, that’s not... that’s not a bad idea,” Roman murmured. He ran over to the computer and started to type in some searches. “Zsasz, order me some Freesias and an arbutus flower.”

“What the hell is an arbutus flower?”

“Just order them,” he barked. “I’m going to go clean myself up.”

Roman looked down at the pajamas he’d been wearing for two days in disgust. Shit scattered in the wind, indeed. He went to take a shower and get dressed while Zsasz picked up the flowers that Roman wanted. When he finished, he played around with the flowers to make them look pretty. Then, he tied them with a ribbon and went out the door.

“Do you want me to bring the car around?”

“No, Zsasz, I think I’m going to walk.”

Roman practiced his speech in his head on his way to the park.

You were standing in the middle of the garden, leaning on your shovel. Since you didn’t need to see Roman, you spent your nights gardening in the dark, illuminated by the fairy lights. It was to your liking, though, because you were able to see how the night blooming flowers were looking in the garden. Everyone else had gone home by now, and it was just you. You admired your work, listening to the soft bubbling of the water fountain that recycled water to water the plants. That was how he found you.

Roman’s heart leapt as he watched you bathed in the warm glow of the fairy lights. His eyes took in the garden and all the work you had put into the space. It was beautiful in his eyes. Almost as beautiful as you. He tucked the flowers behind his back.

“Darling, this looks incredible,” he replied.

You jumped, turning towards him. “Roman, I thought-”

“Please... let me say my piece?” 

You nodded, holding your hand up to gesture for him to continue.

“I was wrong to follow you,” he stated. “I should have trusted you, and I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m not used to you. You’re so different than anyone else I’ve met. You’re honest, loyal... Quite frankly, you’re so much more than I deserve and that fact isn’t lost on me. In fact, it makes me so terrified of losing you that I went to great lengths to hold onto you, and by doing that I pushed you away. I should have believed in you, and in us. Darling, I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me and take me back?”

Your shaky resolve started to crumble as you watched him there. He was vulnerable, showing up in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You’d never seen him like this. Then, you noticed something hiding behind his back.

“Roman, what’s behind your back?” you asked curiously.

“A peace offering,” he said with a sheepish smile. He brandished the flowers shyly. The stems were all different lengths, but the colors were beautiful. You took them gently, running your hands over the soft petals.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” you asked hopefully as you looked down at the flowers.

“Perhaps,” he smiled, “Unless they say something bad, in which case I just thought they were pretty. I did have to use the internet.”

A smile grew on your face as you looked down at the bundle. “You trust me,” you smiled, touching the freesias. Then, your brow furrowed as you looked at the other, scanning through your memory. “Arbutus?” you asked him, a funny look on your face as you looked up at him.

“Yes,” he murmured.

Arbutus was a rare flower to find in a bouquet these days, which is why you wanted to make sure that it was deliberate. When he confirmed that it was, your resolve disappeared. You let go of the shovel and went over to him, taking his face in your hand to kiss him. His arms circled your waist, bringing you flush against him as he kissed you harder. After pulling back for air, you rested your foreheads together.

“Roman, I’ve missed you,” you murmured.

“I’ve missed you, too, darling. I promise you, I will never make the mistake of not trusting you again,” he said sincerely. “I’m so sorry that my own actions hurt you.”

“I forgive you, Roman,” you replied.

“You’re my star, darling. I should have know better than this,” he murmured.

“What do you mean?” you asked in amusement.

“You can’t always see the stars, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t there,” he clarified.

“Like a blossom in the night,” you smirked. “You can’t always see when they bloom, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t bloom.”

He kissed your forehead and held you tightly. “You’ll always be my blossom in the night.”

“Do you really like my garden?” you asked, resting your head against his chest.

“I do. A garden in Gotham. I think its wonderful,” he smiled.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja vu pt2

Wow, I did not expect this to get the following that it did. I’m so glad you guys are enjoying this! Here’s part 2  But if you missed part 1 you can find it [here]! 

Summary: Four years after Remus runs away, he makes a friend and gets to see even more death.

Words: 5293

Read on Ao3 || My general writing Masterlist

Remus spends his twenty first birthday at his favorite location: The Basilisk Casino. Its a nice place, the type of place that drains life forces with people along with their wallets. The golden walls shimmer like scales if you look too long at them, which is all the more reason to focus back on the dice, the slots, the chips and coins and cards. The coins all have snarling snakes on them and Remus just loves rolling his thumb over the crevices of the design while he watches his opponents sweat. He can’t count the number of times he’s been cursed out at the table, the number of times he’s been checked for bugs by the debugging crew, the number of times that he’s had several dealers and security watch him as he played at the tables, the number of times where he cashed in his coins and called himself “Lucky”. 

Luck, of course, has nothing to do with it.

But he usually walks out of the casino several thousand dollars richer and it’s nice. To have money, to have a room in the upstairs hotel that he paid for himself, to have clothes that he picked out, to wave his excess cash in the faces of every person who’s tried to figure out how he’s cheating.

(Because they all know he’s cheating. One doesn’t go a full night at the tables without losing once. It's actually impossible.)

((Unless, of course, you can see the future.))

Remus is twenty one and he’s never lost a game of cards.

The staff has mixed feelings about him and Remus knows this, because they hate cheaters when it reflects badly back on them-- and boy did a lot of them get yelled at those first three weeks before Remus had asked his poor dealer to invite her boss to the table to play-- but the number of cheaters that Remus outed purely for the fun of seeing their eyes go wide has landed him in the good graces of a few.

Which is weird, being in the good graces of people. And so is knowing that if he finds that one cute dealer with the scar on his knuckles, they’d go up to Remus’s room and they’d spend the night with two bottles of Baileys and no clothes.

“Hit” Remus sings as he knocks on the table behind his cards. His dealer, a girl who’s been working for a while and knows his tendency to give her instructions before she’s finished dealing to everyone at the table, nods to show she’s seen him. The players to his left and his right both glare at him.

Remus smiles, because he already knows what cards they’ve got and what they were going to bet now that he’s announced himself: the old guy with the silver watch was going to stand, the loser with the mullet was going to hit as well, and the woman who’s tag was sticking out was going to hit then split. 

Only that old guy was going to walk away with any money earned, four rounds later, after the lady loses everything she made in a risky gamble and the slots catch Mullet head attention.

Remus stays because he likes Blackjack, likes the easy memorization, likes the repetition and the exchange of chips, and he flips one of his Barneys in the air as he waits for the table to refill. 

“That’s certainly impressive,” A voice says sounding like silk even over the chattering of the slot machines to their backs. 

“This? Its nothing!” Remus flips the coin again, letting the stranger catch it in the air. “I’m more impressive in the bedroom.”

The man hums, twisting his wrist to look at the coin he caught. “Do you often let people steal 500 American dollars from you?” The man asks so very teasingly as he rolls the coin between his own gloved hands. 

“You’re going to give it back,” Remus says with a grin, “One way or another!”

The man has a nice smile-- a smile far nicer than the one the dealer with the scar on his knuckles has-- and its prettier in the present time than looking at it in the future. His teeth are all aligned and straight and his molars grind together just enough to look like a threat. He was dressed better than most of the people out tonight: no fancy tourist with rented suits that barely fit, and he had an actual handkerchief. 

Remus wonders if he pulled it out would it be tied to another and another and another like every other clown he’s met? 

--No. The man just laughs at him and and twirls the Barney between his hands.He does not ask for it back.--

“You’re awfully confident about getting your money back when this is a game between the house and I,” the man says. He’s got green eyes, and black hair that’s gelled right back out of his face. The way he leans against the table makes him so easy to push--

--The man hits the ground spilling his rack of chips and the nearby tables pounce on them like panthers. Its honestly funny to watch and Remus laughs the entire time as the police are called.--

“I’m confident about a lot of things,” Remus wiggles an eyebrow at him. “How confident are you?”

Instead of answering the man places the purple coin in the betting square on the table. Remus tosses a pumpkin just to top him. 

“I heard a rumor that there’s a man here who’s never lost a game before,” The man with the green eyes says and even though there are four other people at the table (betting far lower than them of course; the table minimum is twenty five), Remus feels almost as if its just the two of them in the world. “Can I assume that man is you?”

“You know what they say about assuming,” Remus laughs as the dealer begins her deal, “It makes an ass out of me and you!” 

There’s a four of spades in front of him, and an ace of clubs in front of the stranger. The dealer has a five of diamonds. 

--He hits and receives a King of diamonds that puts him at fourteen. The stranger also hits, and receives a matching King of diamonds. He stands and the dealer reveals her second card: a jack of clubs. Fifteen to Fourteen to the house.--

--He hits and receives a King of diamonds that puts him at fourteen. The stranger also hits, and receives a matching King of diamonds. He hits a second time and receives a three of clubs. The dealer reveals here second card: a jack of clubs. Seventeen to fourteen to Remus--

The stranger is watching him, Remus notes with a feral grin as he taps the table behind his cards for their lovely dealer. The stranger who was betting using Remus’s money, scans the table and then taps as well.

The dealer gives Remus and Dee their matching Kings of diamonds.

“What are the chances,” The stranger muses. “Perhaps I should bet with your money more often.”

Remus taps the edge of the table behind his cards again. 

“Don’t worry about that!” Remus waves him off, “You’re going to lose it in Poker in an hour.”

“Are you challenging me to a game?” the man says, half turning from the table to wave down a drink waitress. “Why would I ever want to play a game of cards with a man who doesn’t lose?”

“Beats me!” Remus admits, “but we end up over there anyway!”

The stranger laughs. It sounds like a melody to Remus’s ears, something soft and warm and Remus thinks he should hate it. Whats the point of soft and warm things when there are chips and cash and not-completely-terrible-whiskeys? Soft and warm things are illusions anyway: no mother’s love is unconditional, and no late night blanket forts in his brothers room last forever.

Isn’t it great? That whole “growing up” thing?

He’s thought about making a call with the payphone but Roman’s old number is someone else's now and Mom answers the landline with a different last name.

Remus is twenty one. Roman should be too. If he managed to stay alive this long without Remus being his godforsaken guardian angel.  

The waitress returns with the drink and its a screwdriver that smells like oranges even from where Remus is standing. The stranger gathers up his chips won in the game, and slots them back into his rack.

“Well?” He says, “I would like to see this cheating trick of yours.”

Remus laughs at him taking his own tray. “No one knows my trick.” 

“Oh?” The man sips his drink, “No one knows? Do I get a prize if I figure it out?”

Remus’s shoulder brushes with the man as they walk towards the poker tables. Its quieter here, away from the slot machines, and the tables are thick with intense glares at cards. The craps tables are going strong and someone must have just won big because everyone is clapping and someone is screaming. The roulettes are hardly any better, although Remus nearly cleared out a whole dealer last week with his multitude of correct guesses that got him physically dragged from the table because its literally a 1 in 36 chance every single game and theres no way anyone should be able to win three times in a row, much less fifteen. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Remus says as they join a table for poker that was just clearing up. “If you can figure out my trick, I’ll do one thing for you.”

“For me?” The man echoes, “Interesting. Anything I want?”

“I will fuck you on this table if you tell me to,” Remus says, making the woman next to them choke on her pina colada.  

“Charming,” The man hums, “But I believe I have a much better thought in mind.” 

He’s taking it surprisingly seriously and Remus knows he should probably be concerned, but the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t. After all, he spent nine years physically telling the people closest to him that he could see the future, and they didn’t believe him. A strange man who was going to lose the first three hands is never going to believe in a magic like that.

The irony of it all. Remus wonders what he did that pissed off the big G up there so badly that they cursed Remus to never be believed. Maybe he should have just changed his name to Cassandra and started wearing tunics around the casino (because hell yeah those things would have been much more breathable than these slacks and button up he was currently wearing). Plus a tunic would totally show off his calf muscles. 

--He gets to play three more games of roulette before he’s forced out by security who ask him very nicely to put on pants before coming back and Remus just thinks its funny how he got in to play in the first place. Turning the poor door boy bright red and stammering--

There’s something fascinating about the way the strangers lips look around the straw, the way his eyes settle on the cards of the table the way his gloves fingers weave over his chips with the certainty of someone who knows what they are doing. Remus thinks that he might have played a game with this man before, once or twice, (because he comes here often enough, doesn’t he?) but his memory hasn’t been great since he was seventeen and thought about crushing his brother’s windpipe.

Remus is twenty one and this stranger looks like danger no matter which way Remus squints at him. But is that such a bad thing?

“Are you going to look at your cards?” The man asks without looking at him.

“No,” Remus says, because he already has in the future and he’s got a seven and an eight both of diamonds. (The strangers fingers hover over his own cards-- a five of clubs and a jack of spades-- and his green eyes darting to glance at Remus in suspicion.) The other players at the table shift nervously and Remus thinks that even the old lady at the end is going to pitch a fit about Poker etiquette but she holds her tongue. 

He sees ahead to the rest of the hand, something he glanced at earlier. By the time the dealer draws the turn card, Remus not looking at his cards makes the the business man to their left  over confident about his chances about his straight. The couple on his right have both individually decided to back out, and the old lady is holding nothing but a two pair. She folds when she realizes that neither Remus nor the very attractive stranger to his left are going to fall for it. 

The stranger folds, the businessman checks, and Remus wins the round with a straight flush without having picked up his cards before revealing them.

“You’re cheating!” The business man yells and Remus grins at him as he takes the two blacks and the quarter that the man bet with.

“Not in any way that you can prove, big boy.”

He’s twenty one and he wins the next three hands before the table clears out of all but him and the stranger who followed him there. Security is called twice to deal with another debugging ritual at the old lady’s insistence and the the dealer is screeched at by several parties. Remus thinks the old guy handles it with grace and elegance: threatening to have security called over if the players don’t sit down right then and there.

“How much do you make in a night?” The stranger asks, as the dealer changes from the older gentleman to a young girl.

“Are you planning something?” Remus asks, inhaling the scent of oranges that waft off this stranger, “Gonna get me drunk and in bed and then steal my money? Slit my throat for good fun?”

“I don’t think I’d have to get you drunk for that,” His eyes slide past Remus for a moment to something across the room. 

“Oh, so true,” Remus agrees, “Everyone loves a good bit of knife play!” The dealer begins to shuffle the cards to nicely. 

“Besides,” Those green eyes come right back to Remus, startlingly close and perceptive in a way that makes shivers run down Remus’s back. “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?”

Remus is twenty one, spending his birthday in a Casino as far away from where he grew up as he can be. And despite not having talked to his family in four years, he can still hear Roman’s voice in his head, chanting a mantra of “I don’t need you”, “I don’t need you”, “I don’t want you”. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty boy,” Remus says picking up his cards to look at them, to feel them, to remind himself he’s here in this casino and not back in the room with his hands on Roman’s fluttering little pulse.

The stranger rolls a Barney from his tray, Remus’s Barney, and places it on the betting pool. “Interesting.”

Remus wonders what that means, but there’s no answering vision. Any time he pushes the stranger laughs it off until the dealer motions for them to play or leave the game. 

Remus is twenty one and the way that this stranger said “interesting” is the way a scientist says it before they start dissecting a frog. Clinical, cold, like a knife straight to Remus’s throat. His green eyes are dangerous pins holding Remus in place at this table, but he can’t find it in him to wish he was anywhere else.

The stranger picks up his new cards and pretends to look at them. Remus isn’t sure what that means, isn’t sure why this stranger suddenly seems so much different, isn’t sure what could possibly be more interesting than the card game they're playing.

Until he is.

Of course because--

-- He places another three blacks in the betting pool in front of him and he turns just in time to see the stranger lunging towards the crowd that was passing behind them; towards the armed security guard that was wheeling the fucking cash box of the casino towards the elevator to the vault across the floor fuck. Several guns go off and and there’s a couple hundred screams that break Remus’s eardrums in the moment, but all he’s aware of is the body at his feet, the body of the stranger with pretty green eyes, with welts of red bursting out the back of that nice tailored suit that was suddenly shredded and that face smashed into the floor, but there’s no mistaking the way his skin on the left half of his face wasn’t--

There’s something in the back of his throat that tears him up inside, like he’s regurgitating a bunch of swords he forgot he had swallowed. Every hair on his body stands on end, curling with an electric current that didn’t actually exist but one that Remus couldn’t get out of his veins even is he started carving with a knife--

He forgot-- how did he forget? He hated the color red so damn much; how could he have forgotten that?

He grabs the stranger beside him with an iron grip and pressed him to the table as that cash box rolled by, as that future twists away, as that sight fades from his vision from something plausible to a nothingness in the back of his mind. 

“Sir?! Sir!” 

The stranger gasps for air, looking caught between surprised and not, with those fake green eyes and that stolen black hair, and that completely unmarred face and makes Remus’s skin crawl. Remus wonders if this stranger--this stupid idiot of a stranger-- knows his body reverts to normal once he’s dead and gone and passed.

The rest of the table is in chaos, and Remus isn’t sure if its because both his and this stranger’s chips just got tossed across the table with the viciousness of a life or death (or death or death or death) situation, or because the Dealer dropped her deck, or because Remus just grabbed a man and that wasn’t poker etiquette or something else entirely.

He doesn’t care.

He lets go of the stranger (the living, breathing alive stranger), and he shoves through the buzzed, singing pair behind him, knocking them both to the ground. His hands-- oh fuck his hands sting and shake with some emotion that Remus can’t remember the name of.

“Sir! Your chips!”

Remus rips at the collar of his shirt, tearing off an entire button as he struggles to get enough oxygen in his lungs. The golden walls shimmer and shine and distract, but Remus throws himself through the crowd to the exit.

Remus is twenty one the first time he meets someone else like him.

Well not entirely like him, because this stranger who stumbled upon him by chance doesn’t see the blood, or the deaths, or the future. He doesn’t know all the consequences, doesn’t know the feeling of seeing living, breathing people just stop, doesn’t know what it smells like to mix blood and a half finished screwdriver on the floor of a casino for a box of cash that he had no chance of leaving the building with in the first place.

The night air hits him like an eighteen wheeler (which Remus knows what that feels like, he does, because he thought about it once out of curiosity four years ago when he couldn’t quite believe that he had wasted seventeen years of his life on someone who would never been willing to do the same). Its bitter cold and harsh and it tears his skin almost right off his bones.

He stumbles and nearly falls, does fall, is caught.

Caught by the back of his shirt and hoisted back up, with a second hand stabilizing him by his chest. Remus starts to laugh because he didn’t see this coming. Of course he didn’t see this coming.

Its almost like that day when he didn’t see that argument with Roman coming, except back then he was looking ahead and that wasn’t an option, and now he just hadn't been looking long enough, hard enough, close enough.

Remus feels something against his back, solid, cold, oh its a wall. The stranger who followed him from Blackjack to poker, who bet with Remus's money, who just caused Remus to lose his first game of cards ever-- that stranger with green eyes that aren't real is right in front of him pressing him to the wall and holding him steady.

Remus laughs harder like he can dislodge the cancerous lump in his throat by the force of his will alone. 

"Did I die?" The stranger asks as Remus wheezes for air.

And isn't that just hilarious?

"Everyone...dies!" Remus convulses under the man's touch, "Everyone dies... someday, Scales!"

The stranger isn’t like him, because instead of seeing things and wondering if they’re all in his head, he fucking changes his appearance.

Remus hiccups painfully-- a gasping air that shreds his diaphragm as he laughs with tears on his face. He forgot again: how he hates the sight of red, how he needs to breath if he wants to keep living, how he's too old to be crying over every single, little, itty, bitty death he sees.

"You can see the future," the man says like a statement while Remus drags his nails over his own face and through his hair to get rid of his worthless tears.

"Its funny!" Remus grins with all his teeth. "It's always funny! Did you know you revert back to your natural half snake self when you die?"

The stranger flinches, just like everyone does when Remus opens his mouth and talks about death, just like someone who’s afraid of dying, just like Roman.

“You,” Remus says gaining enough sense of his own to shove the stranger off of him and back, “You are…batshit fucking insane!” He laughs, because what else is there to do? Scream? Cry?

(He’s screamed and cried before. It doesn’t work, because they never believed him and then they go and get hurt and tell Remus to shut up, shut up, I don’t need you--!)

“How far in the future can you see?” The stranger asks.

“Take me to dinner first,” Remus twists a hand through his hair, then drags it down his face, smushing his nose and flattening his mustache and then dropping it into the empty air.

The stranger catches his hand, and the silk touch of the gloves freezes Remus’s where he stands, against the wall of a casino in a dark alley where the shimmering light doesn’t touch and the sound is strangely diluted.

“Answer me,” the stranger demands.

Remus laughs, “Or what? You’ll turn your hands into claws and rip my throat out? Maybe roll your body into a giant python and choke the life out of me without leaving a fingerprint? Can you secrete poisons too? Spit them right into my eyes--”

His other gloved hand goes right over Remus’s mouth, squeezing the hallows of his cheeks until its just borderline painful. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Remus already knows the answer before this stranger asks, already knows that despite the burning closeness between them, despite the cool indifference he’s been portraying, despite the millions of ways that he could kill Remus, he’s not going to, not in any way that matters.

He’s a good guy like that.

Kinda.

“You must think I’m insane,” Remus gurgles, shoulders shaking from laughing, with the future in his eyes and no air in his lungs.

“Are you?”

“Not that insane. Not yet!” He pushes off the wall and leans forward into his companions personal space until their faces aren’t more than a few inches apart. “Can’t you tell? I’m the pinnacle of stability, Slitherous Snape!”

“Stability is a lie made up by society to sell more products.” The man waves him off, easily without putting so much as an inch between them. “You are a seer. And I’m in desperate want of someone who can see the future.”

“Because you want to rob the casino we just left,” Remus says.

It sounds different coming from his own lips rather than the man before him. It sounds different hanging in the space between them. It sounds different being a real thing.

“Because I want to screw over the owner of that casino for some unsavory acts he performed against someone who was dear to me,” The man corrects.

“An altruist!” Remus does a shimmy with his upper body. “All that money is just a bonus then, right?”

“Oh yes absolutely! And How…” The man hesitates and clears his throat innocently, “How much money…did you say?”

Remus laughs at him, again. The hysteria is fading leaving another pesky emotion that Remus doesn’t know if he likes or not. Its dangerous, he knows that. Dangerous because even while he stands here, talking to this shapeshifter who is every bit a lie as a person can be, he feels his heels beginning to dig into this idea.

This stupid awful terrible idea. This What if---

---oh…. Oh no.---

“How many times do we die?” The man asks, breathlessly excited. “How many times do we get away?”

Remus is twenty one and he knows that stealing is morally wrong.

But.

But there’s a man in front of him who likes money far too much and a casino behind him that’s filled to the brim with cash waiting and six hundred fifty million futures where they both die painful, violent, expected deaths.

And for once Remus can’t even focus on that part of this frankly awful idea. He’s too busy focusing on the way that in every single future-- all of them-- there’s not even a little--

Remus watches them again and again, as many times as he can until he almost forgets that they haven’t even happened.

And oh. 

The stranger is looking at him and there’s something in those green eyes that he can’t hide even if he wanted to.

“There’s a dealer,” Remus says, because he needs to see it happen for real. “Two inches taller, blue eyes, scar on his knuckles. Turn into him.”

The stranger blinks and his eyes are blue, his skin ripples like a puddle when a child jumps in it, and suddenly Remus is staring at someone completely different and yet entirely the same. The man before him is the dealer from the casino, but when he smiles so softly all Remus can see is that stranger who didn’t hesitate at all.

And oh. 

Remus knows he’s in trouble, because he can feel electricity in his veins, that burns all of his nerves and hijacks his brain. Because this is what its like for someone to trust his power, for someone to have complete and utter faith in him.

This is what someone believing him when he said he could see the future is like.

“You’re bleeding,” The man says tentatively.

“Happens,” Remus says cupping his hand under his nose to catch the red splatters before they hit the ground. In the shadows he can’t see just how scarlet they are and he thinks that’s a relief. “You really….you really didn’t hesitate.”

“Should I have?” The man cocks his head to the side, half a grin on his face, as if he doesn’t quite get the joke Remus is telling. (There’s no joke, and that fact alone makes Remus’s stomach flip.)

The question is a loaded gun anyway and Remus doesn’t feel like pulling the trigger on himself today at least.

Remus is twenty one and he helps rob his first casino.

Which seems insane, because Remus is a lot of things, but he wasn’t really a lawbreaker until that moment he talked the man who could shapeshift into anyone straight through the four levels of security and the cameras and figured out the codes that he needed to get in to the vault and the path he needed to take out, which led him all the way up the stairs to Remus’s hotel room.

There’s enough money on the floor to fix the world hunger. The man, his partner in crime, the shapeshifter sits in the middle of it like a dragon watching his hoard, scribbling mathematics on the hotel provided pad of paper so that he can count it all. His shapeshift is off, allowing Remus a look at his green scales and yellow eye without all the blood.

He’s grinning like the cat that caught that little canary. Remus thinks its a good look on him.

Remus holds one of his poker chips in his hand, a Barney that wandered off from the casino floor and found its way to Remus’s hotel room.

“So,” He says, because silence has never been his type of thing, “What now? We split ways?”

The man makes another mark on his pad of paper shuffling through the green papers. “I’m afraid not. You still owe me.”

“What?” Remus turns to face him, and if there’s a spark in his chest, a nudge of excitement, well who can blame him? Its not like hes spent his whole life waiting for people to leave him.

Another dash on the paper. “We made a deal, unless you’ve forgotten. You said that if I could figure out how you were cheating, you’d do one thing that I want you to do.”

Remus snorted and waved to the money around them, “What do you call this?”

“This?” The man gave him a shark-like smile, “You did this of your own violation!” He held up a wad of cash, a smug superior smile on his face, that makes his fangs glisten.

“I seem to recall you asking,” Remus challenges.

“Not in this timeline, Love Muffin,” The man throws the cash at him. “You still have blood on your face by the way.”

Remus lets the cash fall to the floor because money is nice, but there’s something much nicer about the way that this man is looking at him, the way he’s still looking at him, like Remus is something more than a nuisance, more than a distraction, more than an unwanted, frustrating intrusion. 

“What do you want?” Remus says, because he hasn’t looked ahead this far yet and the uncharacteristic fear in his chest is slowly turning all his organs to butterflies. 

He knows what he wants this man to say, knows what he wants to hear come out of this man's mouth and he thinks that if he looks in the future and its not what happens, Remus will surely explode right there in his (their) room. 

“Hm?” The man says tapping his hotel offered pencil to his chin. “Well, you did say anything I wanted right? Anything at all?”

Remus nods, rolling his finger over the snake design on his stolen poker chip.

“Well then, the one thing I want…” He hesitates, “...is for us to stick together. I think we make quite the team, don’t you? My name is Dee.”

“Remus,” He chokes, because suddenly there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the world, and he’s afraid if he inhales too deeply trying to get more, the whole reality will shatter.

Dee makes another mark on the paper. “Well Remus,” He says, “Any other places you’d like to rob with me?”

Remus is twenty one and he thinks that this is the best birthday he’s ever had.

(Part Three)

[snowdice]

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 15)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned, explosions, car crashes (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 My Master Post

The next two hours were the most frustrating ones of Logan’s life. It seemed like the entire universe, or perhaps more accurately his entire family, was doing its best to make his life and job as stressful as possible.

He’d stepped away from his desk for less than one minute to make sure Darlene and Fredrick’s coms were set up to his specifications. He had them outfitted with what he would usually give to undercover agents. It was a constant feed of audio from their side and Logan could talk to them with a click of a button. It was on an entirely different frequency than anyone else used and, barring damage to the actual equipment itself, it should never go offline.

When he got back to his desk and checked his phone, he had a missed call and a text message from Patton. Of course. Of course, in the 30 seconds he is away from his desk, someone finally calls him back. He opened the text message. His first thought was, ‘Patton, you are lactose intolerant. Why are you buying so much cheese?!’ His second thought was that the string of emojis was unintelligible. What about a baby and a knife?! If he’d just bought cheese, why did he need to go get a burger, fries, and ice cream, and on that count, why more dairy?

He tried to call Patton back, but as he was beginning to expect at this point, there was no answer. Frustrated, he slammed his finger down on the end call button. ‘I have no idea what that means’ he texted him back. He set his phone back down on his desk after making absolutely sure his ringer was at full volume.

“Be sure to track all traffic updates in their path,” Logan said. The other people in the base snapped to attention, their fingers going to work at their keyboards. Then, he pushed the button on his desk. “Fredrick?” he asked.

“We just got on I-26,” Fredrick replied instantly.

“Good,” Logan replied. He sat down in his chair to rub at his eyes and grabbed his phone once more. He shot off texts to different people in a pattern he was getting very used to at this point. Then, he went back to look at Patton’s message once again. “Why must you always use these infernal things?” he asked the text from his brother. He looked over his shoulder and saw Clara looking up. “Clara,” he said. She flinched at his tone.

“Yes?” she asked hesitantly.

“Are you literate in the emoji text message language?” he asked.

“Um…yes?” she said.

He stood and placed his phone in front of her. “Can you make sense of this message from Patton?” he asked.

“Er,” she said, looking at it with a perplexed expression on her face. “I’m getting… he bought a lot of cheese. Then he kidnapped… or got kidnapped by a baby? He got fast food and then did other things… then got gas and coffee. Um, he says everything’s cool and he loves you.”

“He got kidnapped by a baby?” Logan asked skeptically.

She gave him a helpless shrug. “That’s what he said. He got in his car at the grocery store, but there was a baby with a knife and the baby made him drive.”

“Well, thank you for trying,” Logan said. He took his phone back from her and wandered back over to his desk.

“Okay,” Darlene was saying over the coms. “But why do you even need chair covers for your apartment?”

“To prevent damage and stains,” Fredrick said back.

“You bought them for $20 at a yard sale. They’re already stained.”

“Even more of a reason to make a seat cover for them! It’ll make them cuter, and since I’m sewing them, I can personalize! See look, here’s the pattern I’m using.”

“Fred, I’m driving.”

They continued to chat idly about Fredrick’s latest sewing project. Logan was just content to have an open line of communication with his agents.

They eventually moved on from arguing the merit of chair covers and went on to discussing the pattern and color options. Well, Fredrick at least was discussing it. Darlene had descended into noncommittal hums, ‘yep’s and ‘I can’t look at that because I’m driving’s.

“Do you like this flower design or this flower design better?” Fredrick was asking.

“The first one,” was the answer.

“You didn’t even look!”

“Boss, there’s been an accident on I-26,” Emerson informed him from his desk.

“Where?” Logan asked.

“Around exit 52. The actual accident was only on the east side, but it was a truckload of cows, so it’ll likely affect Fred and Lena’s path.”

“Alright,” Logan said. “Find me the quickest alternative route.” Emerson nodded and turned back to his computer. Logan pushed the talk button. “There is an accident ahead of you,” he informed Fredrick and Darlene. “We will be giving you an alternate route. Stand by.”

“Yes, boss,” Darlene replied.

“Have them take exit 65 and get on Highway 236,” Emerson instructed.

Logan nodded and pressed down the button again. “You’ll want to get off on exit 65,” he told them. “You’ll take 236 until you’re past the accident.”

“Got it,” Darlene replied.

“We just passed mile marker 61 a few seconds ago, so we’ll be there soon,” Fredrick offered.

Darlene and Fredrick exited the interstate without any problems. It was a few minutes later that, with the obnoxious sound of a saxophone, the song titled ‘We Are the Number One Bad Guys’ (which was reportedly a mash-up of a song from a children’s show and a pop song) started blaring from his phone. Usually he’d be annoyed by hearing that sound as Patton and Remus had set it behind his back and he couldn’t figure out how to change it. Today, however, the sound was a relief. He grabbed his phone to look at the text message from Remus.

‘I’m not his keeper’ is what the text said in response to Logan’s many messages asking him if he knew where his brother was.

Logan stared at his phone for a least a whole minute.

“What’s wrong boss?” Clara finally hesitantly asked.

“I,” Logan said calmly. “Love. My. Children.”

“…Uh huh?”

Logan typed back a message he was certain at this point would not get a response, and then he hit the talk button on his desk. “So, Fredrick,” he said. “Tell me more about these chair covers. You mentioned flowers?”

“Uh…” Fredrick’s voice said. “Yes?”

Logan glanced up at the other agents in the room who were all staring intently at the designs in their desks. “Have you considered paisley?”

Logan focused on listening to Fredrick and Darlene’s conversation while the rest of the office focused on not looking at him unless it was to update him on the traffic for Fredrick and Darlene for the next 15 minutes.

“Whoa!” Darlene suddenly said, and Logan could hear the sound of braking through the sensitive listening devices

“What?” Logan pushed the button to ask.

“There were a couple of cars in our lane…” Fredric said.

“Was that a gun shot?” Logan asked when there was a loud pop on the other end.

“Uh… give us a minute boss,” Darlene requested.

He could hear the engines turn after a moment, likely as they accelerated again.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked.

“We’re, in a car chase now, apparently,” Fredrick replied, voice strained.

“Why?” Logan asked.

“I recognized the first car!” Darlene said.

“What do you mean you recognize the car?” Logan asked.

“I… shit!” Darlene said. Logan could hear the sound of tires squealing. A few seconds later there was a huge crash followed by a couple of incredibly loud splashes.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked.

There was cursing on the other end of the line in response and the sound of two doors slamming shut and then running.

“Darlene! Fredrick! What is going on?!”

There were a few more seconds where he could hear the sound of breathing and then the sound cut out halfway through the sound of a splash.

“Fredrick?” Logan said. “Darlene?” He took his finger off the button. “Please tell me we didn’t just lose the signal,” he said to the room at large.

There was silence.

“Please, someone tell me we didn’t just lose the signal to the high-tech spy gear I put on both of my agents.”

After a pause, Emerson finally spoke. “It’s… it’s not waterproof sir.”

“I see,” Logan said, his tone serene. “It isn’t waterproof.” He looked down at his hands settled on the top of his desk next to his useless talk button and the phone that no one seemed to be willing to call or text with anything useful. He turned his hands over, grabbed the bottom of the desk, and flipped the whole thing over. His computer smashed on the ground and the normally well-organized pens and papers scattered across the floor. “Well, why the hell isn’t it waterproof?!”

No one dared to answer his question, and Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, surveying his broken computer and overturned desk for a few minutes.

Eventually, he straightened. “I need to borrow someone’s desk,” he said. Three people scrambled to their feet, but he held up a hand. “I’ll use Darlene’s,” They all scrambled back to their desks, “and send someone after those two!” He strode over to Darlene’s desk and sat at her computer. He pulled up every local news outlet he could find. They needed to find a new starting place, because he honestly didn’t know where to go from here.

He spent an hour trying to piece together what exactly was happening out there with news articles, police scanners, and other information channels. There was an explosion an hour and a half earlier in the city where this all started, and he worried that had something to do with the lack of communication as it was on the road from Nelsen’s base to the city. However, that still left almost 2 hours before that of silence from Roman and Janus unaccounted for. There were also two separate break-ins to the security office of the grocery store down the street from Remington Gates home which Logan imagined somehow was connected, but he couldn’t figure out how. And what did the cows have to do with it? Anything? Everything? What was going on? There was no news about whatever had happened with Fredrick and Darlene and the other team of agents he sent after them were still 20 minutes out from their last known location.

“Uh, boss?” a tentative voice said. Logan looked up at Clara who was standing at the edge of the desk. She flinched at the expression on his face when he looked up.

“Unless a member of my family or Virgil Gates has arrived at this base, I don’t want to hear about it,” he snapped.

“Well…” she replied, “actually…”

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Part 16