#Janus isn’t paid enough for this

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Happy Tears

insecure virgil who fears that janus and remus only kept him close out of pity because of his anxiety – anon

I’m not putting the whole ask heard bc by god is it long

Read on Ao3

Warnings: panic attacks, insecure virgil, touch starvation

Pairings: virgil/janus/remus, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3970

Virgil is no stranger to tears. Of fear, of anger, of panic, of sadness. Especially since he's become distant from his family, the two people who he misses more than his own shadow. Perhaps, though, he is not the only one missing someone so terribly it aches.

There are few things more truly upsetting than learning that someone you thought cared for you is only doing so out of the genuine kindness they themselves possess and not out of anything that makes you special to them.

Everything they have done for you, every bit of kindness paid to you, every time you thought to go to them because you knew they would make you feel safe…all of it is a testament to how good of a person they are and has nothing to do with you. You are but another recipient of their kindness. There isn’t anything that differentiates you from everyone else they choose to be kind to because they are kind and the world is all the better for it and their world would only change slightly if you were no longer receiving that kindness. And there is something…oddly wonderful about that, for how lucky are you to have known even a day of kindness, and how crushing it is to discover that it isn’t your own virtue that sprung up that desire for kindness.

Perhaps that, in and of itself, is a whole new kind of selfishness.

Virgil knows, he does, that he is not easy to care for. He doesn’t make it easy, how can he, when his brain is constantly trying to make itself believe the worst? How can he, when even the merest offer of kindness is misconstrued to be a trick? Or when he lashes out in fear and anger and hurts those who would come to help him? What use is there for something that breaks if someone so much as looks at it wrong?

He tried to explain it once, when the kindness had come in the form of soft words and gentle questions, to say that he becomes convinced that everyone secretly hates him, that every time he’s gone they all think about how much better it would be if he didn’t come back, or that one day they’ll realize how much of a pain he is to deal with and cut him swiftly from their lives like a chunk of dead wood. And because his brain is his brain, the words had no more formed than a swift rebuttal arose, stating how cruel it was that he thought that of them, how mean it was, how unjust it was for him to think of them like that. And he’d wanted to scream at that part of himself that he wasn’t doing it on purpose, he couldn’t help it, that was him trying to explain why his brain was such an asshole, not what he was doing to make the job of paying him kindness even more challenging.

But in the end, the other side won, and he swallowed the words behind his hoodie strings.

He’s messy. He’s too messy for them to deal with. And now that they don’t have to do it anymore, why would they bother?

Because it wasn’t just the three of them in the dark anymore. It wasn’t the frantic skittering of spider legs and the wet sloshing of tentacles and the comforting hisses of a snake, no. Now the cobwebs blew through near-empty corridors as the glimmer of light led toward laughing and talking and the glimmers of a better place. The sun looked so nice sparkling on the tops of the waves, and snakes did better in the warmth of the bright light, but spiders scuttled and hid in the shadows because no one wants to look at a spider if they can help it.

He gets the irony. Really, he does. He was the first one to leave. He left them first. And he dragged his feet all the way there while the others sought to bring them out too. What right did he have to say they left him?

But how could he go to Patton, who was sweet and kind and strong enough to believe unwaveringly in the good of the world and ask him to love a spider? How could he face that with snot and tears running down his face while he screamed and shouted? How could he go to Logan, who was clever and compassionate and tell him he didn’t know what to do? How could he explain what he was doing when it was at its very core irrational? How could he go to Roman, who was brave and kind and good and ask him for anything? How could he? How dare he?

And how could he contrast the three of them with Janus and Remus, when they had been with him for as long as he could remember? How could he believe the others too good for him when everyone always had been?

No. He was too much. They didn’t deserve to deal with that. He would deal. By himself. That was better.

And it’s not like it’s all bad. He’s not—he’s not totally alone. He’s got them, he does. He has people now. He could go and talk to them if he wanted to. And they’re good people. They would listen. Because they’re kind like that. They scoop spiders up in paper towels or cups and put them outside so they can run free.

Virgil just squashes them on sight.

No. This was okay. He could make it easier for them. He can give them Virgil to deal with, not the spider.

He…he’ll be the spider by himself. In his dirty webs covered in flies. He can…he can do this. They don’t need to deal with him.

It doesn’t matter that the webs blow around all the time in the empty corridors. It doesn’t matter that the nights get colder and colder with no other moving creatures around. It doesn’t matter that he has to build his web in secret corners the Light has forgotten about.

It’s better this way.

…he just has to get over it.

***

“Virgil?”

Virgil pulls an earbud out of his head. “Yeah, Princey?”

“I have a question for you and I don’t want you to throw anything at my head.”

“So ask me a question that doesn’t make me want to throw something at your head, I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Roman sighs, huffing something that could be a laugh as he swats halfheartedly at Virgil’s leg. “Why don’t you come to movie night anymore?”

Okay. Stay calm. There’s a way to handle this question without summoning the snake.

“After all the bullshit you guys have been giving me about getting my sleep schedule on track?” He scoffs. “Now you want me to throw it all away?”

“Movie nights normally end at like, ten at the latest. And we can always start earlier if it’s really a big deal.”

“Nah.” He waves a hand. “Just not my thing.”

Roman narrows his eyes. ‘So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Janus and Remus have started coming to more of them?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. “What’s it to you, Princey?”

“Just—is it?”

Virgil hunches his shoulders. “What if it was? Would you stop inviting them?”

“No, but—“

“Then I don’t get why we’re having this conversation.” Virgil jams his earbud back into his ear and turns up the volume. He can see Roman still talking but he’s not listening. He’s not. He’s done with that. “I can’t hear you, you know.”

“Take the earbud out, then.”

Virgil sighs but does, turning to glare at Roman. “What?”

”I just—they miss you, Virgil.”

Now he really does scoff. “They don’t miss me.”

“I don’t think you get to decide that for them.”

“What the fuck could they possibly miss about me?” His hand balls up around the discarded earbud. “And what—no. You’re wrong, Princey. They don’t miss me.”

Roman just looks at him. His eyes narrow slightly. He’s staring at him like he’s trying to figure out what Virgil’s talking about, which—if Roman doesn’t understand there’s nothing about Virgil worth missing, that means he needs to leave before Roman figures that out.

”Whatever,” he mutters under his breath, getting up from the couch, “just—don’t ask me stupid questions.”

”Virgil, wait—“

Roman grabs his arm.

Three things happen at the same time.

First, a burning sensation rockets up Virgil’s arm and shocks his chest.

Second, his throat constricts and squeezes around every sound he could ever possibly make.

Third, he feels a very familiar tug in his gut as someone, or more accurately, two someones notice that something is wrong.

He rips his arm away from Roman and sinks out, scrabbling frantically at his chest and arm to get that feeling off of him, make it stop, go away. The room buckles and shudders around him as he yanks his headphones off and tears at his clothes. He dives under the covers and curls up tight. The mass in his chest keeps building, building, building—

They almost found out. They almost found out and they can’t find out because if they find out they’ll want to deal with it and that’s awful of him to want to make them deal with him again, not again, he can’t do that to them, they’re too good for it, how dare he t try and make them deal with the mess that he is is, with the awful thing that he is, the horrible, awful, messy, terrible thing that he is. He can’t do that. He can’t do that to them. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

Shame on you, the tendrils of web hiss as they shoot out in all directions, shame on you. All Roman wanted to do was check in and you were awful to him.

Stop it, he pleads through a ruined chest, stop it, stop it, stop it!

You’re the awful one, it taunts, tying him up in sticky ropes, you’re the one who insists there’s nothing to miss about you. You’re right, who the fuck could miss this?

Another slimy web wraps around his throat, burning from how cold it is. A cruel wind howls in Virgil’s ears and he curls up tighter, fists pressed against his temples to try and drown it out.

You’re such an idiot, the voice hisses, because it’s in his head, so how could he ever drown it out? You’re such a fucking idiot. You can’t do anything right. You couldn’t even make yourself scarce right.

The howling wind stings his ears and his head pounds. The sticky webs fill his lungs and his nose and he can’t breathe through them. More webs tangle up in the spider’s legs and tears glue themselves to his cheeks. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries to curl up. The wind will find him.

It’s cold.

It’s so, so cold.

He weathers it for as long as he can. The webs shake and shudder in the storm as he cries and hyperventilates. His ears fill with merciless wind and he can’t make anything other than horrible, hitching sobs until the webs glue his mouth too. But when even the wind grows tired of him, he drags himself up out of the disgusting mess he’s made of the blankets and shambles to the bathroom.

The lights make him wince. He fumbles to turn on the sink. He shoves his sleeves up to his elbows and scrubs harshly at his face. He spits out mucus and tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person. He catches sight of his face in the mirror.

There is no tragic hero in what he sees, no dramatic catharsis, no pitiable victim or wounded survivor.

There’s just a mess. A drippy, bloated, disgusting mess.

He tears his eyes away from the mirror and scrubs his face with a towel. A bit of makeup comes off on it. As he looks at it, a memory flashes to the front of his mind.

Here, a soft voice says, try this first. This will take off most of it for you.

Not that I care, another voice says, I like it. Fuck up my towel as much as you want.

Despite everything, a laugh chokes its way from his throat. He rubs his thumb over the stain, again and again. Memories swirl around, of Janus coaxing him into a cuddle, of Remus rubbing his back and playing with his hair, of the both of them gently bullying him into the bath and then into a pile of soft blankets, of them whispering that it’s okay, everything’s okay, he’s going to be okay. On instinct, he turns to show it to them, but—

But he meets an empty, blank wall.

He clutches the towel to his chest. He slides down to curl up on the floor. The tile is cold under him.

This time, when he starts crying, he can’t blame the panic attack, or the webs, or the cold, or anything other than the fact that he is enough of a mess that he can make himself get this upset over nothing at all.

***

A robin, carrying a small piece of paper in its beak over a forest of bare trees and strange creatures.

A raven, landing atop a glistening balustrade.

A deer, walking across a perilous stone bridge with a small basket strapped to its back.

A shambling rock beast with a secret compartment in its chest, crawling up the side of a babbling brook.

A dragon with gleaming red scales flying towards a tall tower of oily black stone.

A Kraken emerging from the water depths in the moat of a shining castle.

A plan.

***

Virgil gets up at the knock on his door, frowning when he opens it to see no one on the other side. He’s about to write it off as a very unoriginal prank, when he notices the card lying on the floor. He frowns, going to pick it up., A gold wax seal holds it closed and he rolls his eyes fondly as he closes his door.

Princey truly is one for the dramatics.

He opens the card, setting the envelope down on his table. There’s a cute picture of a cottage on the front and very simple text that reads: ‘Imagination. 6PM. Come and see.’

It’s li Princey knew he wasn’t getting up before 3 at the latest. He glances at the clock—2:45–and decides that yeah, sure, why not? Roman has good surprises in the Imagination more often than not, and it’s not like he’ll have to stay if he really doesn’t like whatever it ends up being.

He flips the card over to the back and laughs when he sees the other text Roman’s left for him. No tricks. Just for you. Promise.

“You’re a dork, Princey.”

When 6 rolls around, he tucks the card in the pocket of his hoodie and ambles over to the door the Imagination. He debates if he should knock—that would be polite, right?—but as soon as he raises his hand, the door swings open. He steps through into a late-afternoon path through a glade of trees. Sunlight slants through the leaves, golden light touching the stones in the path leading up to the cottage from the card. The air is pleasantly warm, not too hot for his hoodie, nor cold enough to make him grateful for it. The door to the Imagination swings shut behind him, its outline glowing for a moment before it melds seamlessly with the forest path. The smell of wildflowers and the sound of faintly-buzzing bees follows him as he walks up to the cottage.

The door opens with barely a creak as he steps inside. A tiny kitchen sits at his immediate left, a small staircase leading up to a second floor on his right. Directly in front of him are a set of large windows, each framed by curtains, and a giant mound of pillows in the centre of the floor. A fireplace sits ready and waiting tucked into the recess of one wall, directly opposite a table pushed against the side of the room. The windows are cracked, just slightly, and he realizes they’re doors. Huge glass doors that can be opened up to let the evening air in. He wanders forward, drawn by the pile that seems to sparkle in the golden hour light, his hand going to the card in his pocket.

”Wow,” he mumbles under his breath, taking another step forwards, “this…this is…wow.”

From above him, he hears the creak of floorboards, followed by footsteps on the stairs. He turns slightly to meet who he assumes is Roman, but doesn’t take his eyes off the pillows.

“This place is great, Princey. What’s the, uh, what’s the occasion?”

The footsteps come to a stop right behind him. Something out of the corner of his eye moves and he looks down to see two gloved hands wrap around his waist and pull him against a terrifyingly familiar chest.

“Gotcha,” Janus murmurs into his ear, “hi, sweetie.”

Virgil’s heart stops.

“I know Roman wrote ‘no tricks,’” Janus continues, voice still as soft and gentle as Virgil remembers, “but I’m afraid I may have…misled him a little. Not that he suspected otherwise, I’m sure, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t have come if you thought it wasn’t just Roman asking.”

“What—how—why—“

“Shh, sweetie,” he interrupts with a gentle squeeze around Virgil’s middle, “just let me talk for a little, okay? I’m not—I’m not sure if I can get all of it out if I don’t start now.”

Virgil’s mouth shuts and he nods jerkily.

“Thank you.” Janus takes a breath and Virgil can feel his hands trembling ever so slightly. “I…I’m the one who asked Roman to ask you about movie nights. I didn’t know it would upset you. I’m sorry.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything. He feels a shaky breath on the back of his neck.

“We miss you, sweetie,” comes the whisper, “we miss you, little spider.”

A whimper leaves his mouth before he can stop it and he claps his hands over his mouth to keep the rest of them in. He hears a soft noise of protest and another hand—right, because he can do that—covers them.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Janus says softly, “I know you don’t. It’s not your fault your brain is awful to you, sweetie. But I need you to believe me when I say we do miss you, Virgil, we miss you terribly.”

Virgil swallows. His throat works against the collar of his hoodie. Janus carefully pries his hands from his face and holds them tightly. The arms around his waist squeeze again.

“I miss you,” he croaks, the pillows blurring in front of him, “I miss you so much.”

“We miss you too, little spider, come back to us. Let us be with you again.”

“But I’m—“

“What,” Janus asks when Virgil chokes himself off, “what are you?”

“I’m so messy.”

The softest chuckle as Janus squeezes him again. “Since when has Remus shied away from a little mess? Since when have I?”

Virgil’s lip wobbles. He wants. He wants. He wants to believe so bad that this is real and they don’t care but they do care and the problem is that this is just how good they are, and it has nothing to do with him.

As if he can hear him, Janus sets his chin on Virgil’s shoulder, voice soft in his ear.

“Are you going to be stubborn, little spider?”

Oh, god.

Those words were whispered when the storms were too loud, or the bath was too cold, or the night too scary, when he was pulled into embraces whether he pouted about them or not, and he’s crying, he’s crying all over again, and he can’t say yes but he can’t say no.

“Alright, you asked for it.”

The arms and hands begin to pull away and he lets out a frightened noise and there’s a small shove in the small of his back and he’s tumbling into the pillows and the pillows are—opening?

A blur of black and green surges up from the middle of the pillows and wraps around him, pulling him deep into the soft pile and wriggling around until he’s neck-deep in them. He splutters and flails a little until the blur solidifies into arms and legs and a torso and a head buried into the crook of his neck, snuffling against the collar of his hoodie. He hears Janus chuckling in the background as a low purr rumbles against his chest and he—he—

“Little monster,” Remus mumbles happily, getting comfortable half on top of him, “I gotcha.”

“R-Remus?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You gonna be a pouty spider about it?”

Virgil couldn’t not be pouty if he tried right now, not when Remus is cuddling him and teasing him and it’s still so warm and soft. His lip wobbles again and he knows his eyes must be huge as Remus leans up just enough to kiss his nose.

“Aww,” he coos, half babying and all care, “you feeling lonely, little spider?”

Something collapses.

Virgil doesn’t know what’s happening, where he is, what is going on, only that he’s crying and Remus is holding him and Janus is here and he’s babbling something about being sorry and missing them and wanting them and not wanting to be a mess and crying all over them and everything is messy and sticky and perfect again. Remus keeps making his weird purring noise that makes Virgil’s tummy feel funny and Janus murmurs in his ears, filling them with soft words and gentle touches. The sun is warm and the light is soft and the world is still, just for a little while, just so that Virgil can be a mess and that’s okay.

“When you’re ready,” Janus says softly as his hand cards through Virgil’s hair, “you can have a shower upstairs and we can cuddle in the big bed.”

Remus hums in agreement, still half on top of him just to keep his soul squished into his body. A hiccuping breath is met with shushing and a gentle rub of his stomach. “You’re getting spoiled, little monster. You’ve deprived us of it for too long.”

“Mm.”

“A-bup-bup.” Remus holds a finger over Virgil’s mouth as he goes to protest. “No arguments, little monster. We care about you and you have to deal with it, understand?”

“Best nod and agree,” Janus threatens playfully, “he’s been in a mood all day.”

As fingers dig warningly into his side, Virgil squeaks and nods. Remus grins and presses a smacking kiss to his forehead. “You need to be a puddle for a bit longer?”

“…is that okay?”

“Of course,” Janus murmurs, sliding down to lie beside them, “whenever you’re ready.”

Remus just makes a gleeful noise and flops back down, going back to nuzzling him like he’s a cat. Which…he might be. Virgil’s not putting anything past him.

The world is still soft and safe as they lie there on the pillows. Twinkling motes of light come in through the big windows and a soft breeze starts to dry some of his tears. Remus is warm and solid on top of him, Janus’s hand gentle as they card through his hair. As Virgil blinks up at the ceiling, his eye catches on a silvery strand of something between two of the wooden boards. He follows it to a corner near the center beam splitting the roof, and he sees a glistening, sparkling spider web.

In the strands of the web are the words welcome home.

For the first time in who knows how long, Virgil cries happy tears.

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[naminethewriter]

On the Road, Just the Two of Us

Chapter Seven: Outside a Bar, Just the Two of Us

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Summary: This was written for @dukeceit-week-2024, @dukeceitweek

Janus and Remus are living in a campervan at the moment. Are they going somewhere? Who knows. The only thing that’s important is that they’re together.

Content Warnings: Innuendo, Heavy Flirting, Kink mention, Drunkenness, Alcohol consumption off screen

🌻🌻🌻🌻

Janus gulped down the fresh air as he stepped out of the warm and loud bar. Remus had begged him to stay in this town for the rest of the day when he’d seen it and the poster advertising a gig of a local punk band playing there that evening. He hadn’t minded staying, it seemed like a fun evening, and it was! But it was getting close to midnight and Janus needed a break from the used-up air and bass vibrations that he still felt rattling around his brain.

Or maybe that was the alcohol.

He hadn’t drunk all that much – he never did. He enjoyed the buzz but not more than that.

Remus on the other hand had taken a few more shots. But he also had a higher tolerance than Janus, so he wasn’t worried. His boyfriend was currently having fun on the dance floor and while Janus hadn’t felt comfortable there, he would never take Remus’ enjoyment away from him.

He’d made sure Remus had seen him head outside. He wouldn’t make him worry.

Janus took another few, deep breaths. He looked up, admiring the starry sky for a moment. It was a smaller town, so he could see a lot more of the stars than he could at home.

It made him not want to go back.

But there were responsibilities. And this trip was already three months long.

…Maybe he should check his e-mails. He hadn’t this entire time, knew it would make him anxious about how much work he’d return to. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Janus pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the icon of his e-mail program, but before he could tap it, the bar door swung open and Remus came stumbling out.

“Where’s my snake boy??” he slurred, looking around. Janus had enough time to put his phone away before he was spotted and as soon as Remus did, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Janny! Love of my life! There you are!” He giggled, clumsily making it over to Janus and pulling him close. “I missed you. So much.”

“I was gone for not even five minutes, dear. How much more did you have to drink?” Janus chuckled, gently rubbing Remus’ cheek with his thumb. He was running rather hot but considering the temperature inside, the fact that he had been dancing and a good amount of alcohol, it wasn’t concerning.

Remus leaned into his touch and sighed.

“The band like, paid for like three rounds for everyone. I probably shouldn’t’ve taken all three shots directly after the other, but c’mon! It was fun!”

“I’m sure it was, darling. Don’t you dare throw up on my shoes, though.”

“I would never. I love your boots, they’re so sexy and way too good to be ruined by puke. If it happens anyway, I will clean them for you though. With my tongue. Or I can clean them now, I would love to worship your boots for you, Janny.”

Janus listened to Remus’ drunken rambling while gently guiding him away from the bar and towards where they parked the van. He definitely had enough for the night and while it wasn’t uncommon for Remus to declare his various kinks so openly, the fact that he was swaying on his feet and slurring slightly was enough indication that it was time to call it a night for him, too.

“I know you would, darling, and we can experiment with that when we’re back home and I have cleaned these properly. You’re not touching them with your tongue after I’ve worn them outside. Especially not before the wedding.”

Remus whined and Janus sympathetically patted his cheek.

“I know, I’m so mean to you.”

“You’re not,” Remus insisted immediately, pushing himself away a bit and trying to stay more steadily on his own so that he could look Janus in the eyes. “You’re the one person that isn’t mean to me. At least not in any way I don’t like. You’re the best and I love you. Want me to prove it to you? I can kill a guy for you!”

“I know you can, darling, and I love you, too, but what I want from you right now is to get back to the car and cuddle me until the sun comes up again.”

“I’d love to.”

“Good.”

[muppetable]

incorrect quotes day is finally back!! sorry for the month of radio silence hfjdk

Patton: WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?! HE COULD HAVE HAD HOPES AND DREAMS, HE COULD HAVE HAD A FAMILY!!!

Janus: Patton-

Janus: It- it was just an ant-

Logan: I feel so burnt out.

Remus: Don’t worry, it'll be over soon.

Logan: Are you gonna... assassinate me?

Remus: Well not if you’re expecting it.

Logan: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this?

Roman: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

Virgil: Remus! For the love of god, please turn down that music. I have a hangover.

Remus: *blasting the mii theme at full volume* That sounds like a you problem, not a mii problem.

*The Squad is playing Minecraft together*

Patton: Ooh, a village! You know what that means!

Remus: Hostile takeover?

Roman: Genocide?

Janus: Steal everything!

Patton: No, I meant-

Logan: I didn’t know we would fight the ender dragon this early! A village worth of beds isn’t enough!

Virgil: WHAT ARE WE EVEN DOING?!?!

Patton: …I was going to say move into the village and become the mayors…

Logan: Ohhhh! That sounds like a better idea.

Virgil: Agreed.

*The Squad is gathered in the living room for a meeting*

Janus: *walks in and sits on Virgil’s lap*

The Squad: …

Patton: Why are you sitting there?

Janus: There’s no free seats!

Patton: But we made sure there was enough room for-

Virgil: *hugs Janus tightly* There are no free seats.

[lovelylogans]

random distribution

The number π (/paɪ/; spelled out as "pi") is a mathematical constant that is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter, approximately equal to 3.14159. It is a transcendental number, meaning that it cannot be a solution of an equation involving only sums, products, powers, and integers. The transcendence of π implies that it is impossible to solve the ancient challenge of squaring the circle with a compass and straightedge. The decimal digits of π appear to be randomly distributed, but no proof of this conjecture has been found.

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: mentions of baking mishaps, let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairings: none, all platonic!

words: 2,152

notes: hi, all! i wrote this for the tss fanworks collective discord january remix challenge; i took @edupunkn00b’s fic 3.14159265 ... and had some fun writing some fluff for it! thank u to @teacupfulofstarshine for the “patriarchy” pun in here! edu, i hope you enjoy it!

⁂

Pi day, in Patton’s mind, has reached transcendental levels of importance.

Previously, the attention he’d paid it had been potential for puns and potential for pies—both matters near and dear to his heart, of course, and an opportunity for great, low-effort fun.

Say what you will about Patton’s endeavors today: they certainly cannot be called low-effort.

He’s done research on best crusts to pair with each flavor profile. He’s gotten deep into baking blogs’ pros and cons of blind bakes. He’s hauled enough flour, sugar, and jam into the cupboards to best maintain a surprise to pass as workouts for a full week. Those bags of flour are not Eton mess-ing around!

He even, in a move that he thinks would make Logan particularly proud, made a spreadsheet to list out all the baking timings and when he needs to start each pie.

Because while he is doing this to make sure Logan feels heard, he also wants to take the particular recent incident to heart; he wants to make sure they all feel heard. And, while Pi Day is definitely skewed in Logan’s favor, he can’t help but throw in a few gestures for the rest of his favorite guys.

So that means boo-berry pie for Virgil, and strawberry rhubarb pie for Roman, a good ol’ apple pie for Thomas, and an interesting recipe he’d found when he’d gotten sidetracked on the blogs; a lemon meringue galette sounds just about perfect for Janus.

And that means, though the flavor definitely isn’t within Patton’s particular profile—ugh!—haggis for Remus.

(What are tatties?! What are neeps?! Where is he meant to get groundnut oil??? What is the proper measurement for a dram, and should he even really be pouring a dram for Remus anyway? Patton’s Google search history is really getting to some areas of the internet it doesn’t usually get to stray into!) 

Patton decides to just. Not really look at it too closely. Or smell it too much. And to maybe clean out the oven between bakes to make sure the other pies don’t taste too haggis-y. He can’t imagine a blackberry-pomegranate jam pie is going to blend well with the lingering scents of sheep liver and suet.

So Patton sets his alarm to purr (a purring cat alarm clock! what will people come up with next!) at a truly ridiculous time of day. 

It’s actually a little bit painful, waking up that early. Ugh. The sun isn’t even up. Patton can still see the light of the moon filtering through his blinds. It’s so cozy in his bed, and out there it’s so cold, and he’s tired, gosh darn it. 

It’s a good thing he sets two alarms; the cat alarm within his reach and, in a move of forethought that usually eludes him, a second one on his phone that’s out of his reach so that he’ll need to actually get up to turn it off. He finds himself dozing off in that space of three minutes between blaring, but even as the second one starts, he thinks that might have been just what he needed.

More sleep. 

But that’s going to have to be contained to three minutes and three minutes only. Because there’s a brilliant, bespectacled brainiac who has a year-long hankering for both jams and pies, and this is THE day to cater to both of those interests.

So even while he’s debating going back to sleep, he thinks for Logan, and that staves off the last sweet temptations of warm blankets and more blessed, blessed sleep.

So he blearily pulls on one of his many blue polos, ties his cat hoodie over his shoulders, and descends the stairs, headphones in hand and playlists prepped, ready to tackle the pies of the day.

He turns on his headphones and puts on a playlist Roman made, preheats the oven, washes his hands, and lays out saran wrap he can flour to roll out doughs (thank you, baking blogs, for that tip on how to get a lower level of mess!) and then gets sidetracked because he could have sworn they had a rolling pin, where is it—

(It’s tucked into the drawer where they usually keep a mishmash of other unusual kitchen supplies, which means that Patton also gets to find a little juicer which will save him time when it comes to juicing lemons for Janus’ galette. Neat!)

—and goes about rolling out the first of many, many doughs.

All made with butter, flour, sugar, salt, ice water (substituted about half of that water with vodka for some, which apparently makes a flakier, more tender crust? He’s interested to see if that one actually works) most of them the night before, so that the doughs had time to chill, but he still has a couple quicker crusts (made of graham crackers, mostly) that need to be assembled, like, now.

Also, he’s going through so. much. butter. Holy moo-ly is that a lot of butter! These pies are gonna be delicious, though, you’d butter believe it!

Patton laughs to himself. He has a feeling he’ll be doing that a lot today.

He packs away the first of the pie fillings (old-fashioned jelly pie, one of the two blackberry-pomegranates, and Virgil’s boo-berry) and sets the first three pies in the oven. He’s on a roll!

Or. Hang on.

Patton immediately sidetracks starting on the second batch to look up if pie rolls are a thing (they are, of course they are, what will those recipe bloggers come up with next!) and takes a few moments to deliberate if adding in a whole new baked good would be worth it for one pun.

He decides to wait and see if he has enough leftover dough for that. But he is very tempted.

Patton gets into a pretty good rhythm, really; by the time the first three pies come out of the oven, the next three (Roman’s strawberry rhubarb, Thomas’ apple, and a peach mango) are rarin’ to go, and he’s even got a head start on Janus’ fancy galette crust!

It’s more fun and less fussy than he thought it’d be, really. The crust recipes he’s found for this recipe is much less fussy than the needs-to-be-chilled-forever pie crust he’d been working with before his baking research for today. 

Patton hums happily along to the latest song on the playlist because he doesn’t know the words well enough to sing as he carefully pinches and pleats the dough.

The filling, on the other hand, is very fussy. Why is meringue so dramatic? Patton overbeats it for, like, maybe five seconds and it immediately deflates on him. 

Okay, more like thirty seconds, but he wasn’t sure what foamy was meant to look like, he was just trying to be sure!

But anyway, he manages the second attempt at meringue pretty well, or at least well enough to manage. He manages to transfer the meringue to the galette crust with minimal spillage. Woo-hoo!

He has to pause in brushing egg yolk along the crust to take out the pies and swap in the three newest (another old-fashioned jelly pie, Janus’ galette, and a blind bake for the french silk that’ll quickly go into the freezer).

He’s so in the zone that he doesn’t even notice until he’s taking out the latest old-fashioned jelly pie, sniffing it and frowning at the incorrect smell, that he’d completely switched around the two containers they use to hold salt and sugar.

Patton sighs, staring down at the ruined pie. Oh well.

He hesitates.

It’d be a shame for it to go to waste, he guesses.

He folds, and takes in a forkful of pie, before pulling a face and leaning to spit it out in the sink. Yuck!

He quickly wraps it up with foil and adds a post-it note on top that says FOR REMUS: SALTY?

Patton hopes he’ll like it, otherwise people might get salty about missing out on what could have been a perfectly good pie.

So he gets started on an extra old-fashioned jelly pie; good thing for that extra dough, but he guesses that means no pie rolls. Oh, well! He can still make the pun while knowing about their existence, even if he won’t have a physical prop.

All’s sel that ends sel.

(Get it, sel? Like sel gris? It’s some kind of French salt, Patton thinks. According to Google, anyway. And it rhymes with all’s well that ends well? No? Ah, Patton can admit that’s not one of his best puns. He’ll keep workshopping it before he cracks a joke to Remus.)

But the rest of the baking goes great! He even remembers what each piece of Scottish lingo is for each ingredient of the haggis! 

There’s no more salt-for-sugar level catastrophes; the closest mixup he has is misremembering which way he was overlaying a lattice, and that’s fixed easily enough even if the lines aren’t as straight as they are in magazines.

There’s a lot of not straight in this household, though, so Patton figures everyone will be okay with that.

He even manages to finish ahead of schedule! Take that, Great British Baking Show stressful rush music that was starting to play in his mind! He bets Mary Berry’s blue eyes would sparkle at him in grandmotherly pride! Prue Leith would happily tap the countertop with the flat of her hand if she tasted one his pies!

Earning a Paul Hollywood handshake? Patton doesn’t know about that one.

But that’s to Patton’s preference. He really isn’t sure about that Paul Hollywood. Something about the judgings he doles out. And why is his judgment more heavily weighted than Prue’s, anyway? Prue’s an incredibly accomplished baker! 

It’s that darn pastry-archy working, Patton bets. Just because Prue’s not queen of scones or something doesn’t mean her opinion matters less than the silly king of bread.

Patton might have said so, really, during their latest bingewatch of the show, except it’s not a particularly common opinion. He isn’t sure how much his fellow sides prefer Paul Hollywood to Prue, though. If he says how much he prefers Prue and Mary to Paul, then someone whose favorite judge was the batter latter might take it like Patton’s enacted the Pi-ides of March.

He manages to settle most of the pies, goes about scooping in cold fillings for the chillier pies that need to be in the fridge (French silk, a peanut butter-chocolate pie, banana cream, and a very promising Twix pie he’d found—those blogs, really, what will they come up with next? Patton hopes all of them have been sent flours for their efforts!)

Patton spends the rest of the morning tidying up the kitchen of stray flour and sugar, arranging the pies in a flavor order that makes the most sense of him, (with the salt pie far in the back) and trying to pick out which of their dining utensils would be cutest to use with each pie, watching the sunrise filter in through the windows.

Ooh, he can’t wait to see the look on all of their faces!

⁂

And he does get to see the looks on their faces; the surprise, the pleased smiles, the “mmm!”s as they eat their specialized pies, Logan’s soft smiles at him when he probably thought Patton wasn’t looking, and Patton’s happier than… well, happier than a sweet-toothed sugar lover in his kitchen, currently full of pies, pies, and more pies.

And dirty dishes. But that’s less important to the metaphor, and he can take care of that pretty quickly! Just… later.

What? It’s not like they can have Pi Day without trying to seek out other pie-themed foods!

(It’s mostly pizza.)

At the end of the day, when everyone else has gone up to bed, when Patton’s loading the dishwasher, he pauses.

There’s one more covered dish than there was this morning.

A chocolate chip cookie pie for our favorite dad guy!

—Janus, Remus, Roman, and Virgil

P.S.: Your gestures of celebration are appreciated. —Logan.

Patton beams a bright, silly smile, briefly tracing his fingers over their signatures, then carefully cuts himself a slice of chocolate chip cookie pie.

It’s delicious. Still a little warm—so it must have been baked recently, probably when he’d fallen asleep on the couch a bit, oops—gooey, chocolatey throughout, and the perfect marriage of a pie and a cookie. Patton wiggles happily as he eats every last delicious crumb of his slice, making sure to carefully wrap it back up and place it amongst the other pies.

He takes the note, though. That’s going somewhere special.

And as he falls asleep, full of sugar and all the good things, he knows he’s going to sleep well after a day of baking and eating and making sure Logan knows he’s appreciated.

Even if he has silly dreams about the moon turning into a big, silver pie.

[edupunkn00b]

The Uses of Adversity, Ch. 10: Shakespeare

Prev - Shakespeare - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 3733 - Rated: T - CW: A little old angst? And a lotta subtext.

(Don't worry. It's coming.)

Quietly singing the opening to Law School Boys, Roman whipped a shaving brush against the disk of soap in his palm. It was new, a sweet musky blend that reminded him of the lavender softener Logan had used last week. Of course, he hadn’t noticed the association when he’d been sampling scents at the Body Shop. It hadn’t been until the ride home when the soft blend of vanilla and musk had made his mind wander back to that blissful Saturday morning, the faint hum of a dryer and, even fainter, Madonna’s poppy croon in the background as they’d folded his laundry together.

The Lyft driver’s gentle nudge had pulled him back to reality and he’d quickly gotten out and paid, stealing one last little sniff at the bright green bag.

Once Roman had worked up a good lather, he closed his lips and hummed the rest of the chorus. He didn’t usually wait to shave until the afternoon, not since his earliest days on stage, at least, and he’d managed to get scruffier than he’d recalled. Pointedly ignoring the sprinkling of—

“Finally shaving off those greys, little bro?” Remus laughed, leaning against the door jamb, hands casually shoved in his pockets.

“How long have you been standing there?” he muttered, lips stiff as he continued to spread the lather.

Remus laughed. “Long enough to see you blush at ‘Watchin’ you readin’, boy, doncha know, doncha know, doncha know I’m your open boooook?’ ” Roman rolled his eyes at his brother’s mocking and rinsed the brush. “No denial, I see,” he cackled. “So… who’s the lucky fellow?” Remus stuck a finger in the shaving cream and sniffed it before pretending to taste it. Laughing at Roman’s disgusted expression, he wiped his finger clean on the towel draped over his brother’s shoulders. “Seriously, though, I haven’t seen you this worked up over a date in quite some time…”

Pointedly ignoring his brother’s antics, Roman continued to shave. “It’s… it’s not even really a… date.” He tried to ignore the way his brother’s eyebrows shot up at his hesitancy. “Just… meeting a friend.”

“Hm… a friend you’d like to knock boots with, am I right?” Remus laughed when Roman’s face bloomed in a new blush. “Oh, I am right. So, what’s he like?” he fished in a sing-song voice. “Do I need to give him a shovel talk or…” He waggled his eyebrows and looked down the hall toward his bedroom. “Do I need to take him off your hands?”

“Neither, Re,” Roman snapped, softening his tone at the last moment. “He’s just a friend who… I… “ He sighed and pulled his brother all the way into the bathroom before closing the door. Remus’ smile remained but his eyes grew wide at Roman’s furtive behavior. “You can’t tell Janus,” he hissed, holding Remus’ gaze. “Please?”

Remus frowned, but finally nodded. “Okay,” he said, his switch to seriousness as jarring as usual. But weirdly comforting. “This stays between us.”

“Thank you,” Roman sighed, then shaved another stripe down his cheek. “Do you… do you remember that guy from the Q-Law party?”

“Devin? Are you out of your fucking mind? He’s a lot less hot with a busted nose, I’ll tell you—”

“Wait!” Roman grabbed his shoulder. “No! Not that slimeball… The… the other guy.” He let go of Remus’ shoulder and tried to get back to shaving. His hand shook so he tapped the razor and rinsed it while he waited for more control. “Logan,” he said quietly, eyes flicking up to his brother’s.

“Uh, Ro? Isn’t he…”

“He’s a friend,” Roman insisted before trying again to finish shaving.

Remus watched him for a moment. “A friend you’re getting all dolled up for?”

“Pardon me for wanting to look nice.”

“A friend you bought new cologne for?”

“It’s not—” Roman interrupted his own protest with another heavy sigh. “I… might feel some…  attraction , but…” His voice trailed off and he continued shaving. Remus just watched and waited.

Finally, he rinsed the blade and washed away the last little dabs of shaving cream from his face and neck. Remus offered him a clean towel, still silently waiting. “How did you know,” he asked at last, voice muffled by the towel. “How did you know you were serious about Janus? How did you know he was serious about you?”

“You mean other than watching him on his knees as he—”

“Dammit, Re, I mean it!”

Remus hitched himself up on the counter and knocked his heels against the cabinet. His brother acted like all there was between him and his husband was one big sex party, but Roman knew better. They’d both fought like hell to get their relationship where it was and… And Roman was beginning to wonder if he was meant to actually learn something from watching them over the years.

“He was… different.” Remus wobbled his head, eyes fuzzy. “He didn’t act like anyone I’d been with before. He listened to me, even…” He shrugged with a crooked grin. “Even drunk, even fooling around… He listened like what I said mattered.”

Roman gripped his arm. “Re,” he started but Remus smiled up at him, shaking his head.

“I don’t mean you didn’t,” he grinned. “You always have. Guys I saw… maybe not so much.” Remus laughed and waved the hand with his wedding ring. “How do you think Jannie finally convinced me to say yes?”

Laughing, Roman punched his shoulder. “As if I don’t know who asked who.”

“Damn your memory,” he muttered, still smiling. “So,” he said as Roman began the rest of his skin routine. “Just a friend?” he asked again. “As if I don’t know the difference?”

Roman couldn’t make himself meet his brother’s eyes.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Ro Bro,” he said, suddenly serious again. “I don’t know this guy and… while he doesn’t strike me as the type to hurt somebody on purpose…”

“Yeah, I know.”

Remus hopped off the counter and hugged him. “So are you sure he’s straight?” he asked with a little laugh, pulling back a bit and—thankfully—ignoring the wetness in his eyes. “I mean, I didn’t think I liked snails until that trip Jannie and I took to Paris, and now…”

Roman laughed and hugged him tighter. After a long while, he pulled away. “You won’t tell Janus?”

“I won’t,” he shrugged. “I don’t think you need to keep this a secret, though. Besides, he might be able to give you some tips.” Remus waggled his eyebrows, “After all, he bagged me, didn’t he?”

“Oh, get out of here,” Roman laughed, opening the door. “I need to get dressed.”

~

It was an unusually sunny and dry day for late March in Seattle and the sun’s slow march across the sky cast Seattle Center in a warm, golden hue. Roman had left his Burberry open, hem slapping against his pant legs as he watched a huddle of pigeons and crows battle for the remains of a spilled box of popcorn. He refused to check his watch again, wishing for at least the fifteenth time he’d insisted on picking up Logan at his house. He knew it was logical to meet in Seattle, but if he’d picked him up, then he wouldn’t have this nagging worry that the next time his phone buzzed it would be Logan, backing out.

He knew Logan wouldn’t just stand him up. He was too kind for that. He might, though, decide this was a bad idea and cancel. Unable to fight the impulse, Roman finally pushed back his sleeve for a peek at his watch. Disgusted with himself, he hung his head. Logan was even due for another fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes. Okay, that’s five short songs. Great. Start singing.

Roman was halfway through River of Dreams when he spotted Logan’s careful stride at the other end of the path. Grinning, he started walking and met him just under the Skyspace, awash in pinks and ambers.

“Logan,” he grinned. His hands twitched at his sides. The war raging in his mind over whether to shake his hand or hug him or kiss him was over quickly and Roman stepped closer, gently gripping his upper arm. “You’re early,” he said.

“Traffic was remarkably light today and I caught an earlier monorail than I’d planned,” he smiled. Roman hadn’t removed his hand and for just a moment, he could’ve sworn Logan actually leaned into it.

“There’s time for a little tour, if you’d like.” Roman gestured toward the gallery side of the theatre’s entrance. Leaning a little closer, he breathed in the soft scent of vanilla and cinnamon and… sage? “We can avoid the line. There’s another door to our box seats off the second floor.”

Logan laughed, soft bells ringing out. “It seems you have all the insider secrets, Mr. Prince.”

He winked. “I do indeed.” Roman waved at the guard by the entry desk and escorted Logan inside the gallery. “Right this way, Mr. Sanders.”

“Oh,” he breathed as they stepped through the curtained entrance. “It’s incredible.” The Theatre Gallery was small by most standards, a few hundred feet long with just enough space between the walls lined with paintings and mostly flat media for a half-dozen sculptures down the center. The rotating exhibit filled the space with a riot of color, each piece representing a different play or musical from the theatre’s repertoire. 

Roman grinned, watching him turn on the spot, peering around them at the collection. He gravitated toward a familiar mixed media piece, a mural of the forest in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. As he got closer, he let out a surprised little laugh, quickly muffled behind his hands. “It’s from reviews!”

Nodding, Roman stood beside him and studied the work. “A few years ago, the director here, Nate Ennis, got… a little experimental with the production.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“You mean the… ‘clothing optional’ adaptation?” he asked, fighting a smile.

“Oh, you’ve heard of it,” Roman laughed.

“Only from the papers,” he winced and turned to peer at the colored decoupage. “It closed after two days…” His voice trailed away as he stepped closer, head tilted as he read the tiny text plastered on a tree trunk.

“Nate’s an old friend. He commissioned this piece as a way to have the last laugh.”

Shaking his head, Logan chuckled again and read the placard. “R. Prince?” He looked back at him, eyes wide. “ You created this?”

“No, no,” Roman raised his hands. “My artistic skill lay elsewhere. My brother has this gift.”

“Remus Prince,” Logan whispered, nodding. He stood back, taking in the full piece for a long while before moving close again, eyes following the shadows Remus had created with dense layers of newsprint. After a while, he turned to Roman with a little smile. “Your old friend just spontaneously commissioned your brother for a piece this size?”

Roman shrugged lightly. “He creates beautiful art.”

“I hope my sons will look out for each other the way you two do,” he murmured. “I… don’t have any siblings. It’s… You make me hopeful.”

“It wasn’t always perfect,” he sighed. “O beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”

“It’s understandable,” Logan nodded. “I mean, look around. Is it any wonder he’s be jealous of you?”

“Oh, no,” Roman turned, shaking his head. “No, I’m the one who’s been jealous of him. It’s what…” He raked his hand through his hair and pushed back against the regret hanging off his shoulders, heavy, wet wool spun from a litany of mistakes he can’t undo. “It’s what made it so easy to stay away. I mean…” Roman shrugged and met Logan’s eyes. “I’ve had amazing opportunities all around the world that I never would have had if I’d stayed in Seattle. But…” He looked up at his brother’s art. “I didn’t leave to chase opportunities, though. I left…”

He paused and Logan drew a little closer, listening with gentle, accepting eyes. “No-one knows this, but… I left because it was becoming too difficult to hide my jealousy of… Of him and Janus.

“Remus had always been the more… flingy of us? And the first man he falls in love with… They’ve been together since college. Our sophomore year. And I’ve…”  I’ve just kept falling in love with the unattainable. Logan stepped closer and Roman’s eyes caught on his, soft, clear and bright, gazing back at him like he was the only thing that mastered.

Maybe not always unattainable.

Logan gripped his shoulder and smiled. “You seem to have found a place for yourself. Do you still envy him?”

“Hmph,” Roman considered. “Not really… And… not Janus specifically.” Not anymore. “And I think… I think I might be figuring out how to find that kind of happiness for myself.” Logan smiled back at him and Roman’s heart danced against his ribcage, wild, crazy hope pounding through his veins. 

“Like the theatre here?” His eyes flicked around the space. Was Roman imagining that it was difficult for him to look away? 

He stepped closer to Logan. “That’s part of it, I think.”

Logan looked up into his eyes for a long moment before his jaw twitched, something… painful flashing over him. “You know, for a long time, I didn’t realize you had a twin,” Logan admitted slowly, turning his gaze to a bronze sculpture of what looked like a squashed rose. He walked to the next piece, a wire sculpture of Hamlet amidst a field of skulls.

“I… I’d seen your brother dozens of times over the years. More? He… he would, um, pick up Janus from the office most nights, bring him flowers… little gifts, and…” His cheeks glowed, a bright pink blush flooding his face. “It wasn’t until ah, the Q-Law benefit gala in… 2010?” He smiled up at him, almost a wince. “Janus introduced me to his ‘future husband’ and I heard his name for the first time. That was when I…”

“Oh, Lo…” Roman stopped walking and reached for his shoulder, gently turning him so their eyes would meet. “You thought he was me?” Logan shrugged and looked away. “And you thought…” Tears burned his own eyes at the hurt clouding Logan’s face. “I’ve seen the singular focus my brother shows Janus. You thought he was me and that I was just ignoring you, didn’t you?”

“I could hardly blame you if you had been. I was… just someone from your past,” he finished in a shaky voice, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Why should you remember me?”

Moving slowly, ready to drop his hand if Logan showed the slightest bit of discomfort, Roman tucked two fingers beneath his chin and tilted up his face. He smiled. “Nothing could ever make me forget you, Logan.” A tiny smile broke through the dark clouds behind his eyes and Roman couldn’t resist stepping closer. “I am so sorry my brother’s rudeness ever left you feeling otherwise.”

Logan’s smile grew and he shrugged again. “I felt so silly after we’d been introduced and I… I saw him up close. Your…” His skin warmed against Roman’s hand. “Your resemblance ended once I got a good look at his eyes.”

“The mustache wasn’t a giveaway?” he laughed and Logan shrugged again.

“I’d thought you were trying a different look.” Logan glanced up at his mouth before quickly looking away.

“Do you think I should give it a try?” Roman laughed, reluctantly releasing his grip on Logan’s chin and stroking imaginary facial hair.

Shaking his head, Logan laughed with him. “No, I like you like this,” he said before his mouth snapped shut and his eyes, wide with panic, darted around the gallery. “Oh, look, is th—this from The Tempest?” he stammered before rushing over to an ornate ship in a glass bottle, cracked open in a tray of sand.

Smiling, Roman watched Logan studiously read—pretend to read?—the inscription next to a plastic palm tree planted beside the ship. “The tree’s molded from found materials off Carkeek Park beach,” he murmured before he stood with Logan and admired the work of art beside him.

~

“I’ve seen at least fifteen different interpretations of As You Like It,” Roman laughed. “And I could see another fifteen and still be impressed with the ingenuity. And their Silvius!” He kissed his own fingers and grinned. “He’s a simple character, but a lot of fun to play.”

Warmth from the setting sun and a few strategically placed outdoor heaters kept the early spring evening comfortable enough to take their coffees outside. They sat together at a tiny round table, just large for their to-go cups set between them. Just small enough that Roman could still catch traces of Logan’s cologne on the breeze, spice and sage. The vanilla was probably from his own latte, but it was nice to pretend otherwise.

“I saw you play him,” Logan said more to his coffee than to him, a soft smile curling up his crooked little cupid’s bow.

Roman leaned closer. To hear him better, of course. “Oh, you did? I haven’t played Silvius in the States since—”

“Since your senior year.” Logan looked up with a little shrug. “At Childrens’ Days?” Roman nodded, the memory of the kids cheering and laughing at all the wrong—or right—parts flooding his mind. “I brought Remy and Virgil. This was before… before Patton was born. The front of house had been transformed, there was hay on the floor and a petting zoo with the sheep from the production after the show. And…” He looked away and something painted a soft pink over his cheeks. The heat of his coffee? A chill from the evening breeze? Roman’s heart beat faster. Something else? “And you were wonderful,” Logan smiled at him again. "The way you strode across the stage, you stole every scene. And when you sang, I—I’m—I’m babbling, forgive me,” he said, chuckling quietly. His eyes danced between him and the cup in his hands.

“Nothing to forgive,” Roman murmured. “Your face lights up when you talk.” He moved his cup closer to Logan’s, tapping them together before he let his hand rest on the table, their fingertips nearly touching. “‘When you do dance, I wish you a wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.’”

Logan huffed out a surprised laugh. “The Winter’s Tale is one of my favorites,” he admitted with a wry smile. He looked down at his coffee cup, fiddling with the paper sleeve.

“Really?” Roman grinned, head tilted. “I… I never would’ve guessed that. I would expect you to be more of a… a Hamlet man or… or one of the Histories.”

Logan’s cheeks blushed beautifully. “Well, it’s definitely not one of the Bard’s more complex storylines, but… it’s… hopeful. Maybe I hold on too long to things. Should accept I’m just in my sixth role and—” his voice trailed off at Roman’s perplexed expression. “‘All the world’s a stage…his acts being seven ages.’”

“Mm-hm. No.” Roman shook his head with a little grin. “No… I can see it in you. Deep down, you’re a romantic. You’ve got the heart of Orlando, brave and strong…” Logan scoffed, and Roman just laughed and nodded as though he’d made his argument for him. “Humble.” He sobered quickly, watching the shifting lights in the sculpture behind him sparkle over Logan’s eyes. “Devoted to the people you love.”

“Me?” Logan shook his head and took a long draw on his coffee. “Oh, no,” he chuckled dryly. “I’m Jaques if I’m anyone in that play.” Logan lifted his eyeglasses and blinked through the sudden blurriness. “Look at these eyes. These are the eyes of a bitter old cynic.”

“No,” Roman said quietly. He leaned closer, examining his eyes. The sky had darkened since they’d started their coffees and the deep, almost indigo of Logan’s eyes matched the cloudless sky. “No, when I look in your eyes, Lo, I don’t see bitterness or cynicism. I see kindness. I see intelligence.” He set down his cup and let his hand rest near Logan’s left, fingertips just barely brushing against the back of it. “I see wisdom,” he whispered. “Hard-earned wisdom.”

Logan stared down at Roman’s hand and his fingers jerked closer. Roman continued. “And maybe a little fear.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Roman,” Logan said, swallowing hard. “I trust you.”

“I know,” he smiled. “Not a fear of me. I see a fear of…“ Roman paused, and licked suddenly dry lips. “I see a fear of being hurt… and of… of being alone.”

“A certainty, perhaps.” Logan scoffed, looking away. He pulled his glasses from the top of his head and resettled them on his face. “What kind of woman would want a middle aged, divorced man with three kids, greying hair, and a… dad bod?”

Roman picked up his coffee with his other hand, letting the hand on Logan’s linger, warming the soft, chilled skin near his sleeve. “Lo, I think anyone with any taste at all would be thrilled to have you in their life. And in their arms.” With a little smile, he reached across the table and brushed a lock of hair from Logan’s eyes, then pulled his hand back and drank his coffee.

“'Love looks not with the eyes?'” Logan finally managed, voice cracking, as he tried to laugh.

“Hmm… no,” Roman hummed, still smiling. “‘Love adds a precious seeing to the eye. A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind. A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound.’”

Logan stared back at him, a flush darkening his cheeks and his lips. Roman set down his cup again and drew closer. “The simplest truth is, Logan, I… 'I would not wish any companion in the world b—”

A familiar string chord played from Logan’s phone, interrupting him. It seemed to take him a moment to register the sound and just as Roman recognized the theme from Doctor Who, Logan suddenly fumbled for his phone in his pocket. “Oh, excuse me,” he muttered, looking down at the screen. “It’s—it’s Remy.” Across the table, Roman grinned and pulled out his own phone.

“It’s a group text,” he chuckled, turning the screen to show they’d received the same message.

Across the Spider-Verse opens next month and tickets are already up on Fandango. Do you want to go? ~~~

“Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken.” - Sonnet 116

[prodigal-explorer]

here are some of my favorite sanders sides rp responses i’ve written lately!! enjoy perusing, some are angsty, some are sweet, some are in between! (also cw for violence, implied s/a, relationship abuse/violence, and implied ableism)

Roman shook his head. He took a very, very long time to speak, his mind hazy and busy as he scrambled to figure out how to say what he needed to say in English. It was already hard enough to speak in English when his mind was perfectly clear, but in this state, all the words, even the simplest ones were escaping him.

"C'est- mauvais. Tu ne veux pas savoir. Vraiment."

He narrowed his tear-filled eyes, frustrated, so angry with himself for not being able to communicate the right way. He felt trapped and lost, like a child. Like a child too young to say what they want, so all they could do is...

Cry.

Roman cried.

He felt so exposed, never having cried in America yet. He wanted to come across as this adult, this blossoming, mature feat of majesty and poise. And now, he was falling apart, blood dripping between his legs, in front of his boyfriend's little brother.

"Je veux ma maman..." he whispered. He wanted his mother. He barely knew his mother.

What he meant to say was that he wanted a mother.

—

That whole evening in Roman's head had been a blur. Ever since the trial ended, Roman had started to forget the details of what happened that night. It turned fuzzy, and that was how Roman liked it. He didn't want to remember the pain, the suffering, the betrayal he experienced. But now that he saw all the blood and substance on that carpet, dried up and crusted, and smelling like death, he couldn't forget it anymore. It all came flooding back to him like a tsunami. Tears formed in his eyes.

"It's all still there," he whispered, "I was so close to forgetting it for real. It's not fair. It's- it's not fair!"

In a fit of sudden anger, Roman grabbed the nearest lamp, sitting on top of a side table, and he threw it at the carpet. It shattered, the pieces splaying all over the place.

"It's not fair!" Roman shouted, kicking the side table until it fell over, starting to wreck everything in the room. Pictures, pillows, chairs, tables, all of it was coming down. It was only when he got to that dreadful carpet, the place where his body was destroyed, where he stopped, falling onto his knees and sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. "This is where he-...he...he was trying to teach Janus a lesson. He said I was his favorite."

—

And Roman was honestly amazing at his job. He had a lot of spills, and struggled a lot with things like remembering orders and handling the busy environment, but he rarely got an order wrong because he always sang them to himself while he made them, and he was nice to customers, often going above and beyond to make them happy. He was paid just as much as the other employees, but his paycheck had a few dollars less because of how often he gave people free things. As hard as his managers tried to explain the concept of “we don’t have infinite cake pops so you can’t give one to every little kid”, it never really stuck with Roman. He just thought kids needed cake pops.

—

“I’m not treating you like Roman!” Virgil sputtered defensively, “What on Earth makes you say that?”

Roman, who was quietly listening in from the hallway, faltered a bit in silent confusion. What was so bad about being treated like him?

“Stop that,” Virgil said, his tone icy and terrifying. He was never angry. Ever. So this was a first for Logan and for Roman who was watching. Virgil had the patience of a saint and the temper of a rabbit. He didn’t get angry easily. So this was very new territory that not even Virgil knew how to navigate. “You’re acting immature, and I know you’re more mature than this, Logan. Why can’t you see that I’m just trying to help you? You’re still a child, whether you like it or not. Whether you feel like one or not. Just because Roman is the way he isn’t doesn’t mean that you’re the smartest guy in the world, so stop acting like it.”

—

"It doesn't matter," Roman repeated, "You can watch Dogs 101 and eat cookies with me. Yeah, we can all spend nighttime together, just like we're supposed to do."

Roman grinned and bounced on his toes. Virgil seemed just as hesitant, worried about getting too close to Logan after the huge mistake he had made. But Roman was already off, singing and laughing as he got everything ready in the living room. Virgil lingered. "You don't have to," he whispered, "If you don't want to. Roman will understand." No he wouldn't. And they both knew it.

—

Roman squirmed where he was sitting, biting his lip so as not to cry. If he cried, he would be a baby. But he just had no idea how to express what he really wanted to say to Logan. He was starting to realize how Logan, and really, how the rest of the world percieved him. It was all hitting him at once, and it was hurting. Really, really bad.

He had always felt smaller than he was. But it wasn't until now when he realized just what that would mean.

—

A free spirit such as him didn't seem to be the type to approach music with such scientific detail, but Roman had such a love for music that that was just what ended up happening when his mind was so wound up in it. One can't help but be accurate in something when it's a piece of them. Nobody is inaccurate when they breathe. Nobody is inacurate when they blink.

A few times, Roman found himself making eye contact with Logan. At first, in a cautious way, as if to silently gauge whether or not he was doing a good job. But as the song progressed, Roman grew more comfortable, and eventually, these little glances turned into something more playful, as if he and Logan had a secret that the audience didn't know, but were dying to find out, and the two were sitting on it like kings sharing a throne.

—

Roman took a deep breath, closed his eyes, light brown and always glimmering with wonder, and opened them again as he started to sing. His voice was fluttering, like a bird's cry in summer. The kind that gently wakes you up at seven am, but it's so pretty you can't bring yourself to be mad for very long. He did some soft vocalizing before getting into the words.

And my goodness, were these words horrible.

It was like Logan and everyone else had stumbled into a third grade book report presentation, except it rhymed and it was even more terrible. It was like if One Direction got immensely drunk and decided to write all their lyrics with Dr. Seuss' vocabulary.

"Oh, baby, you're like the sky

You go so high

You're my babyyyy"

How was everyone else tolerating this? How was everyone else cheering for this?? Was it pretty privilige?? Was it alcohol poisoning??

"I love the way you dance

With your feet and hands

You're my babyyyy"

[logarhythm-bees]

To Unearth and Back Again; ⛅Chapter 14

Chapter Thirteen | Table of Contents | Chapter Fifteen

See ronithesnail's absolutely wonderful art for this story!

I fell for the beggar’s son In the puddled porch with his shoes undone And the silver coin that had made him come Into the yellow light

-The Inventor's Daughter, Branches

“Now that I’ve told you about my friends, you tell me about yours!” Remus cheered.

Janus frowned at him over a sip of tea. “I thought I made it clear, Remus. I do not want to talk about my ‘issues’ with Roman and Virgil.”

“Not them,” Remus chastised. “Your lame hand warmers. Y’know, Mister Light Blue and Darker Blue glasses.”

Janus stared at him. “You…want to hear about my boyfriends?”

Remus shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t want to feed me your problems like a lionfish in the pacific. I’ve already introduced you to my companions- who are better at coming to tea parties than you by the way, show up on time next time-”

“You kidnapped me.” Janus interrupted. 

“Irrelevant. Anyways, it’s the next conversation topic on the table, unless you want to see which one of us hits the ground faster if we jump out the window. I’ll put a trampoline at the bottom, it’ll be fine.”

“Let’s not.” Janus admonished, fiddling with his gloves. “What… did you want to know?”

“Whatever.” Remus said, sitting backwards on his chair now, having turned it around to face Janus. “Keep in mind though, anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer-”

“Stop, stop!” Janus yelled. “You don’t need to read me the Miranda warnings, and also the only lawyers in the mindscape are me and my boyfriends, I don’t know what you would do.”

“Just making sure you know your rights.” Remus told him. “You gonna talk about your boyfriends or not?”

Janus took a sip of his drink, thinking. “It’s been…nice, being partners with them.”

He rapped his fingers against the mug, nails making a soft clink. 

“Patton loves so much, and so openly,” he hummed, “I didn’t know someone could love quite so much.

Logan’s love isn’t so…overflowing, but it’s still so strong. He looks at us like he looks at his favorite constellations,” Janus mumbled shyly over his tea. 

“We balance each other out. I know how important self-love is, but it’s different being loved so by someone else.” Janus blushed. “Patton told me my love is like salted caramel. I’m not sure I understand what that means, but it’s sweet, isn’t it?”

“I think his love is a little bit like cookies, though.” Janus said. “They’re warm and comforting. And Logan’s like a dictionary, a little sharp around the edges, but you can always rely on them, and they’re sturdy and supporting.”

Janus sighed out dreamily, and Remus laughed. “Oh, you’re all saps. You’re going to be such dorks when they find you.”

Janus startled, staring at Remus. “You didn’t tell them where I was?”

“Of course I told them where you are, silly.” Remus teased. “It’s the getting here that they’re gonna struggle with.”

“The getting here?” Janus echoed. 

Remus chugged the rest of his tea and poured himself a fresh cup. “Roman paid me a dollar to get him some alone time with Virgil, so I sent the losers on a high-fantasy quest. I don’t know what any of you expected from me.”

“I think I should go,” Janus said, standing quickly from the table, but Remus shot him down with a glare. “They’re on a quest together.”

“So?” Janus asked.

“So they’re bonding.” Remus drawled. “Collaborating. Getting along. Fusing into a single entity shaped like something you won’t let me say. Maybe going wild and biting each other-” 

“That’s enough.” Janus said. “How- how long do you think they’ll be?”

“I gave ‘em some challenges to work out, but Roman’s probably rushing here to kick my butt, so probably not that long.” Remus responded and passed him the plate of biscuits. “Unless they get lost, or something. Maybe I should’ve given them a map.”

“…Let’s hope they’re not lost.” Janus supplied, and took a biscuit.

[fakeloveaskblog]

(Hi, me again. I’m very excited to see what the Remus get up to.)

From Remus and Remy’s perspective, Janus and Logan were the ones warping and distorting before being pulled suddenly off to the side and blinking away, and they are left alone to begin their date.

Glow Eyes

“And here we are!" Remus waved his arms around towards the tiny building hosting the art exhibit.

"It's...humble" Remy replied.

"Lesser known art can be just as good!"

The art gallery was crammed in between several other buildings. It had two floors but the bottom one was mostly taken up by the reception and a kids corner where younglings could draw.

Remus paid for them while Remy fumbled with their cane. They didn't really listen to what their friend and the receptionist were saying but their tones were weirdly familiar as if they had talked before.

Remy flinched when they felt a sudden warmth against their hand and looked up to see Remus grinning at them as he took their hand in his. He was still wearing that completely overdressed outfit from the morning. He looked like the epitome of dressing to impress.

They went into the only room on the first floor that actually contained an art piece. The air was light and breezy and the sound of water rippling filled the small room. Some weird contraption that looked sort of like a mini water tank was connected to several different plants.

It seemed like the two of them were the only people there right now so Remy sat down on the floor while watching his friend stare the piece up and down. Before circling around it. Before reading the sign on the wall about it. Before circling it again.

As he thought his nose scrunched up which made his eyebrows furrow so it looked like he was holding back a sneeze.

"Okay. I'm not getting it" He announced.

"Looking real cute tho girlie!"

Remus flexed his arms while smiling "I see that my incredibly masculine aroma is already getting to you"

"Yeeahh y'know that masc stench mixed with plants just really gets me going likeee tottalllyy" Remy joked back.

"Just imagine all the worms and nasty insects that could be hiding in the plants!!" He traced his eyes over the room one more time before holding out his hand to help them up "Wanna check out the upper floor?"

"Nah girl I just wanna go home like immediately...Kidding..Course I wanna" They took his hand "Can you like say that by the way? Like saying you don't get it?"

"Shit is a sniper gonna shot me if I admit to not understanding every single art piece ever" Remus replied dryly.

They shrugged "I just thought you're like the artsy type. I kinda just like assumed telepathic brainwaves just sent the meaning of whatever piece you were looking at straight into your brain”

“Nah nah. Usually I- Oh do you have enough spoons enough to take the stairs?”

“...I guess” They lied.

“It’s okay. The elevator isn’t locked like at some other places. I’ve checked!”  Remy gratefully let their friend lead them to the elevator. He kept talking as they took the short ride up “Usually I get a hunch for what the piece could mean after looking at it. Like some itch in my brain. And then I gotta think for a while before it clicks. Though if I don’t get the itch like immediately I usually get bored and just leave it which I know! I know! I should give every piece a chance! I just got rats for brains!”

The second floor was empty of people as well. A few paintings were hung on the walls, all of them with surrealist imagery. They walked past the top of the staircase, they could still see parts of the plants from up here.

“I don’t get any itches at all. At most I get some like thought once you’ve explained stuff to me” Remy said.

“Yeah well I’ve stuffed my brain full of information about art. Of course I’m gonna get it more than you!! It took me AGGEES to get anything before I learnt about all those fucked up dudes going around in france and germany during the early 1900′s that created like the base for all of modern art! Like I have NO idea what was going on with Egon Schiele aside from the prostitution addiction but I GEt it!”

Remus was looking at the paintings while he talked. Remy still had their arms locked around his upper arm. They learnt their cheek softly against his shoulder as he talked, even if that meant they had to lean down a little.

“The whole world of art opened up to me when I learnt to hate Bauhaus and the horrible fucking funkis trend!! It’s not even typical art!! It belongs in the category of architecture!! But whenever something goes to shit I can just curse out Bauhaus!”

“God It’s like with Randeen Nicholas!! HATE that guy! He like ruined 2 entire album covers for Miss Britney Spears with his boring ass style!!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but yeah!! FUCK HIM!!”

He smiled at them and lightly bonked his head against theirs which made them laugh. He continued to babble on about what kind of painting techniques the artist could have used to get the effects. Most likely dry brush. Maybe a hint of watercolor crayons.

“I wish I could touch them” Remy said mindlessly “Like when you go into a clothing store getting to feel how the fabric feels and how it was sewn is like tots the best part y’know? Maybe I’d get it more if I could feel it”

Remus made a mental note “That’s not a bad idea”

“Really?” They smiled.

“Yeah. I think I could literally look at paint drying if I got to touch it”

There were only two other rooms on this floor. Remus let his friend choose which way to go and they went to the room where there was a bench. Which they immediately sat down on of course.

There was a projector next to the bench shooting the images of a short film onto the starkly white wall. All of the windows in the room had been covered with thick dotted fabric matching the dotted patterns in the film.

The sound filled the room like fog. A low rumbling that made their ears vibrate. They glanced between the film and Remus. He had formed his fingers into a sort of frame and was looking around the room.

“Whatcha doing? Looking for quick exists in the case of a sudden like assassination attempt?” Remy joked.

“No- Maybe I should do”

It went a few seconds before Remus suddenly bursted into an explosion of stims. His arms flapped as he sat down right next to them on the bench. He leant even closer so his face was right in front of theirs.

“I’m planning! Scheming even!”

Remy let up into a sly smile as they leant closer to him as well “Planning for what?”

When they spoke Remus could feel their breathe blow against his cheeks, that’s how close they were.

“I’ve been talking with Ro-Ro and I’ve talked with the lady in the reception before...I’ve been...We’ve been thinking if maybe it would be possible if I could....I could hold an exhibition here-”

“An Art exhibition? Like showing shit off??”

“Yea-”

Remus didn’t even have time to finish the word before Remy had thrown their arms around him. They hugged him tightly while his arms hang loosely along his sides. He suck in a deep breathe as his cheeks turned pink.

“SHIT-” Remy shot back and let go of him “Sorry I like tots forgot to ask if you were like comfy with a hu-”

This time it was them who got interrupted by a hug as Remus snuggled up against them. Remy smiled as they hugged him back. They felt how he rubbed his hands in circles on their back.

“The exhibition is only gonna be going for at most a week. And it’s mostly ‘cause Ro-Ro donated money to the gallery I’m pretty sure” Remus mumbled out.

“Still. Isn’t it like kinda cool?”

Remy moved back from the hug but cupped his cheeks instead. Remus smittened into just a touch of a shy laugh.

“I guess it is kinda cool yeaah”

“Does it have like a theme? Like I dunno murder? Stigmata?”

Remus moved his hand on top of theirs while lowering his eyes “Yeah I uhh I kinda wanna do it about...Os...Or- well I mean more in general about like abuse”

“You sure you could handle that?”

“I want to” He squeezed onto their hand “I wanna get better”

“And this’ll like help?”

“Os is like a sickness filling me. I gotta vomit him up onto paper- I mean- I know it won’t fix me! But I think just- Just putting it into words- Or well art would help y’know? An-and I’ve been thinking that maybe if I’m able to express it with art I will be able to start talking about it with a therapist or something!”

Remy couldn’t hold back their look for surprise “A therapist?”

“Yeah” Remus’ smile staggered a little “I’d never really thought about the possibility of actually getting help ‘cause I wasn’t able to talk about what Os had done with anyone until-” He fidgeted with his thumbs “Until I told you”

He met their eyes and saw as the surprise fell away from their face. The look in their eyes turned soft as they waited for him to continue.

“I’d never really thought ‘bout actually like having a future. It felt like I was dead. Like in limbo y’know? Like my corpse was still in his apartment...But I’ve started to look forward to things again....I’ve started to look forward to seeing you”

The short film shifted scenes making the room suddenly lit up in a bright green. Remus could see his blushing cheeks being reflected in Remy’s eyes.

“...Like there’s some horror films I wanna go see with you at the cinema...And I would love if you could like sew a piece for the exhibition..And I’d think going on a trip with you would be really fun...We could go grave robbing and stuff” Remus continued, stumbling slightly over his words.

Words began to flash on the screen. A calming blue against starkly white. Drops of water echoed through the speakers every now and again.

‘YOU ARE NOW APPROXIMATELY 1895 KILOMETERS, 9 METERS AWAY FROM WHERE ANGEL NIEVES DIAZ WAS KILLED’

Remy shifted in their seat. A few strings of their hair fell down in front of their eyes as they pulled their knees up to their chest. The shoelaces on both of their shoes were untied because they had been just about too high to remember how to do it.

‘AND ABOUT 7 YEARS, 11 MONTHS, 3 DAYS AND 15 HOURS TO LATE TOO SEE IT’

Their lips parsed for just a moment as if they were about to say something before they instead bit on the inside of their cheek. It was so quiet they could hear Remus’ calm breathing. No one else was there. It was only the two of them. And the speaker kept playing the rhythmic drops of rain, or if it was medicine, or poison.

‘IT TOOK HIM 34 MINUTES TO DIE FROM THE LETHAL INJECTION HE WAS GIVEN BY THE STATE’

It was like a strain lifted as Remy relaxed their shoulders and turned to look at Remus “I think I wanna look forward to going to your exhibition. That’ll be my goal”

“Oh I’m flattered-”

“I don’t wanna be high. I wanna see your art without being high. And I wanna be with you without being like high” Remy continued.

Remus let up into a toothy grin and took their hands in his “That sounds like a GREAT goal!”

“What was it you wanted me to make for the exhibition?”

“You don’t have to”

“I want to! I would like tots really like love to”

“BEaaannieee I got loads of ideas! Let me show you-”

Remus leant down to pick his sketchbook out of his bag but stopped mid motion. He glanced up at the screen recounting another murder and took a deep breathe. It was just them. He was now approximately as close as he could to them. Approximately as alone as he could be with them.

“I can show you some other time” Remus said as he went back to holding their hands.

Remy circled their thumb against his palm “Anything wrong?”

“No. No” He chuckled “I just don’t think I said everything I wanted to before”

“...About the grave robbing?” 

“No- Kinda. Maybe”

Remy noticed that his hands were trembling ever so slightly and made sure to lean closer. They tilted their head a little as he searched for words.

“You’ve made me feel alive again Beanie” Remus said as sincerely as he could. He had to gulp back a lump of worry before he continued “You haven’t just like helped me start to think about my future again. You are my future. Whenever I imagine what I want to do you are always a part of it”

The worry disappeared from Remus as soon as he saw Remy’s expression lit up into what could best be called unbridled joy. Maybe even mixed with some anticipation for what he would say next.

���I think I have- No. I know” Remus let out “I know I’m in love with you Remy”

As soon as Remy opened their mouth a dorky laugh left their lips followed by giggling. They blushed so hard their pale skin looked completely pink. Remus couldn’t help but laugh along as he leant his forehead against theirs.

“I’ve got a big stupid gigantic fucking crush on you too Remus!!” They giggled out.

“You doooOOooOOoo”

“I like tooootsss dooo girl!!”

Remus’ cheeks hurt from how hard he was smiling “You’re pretty cooool”

“No but like seriously” Remy moved their arms around his shoulders and bonked their forehead a bit extra into his “It’s so scary to like fall in love again after getting hurt like..like we have...so uhm like...Thanks for trusting me enough to like confess”

“Same to you. I never feel as safe as when I am with you”

“When I’m with you my nightmares lessen”

The two of them shared a quiet moment of simply looking at each other with the new context, the new comfort, of knowing that the other loved them. Remus scrunched his nose to bop it against their nose which made them laugh.

Remus let his hand wander up to his lips before reaching out and gently tracing his finger against Remy’s lips. Their lips which were so close it made his head spin a little.

He looked up and met their eyes. They looked at him with such warmth and he felt how they loosened the way they were holding him. As if they were telling him it was okay if he took his time.

“Can I kiss you?” The words stumbled out before he could stop them.

Remy smiled even brighter “Yes! Please!! Finally!”

Remus grinned back at them before leaning in and-

There have been far too many times when both of their’s privacy have been forced away from them against their will.

Let’s let them have this moment to themself, shall we.

[inkribbon796]

Goo Town USA

Summary: Remus and Anti find someone in the sewer system of Gainesville, and it’s not a dead body.

A/N: Happy Birthday, Remus!

Remus was walking around town, it had been a while since he’d gotten to do so and Janus was too busy to keep babysitting him. So he was currently spending his time trespassing right into the heart of Dark’s territory. Which typically ended with Dark finding him, batting him around with his aura and then dumping him back into Gainesville for Janus to find and deal with later.

But Dark was busy with his new triplet spawnlings, not that Remus knew that or was going to learn that for a while. So Remus was calmly strolling down the street when Anti flung himself out of a telephone pole next to Dark’s warehouses and just bolted.

“Hey, Anti,” Remus smiled at Anti who raced past him as if he was set on fire.

“Come on, let’s go!” Anti shouted. He had a skeletal metal hand in his hands. Remus naturally bolted to follow him.

“Anti!” Google’s voice shouted in an absolute rage as he chased them. Remus took out his mace and with a mad cackle spun on his heels and charged at the android. Google protectively spilt into a cloud and after a couple swings he raced away from Google and in the chase the android lost Anti because he was trying to pursue Remus and Remus eventually slipped into the sewers where he and Anti frequently liked to hide out because most of their opponents had too much pride to follow them in there . . . along with an actual sense of smell.

“Yeh[1] lose him?” Anti asked as Remus frog splashed into the disgusting trash water.

Remus gave him a thumb’s up before picking himself up. He noticed that Anti was holding a skeletal robotic hand.

“Aghhh,” Anti complained. “It was finally gettin[2] fun.”

“Should I go find him?” Remus offered.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Anti huffed out. “Don’t know why e’eryone in this fookin’ town is so borin’ an’ shite all ‘a the sudden.”[3]

Then he bit off one of the fingers of the hand. Remus frowned at him for a bit before smiling again and getting closer to the glitch demon. “Wanna[4] share?”

Anti chuckled and tossed him the pinky finger and Remus accepted it gladly.

Remus summoned his mace and rested his hands and chin on the bottom flat of the mace, pouting. “I’m not bor~ing, am I, Anti?”

The glitch demon frowned and thought about that, “Depends, yer not gonna give chaos up fer Dee, are yeh?”[5]

“I would never,” Remus huffed out in offense. “How dare you think so little of me?”

“Then yer not borin’,”[6] Anti told him.

“Yay!” Remus cheered and threw his hands up, his mace falling into the water.

“Yeah,” Anti wrapped an arm around Remus’s neck and pulled him in. “Cause yer my favorite human, ain’tcha?”[7]

“Awww,” Remus pinched his cheeks. “Is swomeone’s gettin’ swoft, Anti?”[8]

“Shut up,” Anti grumbled and pushed Remus away from him. “Yeh[1] wanna[4] go draw on the police station again?”

“Fuck yes,” Remus said, kicking around in the sewer water for his mace instead of summoning it like a reasonable person. “Will Mare be there?”

And that was the wrong thing to say.

“Fook ‘im!”[9] Anti spat angrily. “Gobshite’s got some new shiny pact mate eatin’ up his time, an’ I can’t find Wil. He’s prolly up Dark’s arse or somethin’.”[10]

“Huh,” Remus said as he began to reach into the water for his mace.

“Lucky fer him I’ve been too busy ta gut him an’ so I got angry ‘cause I couldn’t find some shitesleeve,”[11] Anti scoffed. “Went ta[12] go bother Google, got bored, got hungry.”

Anti gestured with the metal hand he still had and was in the process of eating it.

Remus nodded and touched something but when he pulled it out it wasn’t his mace. It was a human head. A redhead with glasses and green slime oozing out of his head. The water at this point in the sewer wasn’t deep enough to vertically submerge a body.

And Remus should know, he’d tried to hide a body in these sewers more than once.

Confused, Remus stuck the head back into the water, hoping that when he pulled it back out the person would be his mace instead.

It wasn’t.

“The fook[13] is that?” Anti asked.

“Hi, I’m Slime, uhh, I mean I’m Meat, Meat and Bone,” Slime introduced as he stood up out of the sludge water.

“Okay,” Anti smiled, poking the green jelly oozing from his head. “Meat, how do yeh[1] feel about death?”

“Well,” Slime hummed, his throat doing a weird, disgusting gurgling that Remus found absolutely fascinating and wanted to poke at the green viscous gloop that made up the bottom of his neck to see what was making the noise. “Everyone just shambles around until eventually they fall apart and become dust.”

Remus began cackling in laughter and soon Anti was joining him. Slime looked at them in confusion before starting to copy their mad laughter but sounding a lot more forced and crazed which only delighted both Remus and Anti more.

They stopped and Slime was still laughing for a full second before he awkwardly cut himself off.

“Dibs,” Remus proclaimed and grabbed Slime around the waist, lifting him up like an oversized rag doll. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, I have so many ribs,” Slime reassured loudly as Remus and Anti began heading out of the sewers, Remus summoned a couple of his tendrils to climb out without letting go of his new friend, and Anti used the nearest open wire. “And they are all mine.”

Anti immediately recognized that he was right next to the bar Mare liked to crash at when he wasn’t with Nate.

“Give me a sec,” Anti spat and stomped over to the bar and kicked in the door. “Mare! The fook[13] are yeh[1]?”

Mare was talking to the bartender, his new pact mate sitting at the other side of the bar, just feeding off of the aura in the patrons in the bar with Mare.

“Anti?” Mare asked in confusion, getting up.

Anti kicked over the nearest table, uncaring if there were people or drinks at it.

“Hey!” Mare spat and raced over to him, throwing himself at Anti and the two started getting into a fist fight with each other and Mare kicked him out of the bar.

Remus started cheering them on, summoning up some anchors to enjoy the fight and holding some out for Slime who took some and smashed it to his face instead of eating it.

Mad followed the fight out of the bar and tried to help Mare but was elbowed away by the two demons as they fought it out until both of them were covered in scratches from aura and claws.

“The fuck is wrong with you!” Mate spat in anger as they pulled away. It was a reprieve in the fight, the fight would either stop here or keep going depending on their conversation.

“Fook[13] you!” Anti spat at Mare. “Yeh get some new friend, an’ yeh leave me behind!”[14]

“Hey, should I?” Mad motioned behind himself.

“No, just,” Mare told Mad before turning back to Anti. “I didn’t leave you behind, you had your head up your ass chasing Henrik’s ass. I let you do what you want but when I deal with my shit, you get fucking pissed.”

Anti was quiet, fuming angrily for a bit. “Look I don’t care if yer fookin’ him or whate’er, I just care about havin’ some fookin fun.”[15]

“We’re not,” Mare rolled his eyes and sighed, “I’m not too busy to turn this town upside-down.”

“Promise?” Anti demanded. “I’m yer[16] favorite demon right? Not him?”

“No, he’s just my pact mate,” Mare told him as Mad just stared at them in confusion.

“Yeh[1] swear?” Anti glared at him .

“Yes, obviously, you fucking asshat,” Mare told him.

“I better be, yeh[1] gobshite[17],” Anti agreed before turning to Mare, “he’s my fookin’ friend, yeh got that?”[18]

“Uhhh, yeah, whatever,” Mad held up his hands and stared at Anti like he was insane.

“Exactly,” Anti reinforced. “Anyways, yeh[1] two wanna come an’[19] commit some chaos?”

“Hell yeah,” Mare gave him a thumbs up. “Hey Mad, come on, I gotta[20] introduce you to Anti here?”

“Doesn’t he work for Dark?” Mad was watching Anti carefully.

“I don’t do shite fer that arsehole,”[21] Anti spat down at the ground. “We just happen ta agree on a couple things. Dark is a fookin’ shitehead an’ the only good thing about him is the spawnlings he collected an’ the fact he’s datin’ Wil.”[22]

Then he clapped Mare on the back, “Come on, I’ve got a gang leader ta[13] kill.”

“I thought we were committing chaos?” Mare reminded, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, but some arse[23] attacked Kay an’[19] Lunky,” Anti spat. “So if I can find this arsehole an’ gut him like a fookin’ fish fer touchin’ ‘em.”[24]

Then Anti remembered something, and felt dumb for not remembering it sooner. “Hey, Remus, yer[16] from Gainesville, who are all the gang leaders in yer[16] city?”

Remus shrugged, “Ask Dee.”

“Yeah fook[13],” Anti agreed, “he would know.”

The glitch thought on that, before he shrugged, “Welp, time ta burn shite until he shows up. Or the heroes do an’ I can just ask them.”[25]

“Yeah!” Remus pumped his fists in the air supportively.

And that’s what they did. It didn’t take long for Remus to teach Slime how to become an arsonist, Remus just set a burning Molotov cocktail in his hand and pointed Slime at something and told him to throw it. Slime barely had the second one in his hand and Remus was trying to light it when Janus showed up.

“The devil are you doing?” Janus shouted.

“Burning stuff,” Remus supplied helpfully.

“I’m an Aaronist!” Slime shouted.

“Arsonist,” Mare corrected with a smile.

“Why in our town?” Janus demanded. “Why not do this in Egoton?”

Remus shrugged and Janus groaned in frustration.

Which is exactly when a shrill bird whistle called out. “Hey Meat, what’cha[26] doing?”

Janus startled and turned directly behind him to see a man in a button shirt and suspended, with a black beanie and a thick scar over his left eye.

Slime smiled and walked over to the newcomer, holding out the unlit Molotov. “Quackity, look, I am arsonist now.”

“El Espíritu me directo, porque este chamaco va a ser como Tubbo,”[27] Quackity groaned and rubbed at the bridge of his eye. “Come on, we gotta[20] go before you get us arrested.”

“How long were you following me?” Janus demanded angrily.

“Relax, I just wanted to talk,” Quackity said, moving Slime behind him. “I just didn’t expect our next meeting to be this soon.”

He took out a white business card out of his sleeve and with a soft puff of air he blew it with magic towards Remus, who caught it mostly out of reflex. “For your boss.”

Remus blinked as Janus glared at Quackity. But he brought the card over to the deceitful Side, who ripped up the card and threw it back at Remus. The creative Side ate one of the scraps out of the air like a deranged piranha. “We want nothing to do with you.”

“You sure you can’t tell the big man?” Quackity tried to convince Janus. “Come on.”

“You have me confused with someone who takes orders,” Janus scoffed. “Which I assure you, I do not.”

Quackity had a huge, smug smile on his face. “Right, big guy. Tell you what. You swear off your lies, and I’ll swear off mine. ¿Entiendes?[28]”

He clicked his tongue and winked his good eye as he pulled out an orb of swirling green aura. Slime broke apart into a swirl of vicious green gloop and swirled around Quackity as the man threw the orb and it sailed a far distance away.

A great eye opened up for a second or two and the two were gone. Leaving Deceit with the other villains.

Janus glared at where they had been before turning back to Remus. “Do not talk to that man again.”

Remus slouched a little and pouted. Janus didn’t reinforce his order, he just stormed off, one of his serpentine familiars slipped away to go find Logan. Remus was left to continue causing trouble with the rest of his friends. If he saw Slime again and caused trouble in Gainesville again, Janus didn’t threaten him to stay away again, knowing that Remus wouldn’t follow the order.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. You

2. getting

3. Don’t know why everyone in this fucking town is so boring and shit all of the sudden.

4. Want to

5. Depends, you’re not gonna give chaos up for Dee, are you?

6. Then you’re not boring

7. Because you’re my favorite human, aren’t you?

8. Is someone getting soft, Anti?

9. Fuck him!

10. Idiot’s got some new shiny pact mate eating up his time, and I can’t find Wil. He’s probably up Dark’s ass or something.

11. Lucky for him I’ve been too busy to gut him and so I got angry because I couldn’t find some shitsleeve

12. to

13. Fuck

14. You get some new friend, and you leave me behind!

15. Look I don’t care if you’re fucking him or whatever, I just care about having some fucking fun.

16. your (or you’re, depending on context)

17. idiot

18. he’s my fucking friend, you got that?

19. and

20. got to

21. I don’t do shit for that asshole

22. We just happen to agree on a couple things. Dark is a fucking shithead and the only good thing about him is the spawnlings he collected and the fact he’s dating Wil.

23. ass

24. So if I can find this asshole and gut him like a fucking fish for touching them.

25. Well, time to burn shit until he shows up. Or the heroes do and I can just ask them

26. what are you

27. The Spirit direct me, because this boy’s going to become like Tubbo

28. Understand?

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

If My Kingdom Falls, I’ll Lose it All

A birthday gift to the lovely @aidensm8. Ty so much @dramaticsnakes for beta-reading <33333

Cws: minor angst, feeling of not being good enough, implied overworking, neglecting self-care

Summary: "A good king takes care of himself."

"I'm not a king yet."

---

Roman was a prince. A prince who would soon become a king. There were too many things to do and the golden-eyed guard kept on getting in his way.

AO3

The Sanders Kingdom received the provocative letter that detailed the new laws set for their neighboring kingdoms that would soon fit their own as well. The King had discussed the arrangement, focusing on the inflation or artisan goods and rations provided to the people. The meetings took place over several months with no changes made in favor of the Sanders Kingdom. The nation soon declared war, providing that regulations were detrimental to-

“-no no, you should have seen him last night. He was a complete mess.”

Roman let out an exhale. The guards were socializing by his door again. When would they learn that they were getting paid to stand there and not go around pretending the castle was the local pub? He harshly stood up from his chair, not minding how it made a semi-loud sound as it moved across the floor. He made a few quick steps to open the door, glaring with the first guard he saw. 

A walking stereotype. Muscles, dark hair, and a straightened-up posture once he saw Roman’s presence. Roman took in a small breath. Kings were polite with their people. He had to be kind and civil. He slipped a small smile on his face, making the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly, “Gentlemen.”

The guard looked at Roman’s eyes for a moment, but the eye contact seemed uncomfortable for the man. The guard slipped on a smile but it was filled with apprehension and hesitation.  “Prince- Prince Roman. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

Well, you did, he bitterly thought. He let a small chuckle escape him, one that wasn’t out of personal enjoyment but to rather relieve the tension. “You didn’t, but could you two tell the guards by hallway C to rotate their positions with you?” He didn’t know which guards he was swapping out, but they must have been better than these two. 

He looked over at the other guard, almost forgetting he existed. His eyes were slightly narrowed as a tight smile rested on his face. His eyes were peculiar. Roman barely had time to dissect the distaste painted over the man’s face as he noticed a golden eye staring back at him. It seemed to stare through his soul and assert that he was the royal one there. 

Roman swallowed the feeling down his throat as the original guard spoke, “As you wish, Prince Roman.” The guard made a few steps away from the door, the armor clinking quietly around him. He took a look back, noticing that the guard positioned next to him hadn’t moved. 

“Sir Deceit?” The guard with the golden eye- who was apparently Sir Deceit- looked away from Roman and to the other guard. 

He took a quiet exhale as he nodded at Roman. “As you wish, Prince Roman.” There might have been another moment where Sir Deceit lingered there for a second longer than he should have, but the time flew by Roman as the guard soon walked away. 

Deceit. It was an odd name for a guard. A guard that’s supposed to be honest and truthful to his kingdom was going by Deceit. Roman momentarily wondered what Sir Deceit’s real name was before he shook his head to himself and retreated back into his room. Names were kept secret out of safety. Something about how it lowered assassination attempts or perhaps just general threats.

A part of his mind kept returning back to the guard as he sat down and tried to continue reading about their foreign affairs. He shouldn’t care about the guard, he just had a weird eye and name and that was the end of it. He had a kingdom that would fall into his hands within a matter of months. He didn’t have time to focus on the insignificant details of his workers.

---

Roman moved his hands around as the book suggested. One around an imaginary waist and the other holding an invisible hand. He slowly stepped forward while holding the pose, then moving to the right as he turned around to end up in the starting position. He took a small breath as he proceeded to widen his stance. The book reminded him how important it was, but he kept on forgetting.

A warm voice called out from behind him. “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman turned around. He was about to decline the permission to the guard when he noticed his eyes. Golden-eyed boy was guarding him again. He wished the guard’s name didn’t feel familiar on his mind. “Permission granted.”

“You’re doing horribly.”

Roman felt his body become tense as he forced his posture to vaguely loosen up, but the confusion on his face was evidence of his initial reaction. Rule one- a guard should never insult royalty. Roman felt any confidence he could’ve had leave him as he turned away from him. “I’m still learning, Sir Deceit.”

Footsteps made their way behind him as warm hands gently fell onto his body. Sir Deceit’s chest was pressed against his back as he slowly pushed Roman’s arms to be more curved and open. He whispered into his ear, “You can’t learn such a fluid dance from a book. The pages are so rigid, it’s practically incorrect to learn that way.”

Before Roman could’ve made any comment, Sir Deceit walked around him, interlocking their fingers in his left hand and placing Roman’s other hand onto his waist. Roman looked Sir Deceit up and down. The guard seemed to know what he was doing with how calmly he looked up at Roman. Warmness was present on him, gently reminding him that he needed to do something. “S- Sir Deceit, this is quite unprofessional of you. I’ll have to ask you to remove your hands from me.”

Roman almost wished that they stayed together a bit longer, but they were separated as soon as they were joined. “As you wish, my prince.”

He could feel the phantom warmth on his skin. He looked away from Sir Deceit and to the book. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Sir Deceit let out a small hum. It was one of approval, but it was so… wrong. There wasn’t a witty remark that Roman knew was in the back of his mind or a protest to stay. There wasn’t even a statement of agreement. Just a small noise.

But what was Roman doing? His coronation was coming close and he had to know the kingdom’s traditional dances by heart to not look a fool. Yet, he somehow felt like one already. With warmness tingling on his waist and hand, he repositioned his body into the starting position.

---

Roman faced the mirror, critically eyeing the man he saw in it. While it was him in the mirror, it wasn’t him. He wore a newer outfit, but it was still in the same style as his wardrobe. He carefully moved a few hairs to lay slightly on his face. Enough to look casual, but not enough to look messy. 

He tensed at the muffled snicker behind him. He turned around, almost expecting his brother there but he only saw a gua- Sir Deceit. The man held a hand to his mouth, but Roman could still see how his eyes crinkled. Roman raised an eyebrow, “Is something funny?”

Sir Deceit shook his head before he dropped his hand to reveal the smile on his face, “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman let out a short breath as he held a tensed smile. The words were too light-hearted. As if he wasn’t a guard who worked for him and instead as if they were friends for many years. “Permission granted.”

Sir Deceit took a few small steps towards him. Roman found himself looking away and towards the mirror, but even that still held his the guard’s reflection. He could luckily see that the man’s eyes lingered on his outfit instead of him. “It’s ridiculous,” Sir Deceit quietly said, almost as if it was to himself. “You spend so much time on everything that’s already perfect that you fail to acknowledge what actually needs to be fixed.”

Roman scoffed, “If you’re so fashionably gifted then please let me know what needs to be ‘fixed.’” The last word was sarcastic as Roman resisted rolling his eyes.

“Your collar,” Sir Deceit responded without hesitation. “It’s a bit crooked.”

Roman looked into the mirror. His collar seemed normal to him- perfect even. Perhaps Sir Deceit was just a liar trying to get a rise out of Roman to finally prove that he shouldn’t be king. Maybe even point out that learning what kings should know shouldn’t be so difficult for him. “My collar is fine.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Roman took his gaze away from his collar and towards Sir Deceit. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Sir Deceit stood there for a moment before he took the smallest step towards Roman. He gently grabbed Roman’s collar, making a few tugs that Roman caught in the mirror before the guard pulled away. “I didn’t hear you, what did you say?” There was a hidden smugness behind the words that made Roman smile.

“My collar was fine, but-” thank you. He shouldn’t thank a guard, he was simply doing his job. Guards didn't get thanked for the bare minimum, only if they saved a life or did something else heroic. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Janus nodded once, apparently pleased with Roman’s response. “As you wish, my prince.”

---

Roman let out a long breath as he tried to read over the words again. They only seemed blurrier as more tears filled his vision. It was simple, he shouldn’t be acting so stupid about it. Although the laws contradicted each other, he was sure they made sense. He just wasn’t trying hard enough. 

He let out a slow, shaky breath, as he leaned back in his chair. He gently blinked the tears out, willing himself not to sob in the library. He carefully wiped the shed tears away, making sure not to rub them so his face wouldn’t be splotchy. A good king didn't cry over something so easy.

A moment too long passed with only more emotion brewing inside him. He looked down at his book again, his gaze momentarily catching a guard’s, but he quickly focused his mind on the book. 

The words were still blurry, but he tried to make himself focus on the content. Perhaps he wasn’t even reading the words anymore, only scanning the page in case it would randomly start to make sense. Somewhere between seconds and minutes, he felt a warm presence on his shoulder that made him want to curl up in hopes that it surrounded him. Through a quick glance, he spotted a gloved hand resting there. “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

It was Sir Deceit. He didn’t remember that the man wore gloves. Roman nodded to the guard’s question, not trusting his voice with a confident answer.

“You should rest, my prince.” The sympathetic voice dripped into Roman’s ears, filling them with pity and kind-hearted melancholy.

Roman weakly shook his head. He didn’t need a break. He needed to understand. He blinked as a tear slid down his face and silently fell onto the page. He shouldn’t be this pathetic, it was simple. All the other kings understood it with ease- perhaps he didn’t deserve the role so graciously given to him.

Sir Deceit gave a gentle squeeze to Roman’s shoulder. The direct action made him wilt, any confidence he held fading away. When the book was removed from him, he followed it with his vision. He saw gloves holding it, dabbing the part of the page wetted by Roman’s tear.

Roman let out a quiet sigh as Sir Deceit closed the book. “You won’t get anywhere tonight and it’ll be here tomorrow.” The words were too gentle to reject, turning painfully in Roman’s chest. He stood up, but the feeling still lingered when he turned away. He took a step away from Sir Deceit, feeling the hand slowly slip off him. 

“You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.” He couldn’t find himself to care that his voice broke or how he felt a sob breaking through him that he managed to quiet at the last moment. There was something hesitant said to him. Perhaps a farewell, goodbye, or another phrase for departure.

Or perhaps it was confirmation that he shouldn’t be king.

---

Roman stood in the mirror as he adjusted his collar. He cringed at the sight of himself as he tried to focus on anything else, but it all seemed so wrong. Flat hair accompanied with too-pale skin didn’t compliment the slight frown on his face. He tried to flash himself a smile, but it seemed far too flimsy. A small breath left him. He didn’t have anything to do, so he might just keep himself in the library. 

Not for long of course. Only an hour or two to refresh his mind. The steps there were easy after all. Sir Deceit trailed close behind. Roman would’ve complained about his constant presence, but a small part of him liked the familiarity of the golden eye accompanied by a warm voice. There was nothing personal about the attachment. The traits would have been nice on anyone.

The library brought a vague feeling of dread that he pushed down as he inhaled the calm scent of books. He walked to a table and sat down. A pile of books rested next to the chair. He quietly picked one up as he opened it to where he last was. 

The pages seemed kinder to him today. There was still minor frustration embedded into the words, but he still turned the page after a minute or two of processing what he read. He sat straight up, leaning to the side as he heard a few cracks from his back as he stretched. After a moment of letting his body move, he refocused his eyes onto the book. 

A warm voice welcomed him away from the text, “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman looked up from the book and to Sir Deceit. “Of course.” A soft smile found a way onto his face, but it felt the slightest bit strained. 

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

Roman frowned as he noticed an appetite that had appeared at random. He shook his head.

Sir Deceit continued where he didn’t, “Do you plan to eat soon?”

Roman shrugged. “I’m not sure how you view ‘soon,’ but I’ll eat eventually.”

The conversation quieted in a way Roman found himself comfortable with. He settled back into his book, only making it a few pages before Sir Deceit spoke again, “I can bring you something from the kitchen.” The words dipped into a concern that made Roman shift slightly in his chair. 

“Food isn’t allowed into the library.” It was odd that Sir Deceit apparently seemed to not know the rules of the castle, speaking so casually and making improper requests. 

“There’s more than rules in life, my prince.”

Roman tensed as he looked away from his book and up at Sir Deceit. He didn’t spend months if not years learning what the rules were for himself and the kingdom just for a guard to say that they weren’t important. “Rules define who a person is, Sir Deceit.” His voice was laced with bitterness he didn’t have the patience to apologize for.

Yet, Sir Deceit seemed oblivious to it as he shook his head. “They might define social norms and common courtesy, but they don’t do much more than that.”

Roman looked down at his book. He didn’t have time for this. Janus quietly sighed. “Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchen, Prince Roman?”

Roman didn’t bother to look up at the guard. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

---

The uprising was ineluctable yet unscrupulous. Their power contended the sovereignty of their time with the insistence of their previous-

The sound of the plate in front of him brought him out of the pages and into the library. He blinked up at the food as his stomach let out a quiet growl. “I’m-” fine. His sentence was cut off by the sight of a yellow glove gently hanging at the side of the plate. He looked up, spotting Sir Deceit himself standing there. “I didn’t request this.”

Sir Deceit nodded once, the action too quick and smug for any possible hesitance to slip through. “I’m aware of that, Prince Roman.”

Roman let his shoulders drop slightly as he fiddled with one of the pages. “You can take that back to the kitchen,” he said through an exhale.

“A good king takes care of himself.”

Then I won’t be a good king. “I’m not king yet.”

“You’re practicing to become one, no?” Roman rolled his eyes. Even through his practices, most of the time he failed at the simplest traditions and memorization. “Roman, you have to take care of yourself. Even if you’re excited about your new position, you’re still… human.”

“I’m not excited about any of this,” the words were his own, but they left him without permission, only weighing heavily as he continued to talk, “I never asked to be a prince. I- I know I should be grateful, but…” He let his voice drift off with a long exhale picking up its place. His eyes drifted back to the book.

“Stand up.”

Roman chuckled as he looked up at Sir Deceit. “You’re a guard, you’re in no position to command a prince.”

Sir Deceit rolled his eyes with a faux smile on his face. “I would like to request you to stand up, my prince.” He held out a gloved hand out to Roman. Hesitation shined from the interaction, but Roman gently held Sir Deceit’s hand as he stood up.

Sir Deceit began walking as Roman followed along. They wandered through the old library, the silence stretching between them finding a comfortable place through their echoing footsteps. The guard turned around corners and hallways Roman had never seen, leading him to a wooden door that Sir Deceit opened with ease. 

Roman quietly gasped at the cold air that hit him. It was a door that led outside. Sir Deceit gently tugged for him to go further, but Roman stood where he was. “I’m not allowed to go outside after dark.” He looked through the door with admiration. The sky was dark as he saw glimpses of tall spruce trees and small specks of stars. 

Sir Deceit turned to him, a gentle smile on his face. Not one tinted with compassion, but one of adventure. “There’s more to life than social boundaries.”

And with a tug of his hand, Roman started slowly walking outside with his guard. The grass moved underneath his shoes. It would have done that in the day too, but it seemed so different with the quiet secretiveness.

It only took a few steps for Roman to stare at the stars. He saw them in old books and paintings hung across the walls, but he never saw them before. “What would have happened if I never brought you out here?” The question was quiet in a way that seemed rhetorical but it didn’t stop Roman from wondering. 

He looked down from the stars and into Sir Deceit’s eyes. The golden one seemed to oddly glow. “I would’ve stayed in the library.”

“No, I mean long-term.” Roman found himself taking glances away from Sir Deceit’s eyes and towards the stars behind him. “You would’ve missed this.”

Roman shook his head. “I would’ve eventually seen them.”

Sir Deceit shrugged. “I’ve looked through the rules. You’re only allowed out this late a few times a year.”

“So you do know what the rules are.”

Sir Deceit shook his head slightly, a silent laugh of sorts. “I’m well aware of what they are. I just know they aren’t worth paying attention to. Especially compared to moments like this.”

Roman found himself nodding to the words as he looked at his fingers interlocked with Sir Deceit’s. He tested the waters, giving the hand a small squeeze. He received one in return without a response.

He barely thought before he pressed his lips onto Sir Deceit’s. His eyes closed, but he could still feel the stars. He took his free hand to cup Sir Deceit’s cheek, keeping him close into the kiss. A slow moment passed before he pulled away with a smile. “You’re something different, Sir Deceit.”

“It’s Janus.”

Roman’s smile faltered for a brief moment. “You aren’t supposed to say your real name. You could be permanently dismissed- if not exiled for such a thing.” Something set uncomfortably in his chest at the idea of not seeing Sir Dec- Janus’ golden eye again. Or to hear how a question dripped in sarcasm and politeness at the same time.

Janus pressed a quick kiss onto Roman’s lips. “Maybe I don’t care anymore, prince Roman.”

“Just Roman.”

A small smile fell onto Janus. “Your name reveal was a little less dramatic.”

Roman let a chuckle escape him. “It’s not my fault I wasn’t given a secret name.”

Janus gave Roman’s hand a light squeeze. “You don’t need one, I’ll just call you mine.”

[ellewriteswrongs]

picking favorites (a @tsbandau drabble)

if y’all aren’t emotionally invested in @underdog-arts ‘s band au, idk what y’all are even doing /j

anyway, here’s a wholesome family drabble insp. by the band au and my (not-so) subtle obsession with remus and janus. also subbing to their patreon is the best $5 i’ve probably ever spent, no joke

“Honey, you can still pick up Ry, right?” Janus called down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry on each hip before depositing them in the hallway to put away later. Remus was seated in their shared office catching up on emails as Janus began packing up leftover pasta into containers to take to their show scheduled that night. 

“I told you I got ‘em,” he agreed, banging the last clumps of his protein shake into his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I’m gonna’ jog to V’s and grab the van.”

Janus nodded to themself out of instinct before faltering, their brow furrowing. 

“Wait—Re, that’s like three miles,” they challenged, dumping the dirtied dishes into the sink. “Just take the fucking car.”

Remus’ snort laugh was audible from down the hallway. 

“They asked for the van!” Remus cackled. “And I, for one, do not disappoint. Apparently making my kid’s friends think they’re cool is worth a three-mile jog.”

Janus rolled their eyes, albeit fondly. This was, unfortunately, not news. 

Riley was having an…interesting phase. It wouldn’t be abnormal for kids their age if it weren’t for the fact that their parents were ridiculously competitive, and all of their parents’ friends were eager to get in on it. 

As soon as Remus attended career day in Riley’s first grade classroom, resulting in the entire class of six-year-olds marveling at the fact that their friend’s dad was a “rock star.”

Janus loved that conversation over dinner that night. 

They weren’t jealous. No, in fact, it was probably overdue for Riley to have a bit of a “Daddy’s kid” phase, considering how joined at the hip they were with Janus for multiple years now. But they wanted to win. 

Riley could make their own decisions about picking a favorite parent. As long as that decision was Janus. 

“You’ve gone so-oft,” they sing-songed, smirking as Remus appeared in the kitchen behind them, wrapping one hand around their hip and pressing a kiss to their temple. “Ry’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Remus have a flash of his crooked grin. 

“Yeah, well…at least I know where they get that from.”

Janus rolled their eyes, trying to hide their reddening face. 

“Sap,” they grumbled fondly. “Hurry up and get on with your run before you’re late to pickup. And tell V I said hey.”

Remus gave an exasperated chuckle and affirmation, but pocketed his keys and wallet nonetheless. 

The jog to Virgil’s apartment wasn’t a particularly strenuous three miles, being downtown and all, and Remus was far from out of shape. Still, three miles was three miles—especially in the late afternoon sun. Needless to say, Virgil wasn’t thrilled to have a giant sweaty man on his doorstep, but he handed over the keys nonetheless. 

The van was old, still clinging to its axels from when Remus himself purchased it from an old neighbor and declared it the band’s “tour bus.” It was nice enough at the time, especially for the price he paid, but it certainly wasn’t still around for anything more than sentimental value. 

Mainly just Remus refusing to get rid of it. 

That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, Riley thought it was the coolest thing ever. 

The drive wasn’t long, only the sitting in traffic of other parents in minivans trying to get into the school parking lot. He…wasn’t a fan of that part of being a parent, that’s for sure. He could do without any other parents, thank you very much, but at least it was fun to see how obvious all of them were in their distaste of both him and Janus, compared to how much their kid absolutely adored them. 

A fact that was only proven when Remus eventually made it to the parking lot and exited his van, only to be met with ear-splitting squeal of “daddy!” and an armful of six-year-old. 

He can’t deny how, even after all these years, the title still makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like…he is a dad. That’s his kid! How fucking rad is that!

He happens to spot a few other parents, along with some of Riley’s friends that he recognizes, and he offers a quick wave with the hand that isn’t mussing up his kid’s hair. 

“You brought the van,” Riley points out with a toothy grin that Remus can’t help mirroring. He can’t help the knot in his throat when he spots the gap in their teeth from their first ever lost tooth—which only meant they were getting much too old and Remus would really appreciate it if they would slow the fuck down.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Riley nods, bouncing on Remus’ hip just a bit out of excitement. “I gotta’ warn you though, JJ’s getting pretty jealous.”

Riley laughs before sticking out their tongue and making a fart noise in Remus’s face. 

Remus is, for the thousandth time, bewildered at how Riley couldn’t possibly be more like Janus if they tried. And mostly smitten. He has the coolest kid on Earth, after all. 

“They can suck my butt!” Riley squeals and Jesus Christ, Remus is going to have a heart attack right there in the parking lot. He’s gonna’ have to grill Jan again to make sure those two aren’t secretly biologically related. 

“Hey, your words not mine, squirt,” he smirks, opening the van door and strapping them into the car seat. “And your early bedtime if you let JJ hear any of that.”

He finishes with a pinch on their nose before closing the van door and getting back in the driver’s seat. 

Riley, as soon as the radio turn on, starts protesting very aggressively to listen to “your songs, daddy! Play your songs!” 

Thankfully, he has a CD burned with some of their…cleaner songs for that exact purpose. 

Riley, for lack of a better word, was ‘singing’ along at a volume that Remus would’ve otherwise found hilarious and impressive if it wasn’t right in his ear. Still, there was a certain fondness that came with watching his kid’s excitement over his work—something that, as usual, was paired with thrashing within the confines of a car seat and headbanging their little heart out. 

Along the drive Remus made every attempt to stop the barrage of the screamo singer in the making, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. At least…until he pointed out one particular building out of a strip mall assortment. 

“Hey, you see that store right there? The one with the red sign?” He spoke up, catching Riley’s eager attention in an instant. They placed both hands on the van window to look out. 

“What is it?” They asked, squinting to try and read what was on the sign. 

“You know the snake on my leg?” Riley nodded, quieting down. “That’s where JJ took me to get it.”

They paused, seemingly putting some pieces together in their head.

“How come you only have one?” They asked, still kicking their legs against their seat. “JJ has lots, how come you don’t have lots too?”

Remus chuckled, continuing along the road as the light turned green. 

“‘Cause I don’t need another one. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re a wimp?” 

Remus choked on his own spit. 

“N-no,” he choked out, laughing. “No I’m not, I just think it looks better this way.”

He didn’t bother looking into the backseat to see what Riley thought of that answer, but if the return to karaoke that followed was any indication, they were not impressed. Still, he’d probably take the teasing over the screaming, but kids are kids. 

Even as they pulled into their driveway, Remus had to strategically dodge Riley’s flailing limbs in order to un-fasten the seatbelts on their car seat and actually get them in the house. Apparently the music was not as vital to the ‘sing-along’ as he’d hoped it was when he turned the car off. 

“Alright, alright, calm those legs down before you knock my teeth out, will ya’?” Remus teased, placing Riley on his shoulders where they instantly took fistfuls of his hair to hold on. Riley toned down the velocity, but otherwise did not stop. “Careful, squirt, if you wanna’ kick so bad, I’m signing you up to play soccer.”

Riley stopped almost instantaneously, gripping Remus’ hair even tighter as they headed back inside the house, Riley’s tiny backpack slung around Remus’ forearm. 

“Nooo,” they wailed, half punctuated by laughter that echoed through the house. 

“What are we complaining about?” Janus spoke, leaning against the doorway across the room with a fond smile. 

“He said if I kick him in the teeth I have to play soccer,” Riley whined, attempting to climb down from Remus’ shoulders on their own. Janus snorted a laugh before swiftly crossing the room to collect their child and place them on their hip. 

“Wow, your daddy’s so mean,” Janus agreed, raising a challenging eyebrow as they stood in front of their husband. Remus pouted before bending down to steal a kiss.

“Gross,” Riley giggled, pressing a hand on each of their parents’ faces to separate them. 

“Gross?” Janus smirked. “Well in that case, maybe your dad was being a bit unfair.”

Riley turned to Remus to stick out their tongue at him. 

“I mean, soccer? That’s just ridiculous,” Janus continued, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “We’ll obviously have to sign you up for football instead. A punt like that has got to be put to good use.”

Riley immediately went back to their dramatized complaining, this time reaching desperately for Remus to get him to take them back from Janus—to which Remus just held up his hands in mock innocence.

“No can do, kid,” he smirked. “The punishment has to fit the crime, after all.”

Riley continued their attempts to wiggle out of Janus’ unyielding grip.

“Never!” They declared, trying a different approach of reaching over Janus’ shoulder to escape from behind. “I won’t! I won’t do it, I promise!”

Remus and Janus both knew they wouldn’t actively try to hurt either of them, but sometimes it was just more fun to assert rules when it came with shrieking laughter and climbing their parents like a jungle gym.

“Well, now you know where we stand,” Remus spoke in false authority, reaching for one of Riley’s tiny shoes and holding it up to address it as if it were in control of their legs. “I better not see you around these parts again, ya’ hear?” He added in an over-the-top western accent, gesturing to his face. 

Riley squealed with laughter as he held out his hand for a handshake and they shook it with their accused foot. 

“Alright, alright, you two,” Janus intervened with fond exasperation. “Snacks are on the counter, take it or leave it.”

Riley whipped their head around to peer into the kitchen, cheering when they spotted two plates on the kitchen counter, each with a toaster waffle piled high with blueberries. 

“Second…breakfast!” They cheered, drumroll-ing on their leg before whooping and slinking out of Janus’ grip and climbing up onto the kitchen barstools. Remus, giving a fond eye-roll at the enthusiasm, turned to drape his arms over Janus’ shoulders from behind, perching his chin on top of their head. 

“They get it from you, you know,” he mumbled, smirking at the scoff it earned him. 

“Shut up,” Janus grumbled, the smile evident in their voice. “That is all you.”

“Babe, sports are a threat in this house,” he teased. “You’re telling me that came from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that one,” they chided, turning around to face their husband. “As long as you’re aware that the energy, the volume—honey, that’s all you.”

Remus quirked his brow with a proud smirk. 

“Or maybe it’s the fact that they sleep for fourteen hours and we haven’t even had eight in the last six years,” he challenged knowingly. “You know, I happen to remember that back in the day…that bed was hardly even for sleeping.”

Janus snorted, their face reddening slightly.

“Is it bad to think of those as the ‘good old days’ already?”

Remus swept a piece of their hair out of their face. 

“Hell no, dude. We lived like kings back then,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this—I’ll get Ro to take ‘em to the park or something this weekend and I’ll dick you down just like old times, ‘kay?”

Janus sputtered out a cackle, smacking Remus on the chest before covering his mouth with their hand.

“Fucking christ, they’re like two yards away,” they hissed, still laughing. “I am not going to be the one fielding questions about what getting dicked down means, oh my god.”

“You say that like they listen to anything when there’s food in front of them,” Remus countered, nodding in the direction of their kid as Janus rolled their eyes with a chuckle. 

“Now that, is from you,” they grinned, jabbing him in the side with their elbow. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re serving up delicacies like toaster waffles,” Remus said, raising his hands in mock defense. 

Janus gave him a look before crossing their arms. 

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I know you can’t go two hours without food. Go on, there’s one for you, even if it’s probably cold by now,” they teased as Remus excitedly kissed their forehead before practically running to the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, folding each toaster waffle like a blueberry-filled taco before funneling them into his mouth. 

Janus followed close behind—at a normal pace, thank you very much—and took the actual seat next to their kid, sipping at the cup of tea they had left on the counter before the two had returned home as they listened to Riley regaling their day at school.

———

Realistically, Remus probably should’ve seen it coming. He was a couple days past his previous record of days as Riley’s “favorite” and he knew he likely didn’t have much longer before Janus dethroned him again, but he certainly hadn’t expected the scene he walked in on that night. 

He had heard hushed laughter coming from one of their house’s bathrooms that evening, assuming at first that Janus was just handling Riley’s bath or something like that, but as he cleaned up the mess from their dinner and finished washing the rest of their dishes, he was surprised to find they were still in there. So obviously he had to investigate. 

He knocked on the door, rolling his eyes fondly as shushing and giggles came from within. 

“Everything good in there?” He teased, leaning against the door. “I gotta’ say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get invited to whatever club this is that hangs out in the bathroom.”

More giggles followed by the oh-so familiar sound of Janus’ shushing. 

“I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself what all the fuss is about,” he sing-songed, slowly creaking open the door before letting out a snort laugh at the scene before him. 

Janus was seated on the edge of the bathtub, wash cloth in hand, as Riley sat on the sink counter, covered on all limbs with temporary tattoos. At least the pieces of tape that Janus had cut into circles and colored black to look like ear gauges were admittedly cute. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smirked from against the doorframe. 

“JJ said you’re a wimp,” Riley proudly announced. “I was right.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and made a spitting noise and…yeah, that was their kid alright. Not that Remus would have it any other way. 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Lie to Me

Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan

Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon

Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit

Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 10,554

Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.

Roman lies. A lot.

Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.

1. 

They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.

 The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.

 Well, that’s not true.

 Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.

 Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.

 So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.

 …or so he thought.

 In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.

 Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.

 But Roman…

 Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

 The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.

 Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.

 “Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”

 “Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”

 “Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.

 He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.

 “…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”

 “Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”

 “That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.

 “Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”

 “Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”

 Roman just laughs and leaves.

 “Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“

 “Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“

 “Language.”

 “—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”

 “Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”

 Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”

 “Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”

 “I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”

 “He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”

 No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.

 The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.

  They hate you, they never want to see you again.

  Everything is your fault.

  Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.

  They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.

  Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.

  They’ve never wanted you.

 And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.

 The actor.

 Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.

 “Janus?”

 Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.

 “I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.���

 Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

 “Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”

 “Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”

 Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”

 “…so?”

 He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”

 Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”

 “Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”

 The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’

 Janus does.

 Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.

 He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.

 His head bows.

 Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.

  Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.

  Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.

  Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.

  Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.

  You don’t deserve anything.

 Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.

 His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.

 He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.

 “You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”

 Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.

 “And you deserve to know that.”

 Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.

 2. 

The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.

 Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.

 Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.

 Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.

 When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.

 The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.

 Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.

 Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?

 No, of course not, why would you ever think that?

 They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.

 Well, almost never alone.

 The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.

  They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.

  You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.

  And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?

 Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.

 Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.

 But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?

 Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?

 Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.

 A noise.

 Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.

  Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.

  You hurt Janus on purpose.

  You never stop hurting Janus.

  You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.

 Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.

 “The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”

 Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.

 “I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”

 He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.

 He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”

 3. 

Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.

 “Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.

 “Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”

 “He’s durable, he’s used to it.”

 Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.

 “I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”

 “See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”

 “Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”

 “Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”

 “I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”

 “Fine.”

 Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.

 “Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

 Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.

 “What?”

 “’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”

 “O-oh.”

 “He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”

 Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.

 Good.

 The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.

 Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.

 As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.

 This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.

 He’s so cold.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.

 “Something wrong, Deceit?”

 “He has a name,” Virgil growls.

 “Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”

 “Why’re you over there?”

 He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.

 Instead, Roman smiles.

 “You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”

 Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.

 Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.

 “Goodness.”

 Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

 “Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this is all wrong.

 “Why did you want him to leave?”

 Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”

 “Harder how?”

 “We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”

 “It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”

 Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”

 Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…

  Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?

  They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.

  Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.

 Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.

 He makes up his mind.

 He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.

 “Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”

 Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.

 Janus freezes.

 Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.

 He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.

 “Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”

 He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.

 “On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”

 And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.

 4. 

The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.

 But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.

 Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.

 Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.

 He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?

 “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”

 Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.

 …oh.

 Oh, no.

 Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.

 He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.

 He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.

 He checks over the wound on his chest.

 He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.

 The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.

 More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.

 He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.

 The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.

 The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.

 None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.

 Roman jolts.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”

 Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.

  Should’ve gotten hurt worse.

 Janus freezes.

  Should’ve let them hit you more.

  Got off too easy.

  It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.

 “No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”

  Shouldn’t have come back.

  Shouldn’t be a burden.

  At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.

 “You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”

 As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.

 Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.

  Who protects the protector?

 “I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”

 5. 

Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.

 Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.

 Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.

 Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.

 Roman is the Ego.

 What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.

 Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.

 The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.

 Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.

 Here’s what they don’t tell you.

 The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.

 It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.

 They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.

 So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.

 So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.

 So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.

 So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.

 So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.

 As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.

 Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?

 It’s definitely where it should be.

 The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.

 His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.

 When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.

 “What would you like me to do?”

 “Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”

 “Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 “Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”

 “Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.

 “Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”

 Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”

 “He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”

 “Have I…not been doing that?”

 “It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”

 Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”

 “Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”

 Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.

 “What would you like me to apologize for?”

 Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.

 “Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”

 “No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”

 “Virgil—“

 “No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”

 Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.

 Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.

 “Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”

 “Great. Bye, Thomas.”

 “Wait, you guys are just leaving?”

 “I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”

 “Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.

 Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.

 After a moment, Roman moves.

 “…you want me to apologize?”

 Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.

 Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.

 He looks directly at Thomas.

 “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

 Thomas splutters. “Roman—“

 “I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”

 Thomas’s eyes go wide.

 “I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”

 Janus’s arms drop in shock.

 “I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”

 Thomas stifles a noise.

 “I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”

 Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.

 “And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”

 “R-Roman—“

 Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.

 “I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”

 Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.

 “I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”

 “You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”

 “Fucking watch me!”

 “No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”

 “Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“

 “We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”

 Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“

 “Remus.”

 Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.

 “It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.

 “Life isn’t fair.”

 “I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“

 “But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”

 “Roman, they love you!”

 Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.

 “Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”

 He spreads his hands.

 “Here we are.”

 “Let me go, Jan.”

 “If I do, will you stay?”

 “Fine.”

 Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.

 Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.

 “What—what just happened?”

 “The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”

 “So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”

 “No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”

 He stands up, eyes blazing.

 “I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”

 Thomas goes pale. “What?”

 “Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”

 “It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”

 “What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”

 “You can let me kill the others.”

 “No, Remus.”

 “Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”

 Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”

 Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.

  Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—

 “Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”

 Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.

 Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.

 Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.

  Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—

 He aches.

 Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.

 So he has to wait.

 Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.

 Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep.

 But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.

 “Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

 He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.

 “It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”

 Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…

 “Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”

 He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.

 “Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”

 Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.

 “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”

 And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 Roman melts.

 “Oh, sweetie…”

 Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.

 He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.

 “I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”

 He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.

 “I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”

 He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.

 “But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”

 +1.

Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.

 His room definitely has curtains.

 Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.

 Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.

 He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.

 Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.

 He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.

 He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.

 So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.

 Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.

 But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.

 “Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”

 “Mmno.”

 “You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”

 He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.

 “That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”

 “Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”

 The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.

 “If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”

 Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.

 Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.

 “Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”

 This time?

 Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

 Janus swallows. “How long—“

 “You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”

 “You were supposed to be asleep.”

 “You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”

 Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.

 “We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”

 And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?

 “Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”

 “Mm.”

 But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.

 “Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”

 He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

 “Can I help?”

 Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.

 “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”

 He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.

 “Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”

 Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”

 ...maybe he is going to have to do this.

 “I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”

 He lifts Roman’s chin gently.

 “They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”

 Roman whimpers.

 “You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”

 He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.

 “And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”

 Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.

 “Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”

 The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.

 “I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”

 “I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“

 “Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”

 His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.

 “Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”

 Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.

 “I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”

 Roman’s mouth stills.

 “If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”

 “You...you do?”

 “I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”

 Roman collapses.

 Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.

 It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.

 He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.

 He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.

 “Sorry.”

 “No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”

 Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”

 “No, sweetie. Come on...”

 He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.

 “What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”

 Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.

 “Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”

  But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.

 Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.

 “It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”

 “I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”

 “I know.”

 Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.

 “Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”

 “I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“

 “I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

 He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.

 “I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.

 Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”

 Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“

 “What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”

 Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.

 “You want them to watch.”

 “They should, shouldn’t they?”

 Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.

 “What do you think?”

 Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”

 He glances up at Janus.

 “Did you?”

 Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”

 With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.

 Thomas takes a deep breath.

 “...yeah, we’re watching this now.”

 “Right now?”

 “Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”

 “...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

 “Then yeah. Right now.”

 “Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”

 Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”

 “You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”

 Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.

 “Thank you.”

 Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.

 “Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”

 “We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”

 Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.

 “Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”

 “It is about yesterday.”

 “Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?”  Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“

 “Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.

 Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”

 “No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”

 “What the fuck?”

 “Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.

 “Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”

 “How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”

 “…not much, why?”

 In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’

 Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.

  “…you want me to apologize?”

 Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.

 Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.

 He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.

 Thomas looks up at Janus.

 “Can you still hear them?”

 “The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”

 There’s a moment of silence.

 “Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”

 “What does that mean?”

 Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”

 Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”

 “Quite.”

 “We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”

 “We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”

 “Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”

 “But there has to be something!”

 “Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow.

 “…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“

 He hunches his shoulders.

 “Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“

 “Bonk.”

 They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.

 “Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”

 Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”

 “Yes.”

 “Huh.”

 “That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”

 “It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”

 “Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”

 Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.

 “…can we go hug Roman now?”

 “I wanna do that.”

 “If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”

 “We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”

 “And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”

 “We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”

 Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”

 Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

 They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.

 “Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”

 Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.

 “I—um—“

 “I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”

 “I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”

 “Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”

 Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.

 “Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”

 “No.”

 He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”

 “No.”

 The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.

 “I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”

 He pauses, then leans closer.

 “They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”

  They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.

 Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.

 “They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”

 “W-what?”

 In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.

 “Can we let them in, sweetie?”

 “They’re here?”

 “Right outside.”

 “They want—they want to—“

 Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.

 Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.

 “Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”

 “I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“

 Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.

 “Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”

 “Mis—miss—missed me?”

 “Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”

 Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.

 “Bonk?”

 Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.

 “Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

 “We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”

 “But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”

 Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.

 “Re!”

 “Hey, Ro-Bro.”

 “Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”

Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.

 Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.

 For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.

 They’ve got time to prove him wrong.

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[emoprincey]

👀 what about anxceit (platonic or romantic, whatever you’re feeling) + 5 for the angst prompts?

Thanks so much for the ask!! I wrote this as platonic, but it could be interpreted as romantic

Characters: Virgil, Janus

Pairing: Platonic anxceit

Warnings: Angst, swearing, character is threatened with a knife

Word count: 828

Prompt: "Don't make me do this" from these angst prompts

“Traitor.” Janus could barely believe the word as he uttered it. Virgil had been his trusted advisor for years, the only person in the goddam world Janus could honestly say he did trust, and all this time he’d been a spy. Perhaps Janus would have noticed something was up if he’d paid more attention to Virgil’s moral qualms about the job, his reluctance to use underhanded methods that came naturally to most of Janus’ colleagues. Janus knew his job wasn’t good per se – as high up in the King’s corrupt council as possible – but it was beneficial for him, and that was all that mattered. Virgil had never seemed to have the same attitude, and Janus often wondered how he’d ended up in this line of work. But that was all it had been – idle wondering. He hadn’t considered that Virgil might have ulterior motives.

“I thought you’d be more used to this,” Virgil sneered. He looked terrified, but there was no remorse in his glare as he squared his shoulders under Janus’ grip. “Isn’t this whole government made up of corruption and lies?”

Yes, but you aren’t, Janus thought. Virgil was the furthest person from either of those things that Janus knew. He was almost glad that he’d been the one who caught Virgil, in his own office. If it had been anyone else, Virgil would be shown no mercy. Not that Janus could afford to show him any mercy anyway. If he was caught helping a traitor escape – and he would surely be caught – the consequences would be dire.

His dagger had always been perfectly comfortable to use, and though he’d never had cause to use it outside of training it had felt like an extension of his arm. But now it felt clunky in his hand, the blade unsteady as he brought it to Virgil’s throat. As he held Virgil’s shoulder in place with his free hand, his fingers brushed against the split ends of dark hair that curled around Virgil’s chin. If he’d noticed earlier, he would have taken Virgil to the castle barbers even when he insisted that messy hair was his style. But not now. He couldn’t do anything as simple as take Virgil shopping or sit in the library while they both enjoyed their respective books. Not anymore.

“Don’t make me do this,” he whispered, the knife wobbling in his hand.

Virgil tilted his head back, his dark eyes defiant as he let the blade graze his unflinching skin. “Go on,” he muttered. “I won’t surrender to you.”

“Fuck,” Janus spat, tears collecting in his eyes. It would only take one swift movement of his wrist, and Virgil would never look so determinedly at anyone again. Would never laugh, would never hum his favourite songs under his breath when he thought nobody was listening. Janus whirled away from Virgil, and threw the knife to the floor. “Fuck you!”

Virgil gasped, taking in heavy breaths as he collapsed against the wall. His eyes were wide, looking at Janus with equal parts relief and shock. “Wh-why didn’t you-”

“Because I can’t hurt you, you piece of shit!” Janus snapped, his voice hysterical to his own ears as he paced around the room. His hands were shaking. “I could never do anything that would harm you, in any way. I don’t care if the government is at stake, or even the bloody king. You mean more to me than this entire fucking kingdom.”

“Jan…” Virgil’s voice trembled. He scrambled to his feet, his steps shaky like those of a new-born deer. Janus thought that Virgil had never looked quite so vulnerable as in that moment.

Without hesitating, he wrapped Virgil in his arms, breathing in the scent of lavender shampoo and chocolate as he pressed his lips to Virgil’s forehead. His breath shook as he pulled back to rest his chin on top of Virgil’s head. “Get out,” he murmured into Virgil’s hair, hoping his voice was muffled enough to hide how it trembled. “And I hope I never see you again. Because if I do, it most likely won’t be under good circumstances.”

“What about you?” Virgil asked as he pulled back, and through the tears that lingered on his eyelashes Janus saw that Virgil’s brows were furrowed with worry.

“I’ll be fine,” Janus lied smoothly, flashing a small smile. “I’ve got out of worse situations before. Just go, and take care of yourself.”

Virgil gazed at him for a long moment, as if trying to commit every detail of Janus’ face to memory. The he squeezed his shoulders one last time, and then stepped away. “You too,” he whispered, his voice choked.

Janus watched silently as Virgil left. In all likelihood, Janus wouldn’t be fine. For all his plotting and scheming, he knew a hopeless situation when he saw one, and there was almost no chance he’d get out of this. But Virgil would be safe, and that was all that mattered.

[craftypeaceturtle]

Rambling thoughts on the latest sanders sides: Working Through Intrusive Thoughts.

I really love the whole Logan snapping. The flash of orange eyes was just really cool and the way the tension was immediately snapped with Thomas getting the facetime. I don’t have any particular theories but I just really loved it!

Not-quite-a-theory-time: I just found it interesting that Remus never pointed out or really reacted to Logan snapping. It must mean he was expecting it, or it wasn’t the first time or this isn’t a big deal. All have kinda interesting points.

If he was expecting it then that implies people knew this was possible. I’ve read a theory that Janus is pushing Logan into snapping like he did Patton to his frog form. That makes sense for the best way to catch a lie is to push it until it literally cannot go any further. You can’t call out a small lie as you can still lie in response. You need to be cornered. But that does bring the implication that this has always been a part of Logan. 

(I know there’s a theory that the orange side is separate from Logan but I just don’t see it. I think it’s just another side to Logan. But maybe that’s just me!)

If this wasn’t the first time, then that would suggest that Remus saw it or Logan told the others. More angst potential with Logan informing others and no one really paying attention.

And finally, if this isn’t a big deal then would that mean this is something easy to do or something all of them can do. We’ve seen Patton change forms due to frustration, so maybe this is just Logan’s. 

Something genuinely sad is the fact that this is the most we’ve ever seen Logan listened to. Thomas saw those alarms set for every five mins and he still took the several minutes to set them up. 

I think that was why SvS redux so crushing. The episode started with Roman and Patton trying very hard to say the right thing and correcting themselves. Patton tries not to talk over Thomas’ experience at the wedding but that still didn’t work. This episode followed that as well. Logan paid a lot of attention to self care despite that apparently being with Janus. Logan did his best to look after Thomas and he was still ignored. It ends on the message that all this work is for nothing and their efforts still fall short.

Another detail to call out is Janus who clearly knew something was coming and doesn’t seem to care all that much. Again, this could be the same technique he used with Patton. But that means Remus and Janus both know about Logan’s orange moment. Virgil wasn’t given enough time to see if he knows as an ex-dark side. 

That’s all I’ve got to say really! I know I dropped off sanders sides but I’m still looking out for it! It was a really good episode with a good chaotic stupid rat boy and Logan’s lack of attention finally felt on purpose. 

Thanks for reading all that, haha!

[lovelylogans]

the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

once a spy, always a spy forever, forever the warmest hello to the coldest goodbye remember, remember -spies are forever, the tin can bros

warnings: undercover spy work, mention of weapons, drugging someone into unconsciousness/giving someone a roofie, essentially the start of an enemies to lovers fanfiction

pairings: virgil/logan, offscreen roman/patton

words: 4,465

notes: this is for day 7 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “free day” and i have decided to write a combination soulmates and rival spies au! please enjoy!

⁂

Not that Virgil would admit it, but, like literally every other marked person, he's tried to imagine how he might meet his soulmate. He just didn't ever spare any thought on what he'd do if it happened on the job.

His official cover to his friends (which was mostly his cousin Roman and Roman’s husband Patton) was that he was an analyst—he was always vague about what exactly it was he analyzed, but since neither of them were particularly mathematically inclined, and both were maybe a bit too trusting for their own good, they took him at his word.

Even when he was sent off on various unusual "business trips.”

It’s not like Virgil’s mark is very specific about when and where it’ll happen. Virgil knows that variations of "sorry about that” make for a large percentage of common soulmarks. 

There’s protocols in place, of course, but Virgil had never really paid attention to those classes while training to be a spy. The Lewis clause is the kind of thing Virgil didn’t pay as much attention to, because it didn’t seem as useful as understanding the technology or how to make a cover. The Lewis clause is what to do when someone meets a soulmate on the job—there are specifications for if the soulmate is a target, a team member, or an enemy.

Virgil hadn’t really cared at the time. He’d kick himself for that later.

Any number of meetings occurred accidentally—knocking something over, bumping into someone, or, like his cousin Roman's soulmate did, take Roman's coffee thinking it was his own hot chocolate. They got married two winters ago, just so they could serve hot beverages in cold weather.

He thinks the iteration stamped in black along his left inner arm, "I'm very sorry about this," with the addition of "oh no, it's you” tacked on at the end of his makes it likely that whatever he says will, A, likely be first, B, be somewhat unique, or unique enough to be immediately recognizable, and C, be in the aftermath of some kind of accident.

He ends up being partially right. What he says is first and it is somewhat unique. What his soulmate apologizes for is no accident, though.

Virgil does undercover work, sure, but it's very rare for him to enter the James Bond style locale he's at today, and that he’s been working for the past couple months; the marble ballroom he's circling is dripping with gold chandeliers and matching heavy, velvet curtains that accent the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a string quartet in the corner, barely audible over the chatter of rich socialites. Virgil, deeply uncomfortable in his white-tie attire, is circling the room in an attempt at looking like he attends charity balls all the time.

He sucks at it.

As if on cue, his earpiece crackles to life.

"How the fuck did you ever qualify to be a spy?" Janus, his tech man and eye in the sky, snickers into his ear. "Your acting skills are horrendous. If you auditioned for The Room right now, they wouldn't let you into the cast.”

"Fuck off,” Virgil fake-coughs into his shoulder.

"Christ, at least try to look like you're mingling, not like you've stalked the target here."

Unable to stop himself, he glances toward the target he's meant to be watching.

The target, who is so staggeringly wealthy it could make Virgil, who is trying to pay off his student debt on a spy's salary (not as high as one might think) burst into tears. Or, much more likely, start ranting about the myriad flaws of capitalism. If so inclined, he could honestly probably steal the amount of money necessary from one of her offshore accounts, and it would be as unnoticeable as someone taking a penny from him.

Mary Lee Truman is standing amidst a flock of suited men, like a dove amidst a flock of dour crows; her dress is slinky silk, a shade of champagne that glimmers rose-gold in the right shade of light. She’s standing leaned to one side, her hip popped out and an arm crossed over her stomach, a crystal-cut champagne flute dangling in her fingers as if she was born to hold one.

Her husband, Lee Truman (fuck if that wasn’t confusing, it was really easier to think of them by their codenames) is off by the bar, seemingly getting himself another drink. 

His eyes stray to Mary Lee again; he can tell a couple of the suits are hired muscle, bodyguards, which makes sense, as the Trumans are allegedly a massive crime family, doing their dirty dealings in plain sight. A couple of the suits he recognizes from dossiers; one is a business partner of Lee’s father, who might not even know what the Truman family really gets up to; one absolutely knows what the Truman family gets up to, as Virgil’s read his rap sheet and knows he’s been in and out of jail due to his assignments from the mob.

There’s one suit there that really doesn’t seem to fit the mold of either category.

For one thing, he’s around Virgil’s age; for another, he isn’t rippling with muscle. Not that he doesn’t look fit; his well-tailored suit shows off his broad shoulders, his biceps, his lean waist. He’s dark-haired, and pale, and blue-eyed, and he’s standing next to Mary Lee with a look that Virgil would think of as dour, but now that he’s looking closely, the blue-eyed man looks almost... calculating.

This man wasn’t in the dossier.

Almost everyone at this ball was in the dossier.

Virgil looks away from Mary Lee and the handsome man, and instead decides to start taking up Janus’ advice; he slowly moves through the room.

Well. He's doing it to get closer to Mary Lee, but sure, he can attempt to mingle.

He traverses through the room, his fancy shoes clicking on the marble floor, mindful to not step on any dress hems—he has it easy, as his directive was simply to wear his white tie with his hidden weapons, his ear piece, and his lapel pin that records everything he's seeing. The women in the room provide the only splashes of color outside of the black suits and white shirts of the men, the gleaming marble, the gold- accented glasses and dishware. Even what little art he's seen follows that color theme -- white marble busts, abstract black and white paintings in their gilded frames, a gold statue outside the front steps, as if to greet the partygoers.

But the women of the party aren't beholden to this strict color scheme. Gowns of pink chiffon, red lace, blue taffeta, deep violet velvet, Virgil passes them all, keeping one eye out for rose gold silk.

He ends up instituting himself in a ring of people listening intently to an art history professor talking about the architectural significance of his building—he introduces himself with his cover name, James Walker, to the man next to him, who Virgil already knows is a Truman cousin. He gives a fake first name too—he says his name is Alex, when Virgil knows it’s really Bruce. Okay. Something to take note of.

He listens to the art history professor talk about art deco with just one ear, the other straining to eavesdrop on Mary Lee and her suits.

“Do you think our beneficiary approaches?” Mary Lee murmurs to the blue-eyed one, the one that wasn’t in the dossier.

“Oh, I know he does,” the blue-eyed man says to her. He has a pleasant British accent, the kind of voice that would be right at home on a nature documentary calmly narrating the eating habits of wolverines, or something like that. “According to all my research, our previous beneficiary is no longer within our purview. A new one will have been instilled in hasty time. As a matter of fact, I believe I would be able to point him out to you right now.”

Mary Lee sighs, a little, and the man continues talking about their charity. Virgil’s mind races. He knows the Truman’s “charity work” almost always acts as a sieve to run dirty money through, so what would it mean, that they got a new beneficiary? A new target, maybe? A new directive?

Either way, this is almost definitely some kind of code they’re talking in. He tunes a bit more into the art history professor’s impromptu lecture—he’s taking a brief tangent into talking about Tamara de Lempicka—as he ruminates on that particular conversation between the blue-eyed Brit and Mary Lee.

Then he ends up in conversation with an elderly woman beside him, who wants to know who he is—James Walker, I run a business a state or two over, I’m interested in diversifying my assets—and if he’s been to any art museums in town. Both he and the man he is meant to be have not, but it turns out she’s a curator and has numerous suggestions for him.

He also knows this woman, Ida Kelly, has been paying into the Truman business for quite some time, and has potentially ordered hits using the Truman’s muscle.

“Madam,” a suited waiter shows up at her side, as if on cue, and hands her a small glass full of what looks like a gin-and-tonic.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she says, taking her drink immediately.

The waiter turns to him. There is a singular champagne flute on the tray. “Sir.”

“I didn’t order anything,” Virgil says stupidly, before he realizes that almost everyone here is taking champagne flutes off of trays, and he supposes this waiter just wants to clear his before he has to double back and get more. “Oh, all right.”

He takes it. It’s a delicate, crystal-cut glass. He’s almost a little afraid that if he holds it wrong, it’ll break.

“Really, we’re doing an Impressionism exhibit, and it is positively divine,” she says.

Very suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, emanating warmth through his suit and Virgil jumps, a little—he hopes whoever it is didn’t feel one his knives. Or, God forbid, his gun.

He turns to see no one, when a hand touches his opposite arm, and he turns again. It turns out to be the blue-eyed Brit, who is staring only at Ida, brushing past him, allowing his hand to trail down Virgil’s arm, touching his hand as if to say, please stay there, I do not want to bump into you.

At such a close range, Virgil can smell his absolutely incredible cologne, see his defined jawline, the way his blue eyes gleam.

Ida brightens. “Darling!”

“Ida,” the Brit says warmly. “I visited that display myself, it was simply wonderful.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” she says, clearly drinking up the praise. Virgil looks between them, feeling even more awkward than he has all night.

“Wait a goddamned minute,” Janus murmurs in his ear, after such a long stretch of silence that it makes Virgil jump again. There’s the sound of rapid typing.

“A victory!” The man says, lifting his glass—it looks to be full of whiskey. “A toast, to your latest triumph.”

“Oh, now,” she says, but when the other surrounding suits start lifting their glasses, Virgil lifts his, as well.

“To Ida Kelly,” the Brit says. “One of the finest artistic minds to walk the earth at our time!”

Virgil takes a sip of his champagne at the same time as everyone else; another woman in a deep green gown with a shawl edged in feathers takes Ida’s arm, rhapsodizing about the Impressionism movement and the latest event that her art gallery had put on.

It takes about a minute for Virgil to notice his vision going blurry in the corners.

It takes him about ten seconds of blinking hard and rubbing his eyes, hoping to clear it, to stumble over his own two feet.

It takes five seconds for Janus’ voice to buzz to life in his earpiece, urgent, “Virgil, get out of there, get away from that man, that’s Lo—”

It takes him about two seconds after that to notice that the blue-eyed Brit is looking at him with an expression clearly lacking remorse.

It takes him about half a second to realize the finger tapping one shoulder, his hand at his hand—the same hand that had been holding his champagne flute. He hadn’t been looking at his drink. The Brit had made him turn away from his drink.

The Brit put something in his drink.

Virgil’s been made.

“Good God, man,” another suited man says, when Virgil stumbles over his own two feet, “had enough of the bubbly, have you?”

Virgil ignores him; even as his vision is growing blurrier and blurrier, his eyes are intent on the Brit, staggering towards him, and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s been made, he should be running, but—

"Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?" Virgil slurs, and his sudden lack of physical control resoundingly answers the question before the Brit can; the arms that catch him before he can full flat on his face are muscular and warm. He’s distantly aware of the crystal-cut grass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble.

The warm, muscular arms are more pressing than that. And, for a dirty rotten criminal who has probably killed people, the man is quite handsome. His bespectacled face swims in Virgil's vision.

"'I'm very sorry about this," he says smoothly, before his eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no.”

As Virgil is on the verge of unconsciousness, he hears, "It's you."

His last three thoughts before he slips under: did he just fucking say what he thought he said, then, good God his eyes are so blue, then, fuck, I should have paid way more attention to the Lewis clause.

⁂

Virgil is aware of three things as he wakes up: one, he feels like he has a dreadful hangover. Two, he’s pretty sure he’s in a plane or train or car or something moving, which makes him feel motion sick.

Three, he’s been stripped of his earpiece and his weapons.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting; it’s night time, but even the low light is making Virgil’s eyes hurt.

This is a limousine, he can tell that much off the bat; the partition is closed, the glass tinted as dark as it legally can be, the interior leather light-colored, the bar fully stocked with different sodas and crystal-cut decanters full of various liquors, which makes him wince in memory of the champagne.

He feels like shit, but when he looks over and sees the blue-eyed Brit—his soulmate—his soulmate who had fucking drugged him and was working with the mob—it makes him feel even shittier.

“Ah,” his soulmate says. He’s sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, a squat glass of whiskey in hand. He has glasses on now that he hadn’t had on before. Also, his accent is no longer British; he’s got a nice Italian lilt to his voice, now. “Good. You’re awake.”

Virgil stares at him. He doesn’t say a word.

“I’ll admit this,” he gestures between them, “rather put a cinch in my plan on how to deal with you.”

“Would you have killed me?” Virgil asks. His voice comes out a croak. “If we weren’t...”

He trails off.

The man’s eyebrow arches, before he shrugs, and rolls up his sleeve. His soulmark is in the same place as Virgil’s—stamped across his left inner arm, in the spiky handwriting Virgil only uses in his personal notes, not the more uniform one he writes reports with.

Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?!

Undeniably a matching soulmark to his.

“My parents were quite bemused by it, when it showed up,” the Brit—or American?—the blue-eyed—his soulmate says. “I suppose we have our answers now.”

“Do we?” he says. 

The man takes a sip of whiskey. Then, he says, “Your predecessor was FBI. Are you the same?”

Virgil tenses. The man rolls his eyes again.

“Please,” he murmurs. “For an organization meant to be secretive, your lot are quite obvious when you trade moles in and out. One comes in, goes out, and coincidentally someone new is knocking on the door within the week. It’s absurdly simple to pinpoint who’s reporting back to your government. So. FBI, CIA, military...?”

“Who gives a fuck,” Virgil says.

“One should know what one’s soulmate does for a living, shouldn’t they?” he says. “This is a very unique situation. I’m simply trying to find out—”

“What do you do for a living, then?” Virgil snarls. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry and it tastes dreadful, his soulmate is an asshole working for the other side, and he’s being carted off to God knows where. This day is one of the worst of his life. Why couldn’t he have had a nice little café meet-cute, like Roman had had?

The man smiles at him, not particularly kindly. “I diversify.”

Virgil pulls a face, because he knows that’s poking fun at his cover.

“What,” Virgil says, “poison people on Monday, go to Ida Kelly’s resort on Tuesday, with a fun little Friday jaunt of killing people who cross the Trumans?”

“I’ve never actually been to the museum Ida Kelly curates,” the man admits. “It was an easy way to insert myself near you, to put it in your drink. And for goodness’ sake, it wasn’t poison.”

“Roofie. Drug. Whatever.”

The man’s eyebrows pull together, in a rather petulant expression. “I designed that myself, you know.”

“Well, it’s shit,” Virgil snaps. “I feel like I have the worst hangover of my goddamn life.”

“Yes, that was part of the design,” the man says, and offers him a glass of water.

Virgil stares at him. “Seriously.”

“No trust between soulmates?” He says.

“Yeah, well. Fool me once.”

The man shrugs, putting down the glass of water into a cupholder, before digging out a sealed water bottle. Virgil takes it and places it into a cupholder near him. No fucking way he’s accepting any food or drink from this man.

His lips quirk up into a smile.

“Where are you taking me?” Virgil says, ignoring the way that smile makes his heart pound.

“That rather depends,” he admits. 

“On?”

“Well.” He says. He uncrosses his legs, planting both feet on the floor. “I’m assuming that now the man in your little earpiece—he was rather rude—is aware that you have been, what is it you say? Made?”

Virgil nods.

“Well. Now that he, and therefore your employer, knows that you are made, you won’t be poking your nose into Truman business anymore, will you?”

Virgil grits his teeth. “Not undercover.”

The man ignores that. “And I know that no matter which you work for, the Lewis clause has been adopted across every arm of that government, and as such you’ll be prohibited from any mission that might bring you into contact with me.”

God damn it. How does he know the spy lessons better than Virgil does?

And then it occurs to him: Janus knew that man. He warned Virgil to get away from him, to get away from Lo—

He rolls this information around in his head. The Lewis clause isn’t exactly a widely advertised part of being a spy; there was a whole trilogy of novels that got adapted into secret agent movies, years ago, that concerned opposing agent spies coming to face each other again and again, and the secondary soulmate agents teamed up together. Which the Lewis clause would prevent, but the public who went and read those novels or saw those movies wouldn’t know that. 

So either this man—Lo? Lo what?—either knows a lot about spies, because he’s one of those know your enemy types, or...

Or he sat down and learned about the Lewis clause the same way that Virgil did, except he actually sat down and listened. Maybe he defected, maybe he’s dirty? Or maybe Virgil’s just overthinking it.

Look. Virgil’s got a lot of questions here. Chief among which:

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away,” the man says vaguely, looking at him. “Are you gay?”

Virgil gapes at him.

“I’d be perfectly fine with a platonic soulmate, but for the sake of disclosure, I am gay.”

“For the sake of disclosure,” Virgil repeats disbelievingly, and pinches the bridge of her nose, rubbing it. God, his head hurts terribly. 

“Bisexual, or pansexual, perhaps?” He prompts. “Asexual? Or... you could be straight, I suppose.”

“Ugh,” Virgil says reflexively, then shakes himself. “I’m not—okay. Fine. Yeah, I’m gay too.”

“All right,” the man says, as if noting it. “What’s your name?”

Virgil snorts.

“What?”

“Okay, I don’t—” he gestures to the limousine around them. “Again, you just drugged me. I don’t know where you’re taking me. You probably would have killed me if I hadn’t said those words.”

The man makes a moue of distaste.

“Or had someone kill me, I don’t know,” Virgil amends. “Either way, you’re working with that family, who I’m assuming aren’t pleased at having a spy getting caught trying to work himself into your ranks, so I’d rather you not know all that much about my life, thanks.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for your,” an infinitesimal pause, as if he’s wracking his brain, trying to remember something, “social security number or anything. A name.”

Virgil stares at this man. Lo—. Lo something. Lochlan? Loyd? Or was it a codename?

“Yours first.”

The man pauses.

“You drugged me,” Virgil says.

He smiles at Virgil. “Will you hold this over my head for the rest of our lives?”

The rest of our lives. Yes, that’s meant to be the fairytale ending for soulmates, isn’t it? A nice little meeting, the swell of overdramatic violins in the background, falling into each other’s arms and forming a life together. That’s the popular answer.

More and more recently, though, people have been advocating for choice; that soulmates are not always the best person for you.

Virgil doesn’t know which camp he and this man will fall into, just now.

“Yes,” Virgil says quietly. “Yes, I think I will.” 

The man sets aside his whiskey.

“Logan.” He says at last, and his accent has changed again; it’s vague, almost indecipherable, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say Midwestern American. Virgil wonders if it’s his real one. “My name is Logan.”

Logan.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Since discovering you’re my soulmate? I haven’t lied to you at all. Not a word.”

“Except for the accent.”

Logan laughs.

“Habit, sorry. It’s a long story that perhaps the man screaming in your earpiece will be able to tell you one day.”

Virgil jolts with surprise. “You know—?”

He cuts himself off before he can say Janus’ name.

“Reputationally,” Logan says, and, as strange as it is, Virgil believes him. In this, at least.

His soulmate’s name is Logan.

“Virgil.”

Logan smiles, his blue eyes glittering. “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.”

There’s the sound of a soft knock on the partition, and it lowers; Virgil can’t see the driver.

“Sir? We’re here.”

“Right,” Logan murmurs, shaking himself. He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope, offering it for Virgil.

Virgil hesitates.

Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve laced it with anything. I’m holding it with my bare hands.”

Virgil huffs, but he takes it, opening it and pulling out a thin piece of paper.

It’s a commercial flight ticket to Washington, D.C.

“Why D.C.?” Virgil says quietly.

“Most of those organizations are based there,” Logan says. “Is it too far a jump to assume that you are, as well?”

It is actually too far a jump; it’s not even remotely close, he lives in an entirely different part of the states. But. To be fully honest, he doesn’t want Logan to know the state he lives in, and therefore the state that Patton and Roman live in, until Virgil knows if he can be trusted or not.

Logan opens the limousine door from inside, revealing they’ve pulled up to the local airport.

“What, no private plane?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t trust that,” Logan says with a shrug. “The Trumans may be powerful, but you know as well as I that manipulating a flight of this nature is well outside their purview.”

Logan’s right, he absolutely wouldn’t have trusted that, but. This limo’s pretty swanky. For the time he wouldn’t have been obsessively running over every crack and seam in a private jet and interrogating the pilot, he probably would have had a pretty swell time.

Virgil swallows, looking up at Logan. “There are programs, you know? If you wanted to be a witness. Be in service to—”

Logan smiles at him in a way that’s almost pitying. “I left that life behind a long time ago.”

Virgil looks to the airport, then back at Logan.

“Will I see you again?”

Logan shrugs again, almost delicately. “Who’s to say?”

Virgil nods, once, and he says firmly, “I’ll see you later.”

Logan grins at him. “Not if I see you first.”

Virgil slips out of the limo, slams the door shut, and, with what feels like Herculean effort, manages to get into the airport without looking back to see if he can see Logan through the tinted glass.

He does exchange the ticket for another that’s an hour and a half later, though. He’s not a total idiot.

He gets through security pretty quick, and sits in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs, his brain pounding with his headache, the questions swirling around in his head making it even worse. Virgil puts his head in his hands.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is working for a mob family.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is apparently smart enough to specifically engineer a roofie.

His soulmate, though!

Janus knows his soulmate. Janus recognized his soulmate.

His soulmate knew about the fucking Lewis clause.

Was his soulmate a spy too? Was his soulmate in deep cover? Had he betrayed his organization? Was he a good person, or had the universe seen fit to hitch Virgil to someone awful?

How had Logan gotten entangled with the Trumans in the first place? Why wasn’t he in the dossier? 

Where was Logan even from? Did he like coffee? Hot chocolate? What had he studied in school? What was his favorite food? If they were normal people, would he have asked him on a date and not drugged him and dragged him off in a limo? 

Who was Logan?

Whatever the answers to his questions are, though. Virgil knows himself enough to know that he isn’t about to let this case go. Not the Trumans. Not him.

Lewis clause be damned.

[fakeloveaskblog]

Janus!!!! You and Remus should go to play Lasertag!!! (is that how it's spelled? is that what it's called?) I'm sure Remus would love that!

(Words: 2206)

Janus: "Hmmm while I am not a big fan of the idea of lasertag it does sound like something he would like.......I shall give it a try"

Remus was banging on the vending machine right outside Picani's office to try and get some candy out. Janus was telling the vending machine it was a stupid piece of shit in support. They had just gotten out of their fake therapy session.

“HAHA!” Remus let out a triumphant laugh as he got the candy. He immediately lunged his goblin mouth down into the bag. Only stopping to ask if his friend wanted any. He said no.

“So...” Janus began. He fiddled with his gloves out of nervousness “I kind of had a falling out with a...friend a few days ago and I could- I mean- Maybe hanging out would I uhm help me to think of something else. IF You want to?! I am totally forcing you to hang out. No saying no allowed totally. Maybe lasertag would be fun?”

His friend had sugar all around his lips as he grinned “Of course J-anus! Anything for my snakey! Hey you can pretend the other people are your friend and fuck them up!!”

Janus didn’t get a chance to respond, his crush had already started to walk towards the entrance. He had a skip in his step and he was flapping his hands around.

“Oh I know a lasertag place not far away! I think I still have one of the highscores there!”

They took the bus to the place. They sat so they were facing each other instead of beside each other. Janus didn’t want to intrude too much on his personal space.

The lasertag place was half filled with teenagers and friend groups. Energy drinks and chips could be bought. On the wall a display of the records of the day, month and all time stood. On the tenth place on the all time records stood BUTTMASTER420.

“Aww I was on the 7th place the last time I was here” Remus pouted.

“It just means you have to get a new record today” Janus replied with a smile.

“That’s the spirit snakey!”

Remus once again paid for everything without giving his friend a chance to pay for himself. Janus felt a little embarrassed putting on the laser tag gear but seeing the stupidly big grin on his crush’s face easily made up for any negative feelings.

The game room was dark with only a few neon lights here and there. The fake walls and obstacles made so the players could duck from lasers were also clad in black. Hell even the fake pirate ship sitting in the corner for some reason was all in black!

The dudes were on the same team, the blue one. Along with some strangers. Even more strangers made up the red team. They had 30 seconds to find a starting position in the room before the 15 minute game started.

The moment they were let in Remus took Janus’ hand. He intertwined their fingers while holding his lasergun steadily in his other hand. He ran into the room, pulling his friend along, towards the pirate ship. To Jan’s surprise he ran past it and instead made them both hunch down behind a box.

“We can wait until some bitches have taken over the ship and then destroy them!! That way it’ll be even more exhilarating!” Remus whispered to him.

“Ah yes. The old stealing ship strategy. Done that many times” He replied sarcastically.

The signal went off showing the match had started. Remus let out a delighted squeal and shot up from the cover to shoot at people. His friend stayed hidden. 

He saw a stranger running and stopped when they saw them. They aimed towards Remus who was currently laughing like a maniac. Janus aimed back at the stranger and somehow shot right on their chest. Before getting up and pulling his crush along to the nearest other cover, which happened to be a fake pillar.

Janus had a small smile on his face as adrenalin rushed through his veins “This is actually kind of...fun”

“Right??? I knew you’d like it!!”

Remus hit his ear a few times and kept blinking rapildy. There was so much sensory stuff going on it was making his skin feel like static. He usually had his headphones with him, but being with his friend was easily making up for the discomfort.

“Seems like a good time for mutiny” Janus suggested while glancing over to the pirate ship.

“Perfect time!”

They ran between covers. Remus was shooting at every single person he saw. Even blue ones. Janus’s gear beeped a few times showing he’d been shot. By the time he’d gotten to the pirate ship his crush was already crawling up the side of it like a rabid spider.

Janus let out a few panting breathes before walking up onto the ship. “Face your doom fuckers!” Remus was yelling while sprinting up to the people on the top of the ship.

A truly epic battle of shouting joking insults and shooting lasers began. No one was paying attention to Janus so he sneaked around them and sat down right at the highest point of the ship. He could see the whole room. Ah yes! This was true power!!! He proceeded to snipe at any little bitch he saw while his crush playfully barked at the other people until they gave up and left the ship.

Remus sat down and leaned his back against Janus’ so he had full sight of the other side of the room. He let out a cackle every time he hit someone. His laugh was like a chainsaw but Jan still adored it.

“This is almost as exciting as getting to plot revenge against people I will never actually hurt” Jan said.

“Indeed. There’s barely any difference between lasers and poison anyway!”

A few minutes went by, just enough so Janus could properly catch his goddamn breathe. before Remus suddenly jumped up on his feet and pulled in Janus’ shirt to get him to move as well.

“C’mon snakey just sitting safely isn’t exciting enough! We gotta jump back into the battlefield! Dive into the ocean of laser and lava!!”

Janus let out a sigh before holding out his hand so his crush could take it and pull him along to wherever he wanted. Which Remus promptly did. They jumped down from the ship and zigzagged across the room while lasers went here and there.

He slid to a stop against a wall. A loud beeping was going off to show it was only 2 minutes left. Remus let go of his friend to cover his ears. He still held up his smile.

“You feeling okay?” Jan asked.

“Mhm” He nodded and moved his hands away from his ears to instead aim at a few people from the red team “We gotta get in a few more points before it ends right”

“Right on it comrade”

They aimed at as many people as possible. Remus seemed a bit out of it but still chuckled when he got in a good hit.

A stranger ran past them. They stumbled against Remus for just a moment. Their hand landed on his lower back but they quickly continued past them to hide behind a cover. 

The sudden push made Remus stumble forward. He froze. The gun hang in the wire connected to his gear. His eyes were wide as he stared down into the floor.

Janus stopped and looked back when he didn’t hear his crush’s laughter anymore. He let go of the gun when he saw the way Remus was holding his hand over his mouth and the way his chest was barely moving.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I...I can’t breathe” Remus let out between gasping breathes for air.

“Is the binder too tight? Ehm is it a sensory overload? What should I-” He rambled out in a panic.

“I can’t....I can’t breathe” Was all he could get out.

“Right. Right...Remus I am going to grab onto your shirt and lead you out of here okay? I won’t do anything more than that”

He waited for his friend to nod before lightly taking ahold of the arm of his shirt and walking through the room to the exit. He didn’t give any of the players running around as much as a chance of accientally touching Remus.

They left the lasertag building and sat down on the sidewalk behind it. Janus let go of his friend and gave him a bit of space. Remus buried his head in his hands while gasping for air.

“Do you need help with-” Janus began.

“I can...I can handle it” Remus interrupted.

His shoulders was shaking and his nails were digging down into his skin. Tears formed in his eyes and he immediately tried to force them away.

“This is so stupid” He mumbled “It was- They barely even touched me- it was an accident- It’s so stupid- so stupid”

“Don’t say that. Sensory overload isn’t anything stupid. It’s not something you can just force away with willpower. All the lights and sound was a bit much for me as well to be honest. So it’s not stupid for you to be overwhelemed either” Janus said in a soothing tone.

The tears kept buldiing up “No. No. It’s so stupid- It happened over a year ago- I should be past it- It’s so stupid”

A cold feeling spread through Janus as he realized it might not only have been a sensory overload but maybe something more close to a flashback. He scooted slightly closer while fiddling with his gloves. He was unsure of how to comfort him.

“I...When....” Janus took a deep breathe “It’s been almost a year since I moved out from my parent’s house...But when I had a window open a few nights ago and the wind suddenly made it slam shut...I...It reminded me so much of doors being slammed shut and....and....So all I could do for the next hours was hide under my blanket with my snake plushie. I knew I was alone in my own apartement...But my body still reacted like I was a teenager”

He stopped to regain his compuser.

“So Remus I promise that whatever you’re reacting to it’s not stupid. Nor is the way you are reacting. I know what’s it like”

Remus looked over at him, his eyes red from crying. “Can I hug you?” He asked with a hoarse voice.

Janus didn’t respond. He simply opened his arms and let Remus cuddle up against his chest. Jan moved his hand up and down his back and and pressed his face into his crush’s fluffy mess of a hair.

They sat in silence for a bit. Every now and then Remus sniffled but he didn’t try to move away. Sometimes Janus mumbled something meaningless but comforting.

Eventually Remus moved back. The tears had dried on his cheeks and his breathing was steady. He stood up and rubbed his palms against his eyes before standing up. Janus did as well.

“You should probably drink some water when you come home. So you don’t get a headache from the crying” He suggested.

“Thanks snakey” Remus let up into a small smile. He suddenly took out his phone and typed something “I ehm...I’m sending my adress to you. I know you’ve already walked me there. but in case you’d forgotten. And in which apartment number I live. I don’t have any job and i don’t sleep much so you can come at like anytime! Just to hang out. If you want!”

“Oh no I would absolutely despise having to spend time with a person I’ve already choosen to spend several very fun hours with”

Remus’ smile moved into a grin “Great! And uh next time we hang out after therapy we can do something you want. I know these past times we’ve done stuff I’m mostly interested so you can choose!”

Butterflies flied around in Janus’ chest “I would love to!”

“Maybe we can invite Remy as well!”

Both of them sighed at the same time “They’re so pretty”

They glanced at each other with blushing cheeks before letting up into laughter and giggling. By the end of it all the bad feelings left by the breakdown we’re gone.

Remus reached out and held Janus’ hand for a moment “Well I shall see you next time! Don’t die!”

He let go and started to walk away, a skip still in his step. “I’ll do my best!” Janus replied.

He stood still with a big goofy grin on his lips and with blush reaching up to his ears. He looked over to you with an excited look on his eyes.

Janus: “Did you see that!? He really does seem to like being with me! Oh I wonder where I’ll take Remy and Remus to hang out. Maybe a museum? Oh and his adress! Exscuse me I am not usually this excited but ahhh I can just go over and hang out?? Whenever I want to??? Should I? I want to! Should I go over to him this weekend? Is that normal? Is that okay?”