#i had like a stint with a whole arm tic — like my arm would jerk up by my head

[brittlebutch]

tic disorders are so Fun bc they are So comorbid with like. autism and ocd. and they are So fucking transmissible. watching YT vids with a guy who happens to have an eye blink tic and Whoops! picked it right up. and so the whole comorbid thing it’s like a petri dish of “Oh so you’re faking all this shit for attention then? you see someone else do it you do it?? bitch???” intrusive thoughts. and tics are different from compulsions but the stress of intrusive thoughts can also make tics worse which turns the whole thing into a perpetual motion machine. and so i get to chase that tail all over again now and i’m also stuck blinking a weird new way i wasn’t doing last week. gotta love it!!

[august-anon]

Professor Feathersword

Hey hey y’all, the long await sequel that was supposed to be done and come out like the week after the first one, and we’re here like 2-3 months later lol. Sorry about that! Hope y’all enjoy this one!

Sequel to Prince Feathersword

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship(s): Romantic Logince

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Roman/Ler!Logan

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary:  Roman didn't expect revenge, but he wasn't necessarily complaining.

[ao3 link]

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Roman looked on nervously as Logan slowly waved the feather sword teasingly above his head. He wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t hoped for this outcome from someone, eventually, but now that it was here he couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered around inside his stomach and chest. Really, he’d dug his own grave with all the tickling he had been dishing out recently.

But that didn’t mean he was going down without a fight.

“Please,” Roman sassed, trying to keep the almost-giggly wobble out of his voice and only mostly succeeding. “There’s only one of us here worthy of the Feathersword name, and I think we both know it’s me. I’ve got the drama, the flair. Plus, the sword isn’t even in your colors!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, expression unimpressed. “Really?” He asked. “That’s your argument?”

“... Yes?” Roman squeaked.

Logan smirked slightly, waving the sword with a flourish. The colors Roman had chosen melted away, the largest feather shifting into a medium blue, the medium feather into a dark navy, and the smallest feather into a lighter blue. Roman gulped as Logan started waving it teasingly once more.

“Better?” Logan teased.

Roman couldn’t find the words to speak. He could feel himself blushing, the wobbly, anticipatory smile spreading over his face. He squirmed under Logan’s weight, biting his lip.

“How about you, Roman, do you recall all the words to that silly little song of yours?”

Roman gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Logan full-on grinned, making Roman’s heart flutter for a brief moment (it wasn’t fair, he couldn’t be teasing and pretty at the same time!), “Oh, but I would. You prance around the mind palace with this evilly ticklish weapon, tormenting everyone in your path. So often you make them sing that song for you, giving no mercy until they complete the whole thing. Perhaps it is your turn, yes?”

“No!”

“Who’s the Professor with a feather for a sword?” Logan sang.

Roman was caught off guard. Logan didn’t sing. He would rap, sure, but he usually made a direct effort not to sing. And Roman wasn’t sure why because his first was beautiful.

But then Logan wiggled the feather sword against his ear and interrupted his thoughts with a squeal.

“You have to sing the next line,” Logan teased. “Or maybe you want to sing the song in its entirety on your own? Is that it?”

“No! Professor fits even worse than Prince!”

“Don’t make me make this worse for you, Roman.”

Roman managed to reach up and push the feather away despite Logan trying to bat his hands away. “Professors don’t even have swords! What kind of professor has a sword?”

Logan shrugged. “The kind of professor that needs to teach a cocky prince a lesson or two.”

Logan started tickling his neck and ears again to weaken him and gathered up his wrists to pin Roman’s down above his head much like Roman had done to him. Roman struggled as much as he could, but all the strength went out of him when he was being tickled. And now he truly realized his mistake of wearing a muscle shirt that day to “show off his killer biceps.” Logan’s access to his spots was far too open, now.

“Oh no!” Roman giggled.

“Come, sing for me, Roman. You haven’t seemed to be able to stop the past few weeks, what’s come upon you now? Here, I’ll start you off again. Who’s the Professor with a feather for a sword?”

Roman giggled and tried to jerk away from the feathers fluttering at his ear and jawline, but he knew there was no way he was getting out of this without getting tortured, and no way he was getting out of here without being forced to sing that flustering song.

“Ooh, it’s Professor Feathersword,” Roman tried to sing through his giggles, feeling his face start blushing even more having to be on the other side of the tease he’d been using for weeks.

“Who’s the Professor with a feather in his cap?” Logan sang next, waving the hand with the feather briefly to conjure an Oxford cap on his head, a few sharp, navy feathers dangling from the string as opposed to a tassel.

Roman squeaked and closed his eyes so that he didn’t have to see those feathers dangling so teasingly close above him. “No!!”

“Sorry, what was that?” Logan asked, and Roman felt him move down, felt the feathers on his cap brush across his cheeks -- he didn’t even know his cheeks were ticklish! “That didn’t sound like the lyrics to me.”

Roman ground his teeth, feeling giddy embarrassment bubble up in his chest. “Ooh, it’s Professor Feathersword!”

The worst part was when Logan started to move down. He stroked the feather down Roman’s collarbones and his eyes shot wide open again, watching in horror for them to flutter into his armpits. Except they never did. They hovered over them, but never touched down, and Roman gasped and wiggled. Logan winked at him and Roman groaned.

Roman knew what that meant. He had used that tactic himself far too much. Logan was going to save his worst spot for the grand finale and it was going to kill him.

Logan stuck the feather up his shirt and wiggled it down his ribcage. Then back up his ribcage. Then back down his ribcage. “He tickles you,” Logan sang with a smirk.

Roman was barely holding in squeals, laughing heartily and squirming as much as his position allowed. “He t-tic--” 

He cut himself off with a loud squeal as Logan focused on a horribly ticklish little spot at the bottom of his ribs, toward the back.

“My apologies,” Logan said calmly. “I couldn’t understand you through all those noises you’re making. Could you try singing that line again for me?”

Roman internally cursed Logan. This so wasn’t fair. Who gave him the right to torment him like this? And Roman was also suddenly much more sympathetic for how flustered Virgil and Patton got over the past couple weeks whenever he made them sing this song to their own torment. He could barely even get out the words “tickle” or “feather,” which just made his predicament much harder.

Logan made them sing the entire song together, keeping him there as long as he wanted until he was satisfied with Roman’s performance. Roman stuttered over flustering words, and Logan made him repeat the line. Logan would somehow finess the large feather well enough to target a series of mini-hot-spots all over his torso right when Roman was in the middle of a line, just to make him mess up so Logan could make him repeat it.

Spots like his bellybutton, right under it, the highest rib, that one spot on the middle back of his ribs, right against his waistline on his sides.

Roman was properly deceased.

Then, Logan took a trip to his feet, fluttering the feather down his legs on the way, and if Roman hadn’t been secretly waiting for this for weeks, he would’ve called mercy by now. The fluffy little fronds beneath and in between his toes could’ve killed him all on their own.

And Logan’s voice was unfairly teasing. The way he sung his half of the lyrics, with a little lilt to his words and a smug smirk that, if Roman had been standing, would’ve made his knees weak. The little, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, my prince, could you repeat that for me?” or “I didn’t quite catch that, my dear.” or especially “I know you know the song, my darling Feathersword, have the words to it evaded you now, after all these weeks? Or perhaps you’re trying to draw out this torment longer, because you crave these lovely giggles.”

Needless to say, it takes them a rather long time to get through that blasted song. Roman wasn’t even sure he would be able to use it against his fellow sides anymore without getting blushy and squirmy himself. Logan sat smugly atop his hips, once again having pinned Roman’s arms high above his head, both wrists in one of Logan’s hands. He sucked in air greedily, and after a few moments a horrifying thought occurred to him.

Logan never touched his armpits.

Roman sucked in a shuddering gasp and his eyes flew open to watch that cursed feathersword. Logan, seeing Roman had finally realized what was in store for him, broke out in an evil grin. He didn’t say anything, just watched as Roman worked himself up into a frenzy, twitching and gasping and squeaking at any miniscule move the “weapon” made. The anticipation building in his belly and clearly upping his sensitivity also made him feel enough like jello that he couldn’t even hope to free his arms to protect from the coming torment.

Occasionally, while he held Roman in wait, Logan would hum a few bars of the chorus under his breath. It made Roman’s stomach do flips and opened him up to butterflies that drove him insane. He couldn’t help the giggles that built up in his chest and tried to escape, but he pressed his lips together to hold them in.

“Holding out on me, dear prince?” Logan purred. “That’s just not fair, is it? Maybe I should do something about that, hm?”

Before Roman could even gasp or yelp or beg for mercy, Logan darted the feather forward, faster than he can follow. Roman slammed his eyes shut and shrieked, toppling into frantic giggles. And then he realized that the top of the sword was just resting against his armpit, not moving or wiggling or deliberately tickling in any way. Roman tried to lock all his joints tight and resist the urge to squirm so that his own wiggling wouldn’t tickle him.

Logan grinned down at him. “I think I’ll stay here,” he taunted, wiggling the feathersword for a brief moment to send Roman into a brief stint of desperate laughter before holding it still again. “Until you admit how much you loved this. How much you wanted it. How does that sound, is that agreeable to you, Prince Giggles?”

“No! No it’s not!” Roman cried out through his hysterical giggles.

Logan cocked his head to the side with a smirk. “Hm. Too bad.”

And with that, Logan began the last act of his playful torture. He used Roman’s own weapon against him in the most devious of ways, swapping between armpits and driving him insane with hysterical cackling.

The touch was so soft, so gentle, so torturous. Roman didn’t even know he was this feather sensitive! It wasn’t fair how desperate a gentle touch could make him. But Roman was stubborn (and, yes, maybe he did love this and he did crave this, but he still had his pride), so he held out as long as he could manage.

But between Logan’s teasing (“Oh, still not ready to give in? That’s okay, I’m pretty comfortable, I could stay here for a while yet.” “Wow, Prince Ticklish, you really do love this, you don’t want me to stop so much that you won’t even say the magic words!”) and Roman’s limited lung capacity, he eventually had to give in.

So he swallows his pride and gives up. “I wanted it!” Roman screamed through his laughter. “I wanted it so bad, I love it so much! Please!”

Logan pulled the feathersword away with a chuckle and set it aside. He released Roman’s wrists and climbed off him, pulling Roman up into a sitting position. He helped Roman calm down with soothing touches, just as Roman had done for him: fingers carding through his hair, a hand rubbing soothingly into his back. Roman leaned into Logan and just let himself be held as he caught his breath (and he almost thought he felt lips press fondly into his hair, but he dismissed it as him being tired).

“Y’know,” Roman murmured, “Maybe everyone should have one.”

“One, what, my prince?”

Roman hummed as Logan hit a stubborn knot in his back and began rubbing at it with more intention. “A feathersword. Make it all fair game.”

Logan doesn’t reply, and Roman doesn’t say anything more. Logan simply invites him fully into the room and they fall into Logan’s bed and cuddle close together for a well-needed rest. And they may talk a little when they wake about their relationship before splitting ways for dinner and bedtime to let the feelings between them settle.

But all the sides may or may not wake up the next morning with a feathersword waiting for them in their rooms, in their own signature colors.