#i needed me some comfort after watching logan so my brain provided | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

Can I please ask for some protective Cubs and/or Coops. I adore these boys and I love the fics where they always have each other’s backs. It could be a similar situation to Remus and that Stan guy or something different. No pressure or anything and if you don’t vibe with this prompt don’t stess bestie

Yes, I love protective Lions! For the anon whose meds got mixed up: I'm so sorry that happened, and I hope this provides the comfort you were looking for in the form of Cub lovin' <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for panic attacks, forgetting to eat a healthy meal

It was Sirius who noticed first. Then Remus. Then Finn.

He was still kicking himself over that one, to be honest.

Sirius moved like a solid wall, murmuring in quiet French as he led Logan out of the gym and into the hall with Remus hot on their heels. A pang hit Finn right in the heart—I want to understand, he thought, fervent and afraid as he set the jump rope down. I would build the Tower of Babel again to understand how to help.

His pulse picked up; sweat itched at his forehead even after he stopped exercising. “Something’s wrong,” Leo said under his breath as they hurried into the hall.

Obviously, Finn bit back. He should have known since the second Logan started snapping his fingers in a nervous tic, should have seen the fucking signs—

“Everything alright?” James asked cautiously from the weight bench where he laid. “Did someone get hurt?”

“Just—just hang on a second.”

“Respire.” Sirius sat crosslegged across from Logan, whose eyes were squeezed shut as he leaned his head against the wall about ten feet from the door. “Logan, respire.”

A gentle but firm hand moved Finn out of the way by his shoulder; Remus slipped past them with a cup of water. “Drink this,” he ordered as he took Logan’s twitching hand between his own. “Open your eyes if you can.”

“Gonna throw up,” Logan managed, his voice high and reedy.

“Lo?” Finn’s mouth was dry. Logan hadn’t had a panic attack since their last year at Harvard together—he barely remembered what to do.

Logan’s chest caved at the sound of his voice, and one pale green eye cracked open to stare at him in sheer terror. “Finn. Finn, it’s happening, I don’t know what to do—”

“Move.” Finn’s throat hurt, but his brain kicked into autopilot. I can fix this. “Leo, get some damp paper towels from the break room. Cap, give him space.”

Leo disappeared from his stunned place by his side; after a moment’s hesitation, Sirius held his hands up and backed away. Logan was still gripping Remus’ hand with white knuckles. “How do I help?” Remus asked as soon as Finn knelt next to Logan.

“Grab some more water, and granola bars.” Slowly and deliberately, he reached up and cupped the side of Logan’s face. He had never allowed himself to do it at Harvard, but Logan always came back to himself quicker with a grounding touch. “Logan, can you look at me for a second?”

He shook his head. “Gonna throw up.”

“Alright.” With a shaky exhale, Logan leaned into his palm. “There you go, good job. Are you still dizzy?”

“Little bit.”

Past adrenaline rush, past collapsing, moving through dizziness. Finn ran through his mental checklist like it was just yesterday that Logan had crumbled after a bad game in from of scouts. “Cap was right, you need to breathe. I’ll do it with you, okay?”

He watched Logan’s chest move up and down, erratic at first before slowing to match Finn’s steady pace. Something damp and cool brushed against his free hand and he pressed the paper towel to Logan’s forehead, then kissed Leo’s cheek in gratitude as he sat down. “What happened, love?”

Logan swallowed hard and licked his lips, but his eyes were opening. “Dunno. I was almost at the end of my reps. I was fine.”

“Did you eat?” Sirius asked quietly to his left, waiting with his arms crossed. Despite his stance, he didn’t look angry.

“Bagel for breakfast. Coffee.”

His mouth tilted down. “That’s not enough.”

“Desole.”

“We’re not upset,” Finn assured him, sliding the makeshift washcloth to his temple. “Just worried.”

“It’s really warm in here,” Logan panted. His pupils had dilated so far they almost masked the green entirely. Past dizziness, into dehydration. “Is anyone else warm?”

Finn’s sweat was already cooling on his body as he handed him the water glass. “Drink.”

In twenty seconds, half of it was gone. A decent amount spilled over the front of Logan’s shirt from his shaking hands, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Leo’s whole face was lined with concern. “Better?”

“Oui.”

Finn glanced up at the others and gave them a quick nod. We’ve got him. Sirius squeezed his shoulder as he passed, and Remus passed him a couple energy bars before heading back into the gym. Logan’s breaths were coming easier; they waited in silence until the rest of the water was gone and his face regained some of its color. “You can’t skip breakfast on heavy workout days, Lo,” Finn said, folding his legs under himself. “You know that’s how these get triggered.”

“It’s been long enough that I thought I’d be alright.”

“Does this happen a lot with you?” Leo asked. Insecurity flickered over his face and Finn felt a stab of guilt.

Thankfully, Logan shook his head. “Not for a while. They used to, back in school.”

“Then why’d you skip breakfast if you knew it might happen?”

“I slept weird. Didn’t wake up hungry, and by the time I was, we had to go.”

“We can take another five or ten minutes to make sure you eat instead of having a panic attack.” Just to make that extremely clear, he added in his mind. “For future reference.”

Logan’s nose twitched as he looked toward the gym door. “Sorry for interrupting your practice.”

“Health comes first,” Leo said firmly. “Practice won’t ever be more important than your safety.”

“It’s our job—”

Finn held his hands up in a timeout motion. “Panic attacks aren’t something we fuck around with, remember? The guys will understand. Coach will understand. Besides, we’re your boyfriends. It’s our job to take care of you when you’re feeling shitty.”

Logan looked between them, sighed, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on both their shoulders. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Leo said into the soft skin of his neck with a light kiss.

Finn rubbed small circles onto the back of his hand and buried his face Logan’s slightly-sweaty curls. “Love you, three. Ready to head back in?”

“Only if you’re ready for me to kick your ass in squats.”

Leo snorted. “Bold of you to assume Cap’s letting you near anything heavy for the next 24 hours.”

“That assumes he lets you in the gym at all,” Finn amended.

Logan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“And I’m sure he’ll believe you, after you’ve been cleared by every doctor in a four-mile radius.”

“I’ll make him let me in.”

“Now that I’d pay to see,” Finn laughed. He internally cheered at the rosy splotches of temper that lived a semi-permanent life on Logan’s cheeks.

Leo nodded. “A true battle of wills.”

Logan’s jaw ticked at the side. “You’re the worst boyfriends ever.”

“Nah, we’re just protecting you from your big bad older brother who is fully capable of banning you from the gym if you don’t play your cards right.” They heaved him to his feet by his hands; if Finn spent a little extra time dusting his back and thighs off, that was nobody’s business but their own.

“Are you done?” Logan asked with clear amusement written all over his face.

“I’m protecting the booty,” Finn said solemnly. Next to him, Leo fought a valiant battle against the grin trying to take over his face. “It’s a very important booty, you know.”

“Like you’d know, Pancake O’Hara.” With a playful smack to his—admittedly lacking, in comparison—rear end, Logan strolled back down the hall to the gym and pulled the door open.

“Yoga mats,” Sirius said without preamble. Leo clamped a hand over his mouth and hid his face in Finn’s shoulder.

“But—”

“Yoga mats. If you even breathe on the weights, I swear to god I’ll sit on you.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Love you, too.” Sirius narrowed his eyes down the hall. “You two have absolutely no excuse to chill out here. Congrats, Harzy, your rotation for the bench press just started. Knutty, Bliz is waiting for you by the ice baths.”

“Oh, god,” Leo groaned.

Even Sirius looked sympathetic as he moved aside to let Logan in. “It’s only fifteen minutes. You’ll sur—Logan, put that down!”

#logan tremblay #finn ohara #leo knut #sirius black #remus lupin #oknutzy #coops #cubs #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #panic attack

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years ago

Text

The Stowaway’s Heart - Chapter 6

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil’s poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Word Count: 6214

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, Play fighting, Sexual innuendo, copious amounts of romance/flirting, kissing, mentions of past abandonment/abuse, Brief anger/lashing out, Scars (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

“You’re sure?”

“Love, I feel the need to point out that this is the twelfth time you’ve inquired on this subject.” Virgil could hear the subtle teasing in Logan's tone as he continued to reassure him. “Given the consistency of my responses, most people would conclude it is highly improbable that my answer has changed.”

Virgil turned his head, smiling sheepishly, as he glanced over his shoulder at Logan, keeping his hands on the bars where he’d been staring out into the dark tunnels. Almost immediately after turning his head, he felt his anxiety melt away as he took in the sight of his soulmates curled up on the bed together. Remus curled around Logan’s back. His arm wrapped tightly around Logan’s waist and his face was buried up against the back of Logan's head, features obscured by Logan’s disheveled hair. Virgil couldn't resist a shy smile as Logan smirked up at him from where he was tucked underneath Remus' arm.

He blushed, tucking his hands timidly behind his back as he slowly turned toward Logan. “Just once more, Lo.”

Logan rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. His eyes sparkled as he recited the same lecture he'd given Virgil a dozen times at this point. “I am certain you are ready to meet Janus, Virgil. The last few days has provided satisfactory proof that you are more than capable of handling Remus’ and my pelts.”

Virgil nodded, dropping his gaze as he attempted to control his nervous breathing. What-if's and worst-case scenarios played through his head as he leaned back against the bars.

“Dearest, our pelts should cause the most intense emotional impact for you to hold because of our soul connections. Roman and Patton’s pelts would be similar to one of ours but with significantly less overstimulation.”

Virgil leaned against the bars, shifting his feet as he felt a pit form in his stomach “But this guy's pelt is different, right? What if I can't—”

“Janus’ pelt does not have the same effect as the rest of us but I assure you there is no risk of you being overwhelmed by his pelt.” Logan exhaled slowly, patiently looking up at him as Remus snored into his hair. “I promise you will be okay, Virgil.”

“Sorry, Lo.” A smile tugged at Virgil’s lips as he tucked his chin to his chest, hoping to hide the redness in his cheeks. “I know you've told me this a thousand times already, but I hate waiting. I just want to get this over with.”

“Some nervousness is to be expected, love.” Logan whispered, his tone soft and comforting. “You are submitting yourself to the judgment of an unknown party. That in itself is an intimidating prospect but the process is not as intrusive as you are imagining.”

Virgil looked up at him, biting his lip. “How do you know?”

“Janus has done readings for all of our podmates at some point or another throughout our lives. Honestly, the experience can be pleasantly enlightening ” Logan paused, his eyes hovering closed for a moment as he shifted closer to Remus. “and certainly nothing worth distressing yourself over.

“Are you sure—” Virgil nearly bit his tongue as Logan shot open and he raised an eyebrow at Virgil. Something in Logan’s gaze sent chills up his spine and he knew he was in trouble. “I'm sorry, Lo. I didn’t mean it—”

He could handled Logan being irritated at his continual need for reassurance, but to Virgil’s dismay, his mouth curled into a mischievous smile sending nervousness coursing through his body as Remus shifted behind him.

“Leave me alone, Lolo.” Remus slurred his words sleepily, his voice muffled gently by Logan’s hair. “I'm sleepin'.”

“Re,” Logan whispered, just loud enough for Virgil to hear. He kept his eyes fixed on Virgil. A smile spread wide across his face as he gently nudged Remus awake. “Virgil’s feeling nervous about meeting Jan.”

Virgil sucked in a breath as Remus' green eyes peeked over Logan's shoulder with a dangerous glimmer. Chaos sparkled in Remus’ eyes as he released an exaggerated sigh, lifting his head up to cradle in the nook of Logan’s shoulder. Remus smiled at up a Virgil with an innocent flutter of his eyelashes. “Jan is going to shred you into tiny strips and feed you to the fishes as his uses your bones to pick his teeth—"

“Re,” Logan warned with a gentle teasing in his voice, smiling as Virgil’s mouth dropped in terror. “I did not wake you so that you would terrorize him.”

“Liar,” Remus nipped lightly at Logan’s neck, holding his waist so he couldn’t escape from Remus grip. He snarled playfully into Logan’s ear and Logan let out a breathless whine. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Virgil relaxed for a moment as he watched Logan giggle as he squirmed in Remus' arms. He took a breath, letting his gaze fall from his soulmates as worry crept back into his mind. Subtle worries replayed in his mind until he noticed the room had fallen silent. When he turned his head up, his muscles tensed. Logan paused mid-whisper into Remus' ear and turned back to Virgil. A devious smile curled on Remus' lips as he whispered into Logan’s ear loud enough for Virgil to hear. “Good idea, Lolo.”

Already on edge, Virgil stumbled back, nearly slipping backward as Remus nimbly hopped up off the bed and scurried toward him. He gave an undignified squeak as Remus swept him off his feet and carried him bridal style over to the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Logan push himself up, leaning back against the wall with a hungry look in his eyes as they approached him. Virgil reached up to wrap his arms around Remus' neck but before he could latch on, a shriek escaped him as Remus gave him a swing and he flew less than gracefully through the air, landing between Logan’s legs. Logan's arms wrapped around his shoulders with a iron and Remus collapsed below them curling himself around Virgil’s legs and resting his head on Virgil’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Virgil whined, burning red as his voice cracked. His breath caught in his throat as his skin tingled happily. He barely contained his smile, feigning a disgruntled whimper as his soulmates’ warmth surrounded him.

“Distracting you, love." Logan whispered, breathing softly into Virgil’s ear. Virgil cooed as Logan's lips brushed his neck and his breath became shallow. “You have nothing to worry about, my dear.”

“Nah,” Remus purred, closing his eyes and curling comfortably onto Virgil’s lap. Virgil closed his eyes, sighing breathlessly as Remus' subtle movements brushed against his skin. “Janus is a catty bastard but he doesn’t got it in him to actually hurt anyone.

“What if I say something wrong?’ Virgil muttered helplessly, closing his eyes as the feelings consumed him.

“There are no wrong answers. This is not a test.” Logan reassured him. “Janus' reading will simply tell him about who you are and show you details about what lies in your future. It will not change the fact that you are staying here with us.”

“What's the point then?” Virgil breathed slowly, looking up at Logan. “Why do I have to do this before I leave?”

“Jannie just likes to know everyone’s dirty, little secrets, but don't worry.” Remus chuckled and looked up at Virgil with a wink. “He's not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy.”

“Secrets—” Virgil asked breathlessly before another wave of shock settled over him, tensing in Logan’s arms as he frantically leaned forward to look at Remus. “Wait—what do you mean kiss, Re?!”

“Relax, love.” Logan chuckled quietly. His grip tightened around Virgil and he rested his chin on Virgil’s shoulder. “No one is kissing you but me.”

“—and me.” Remus waved his free arm up at them lazily so that Virgil had to lean away to avoid Remus smacking him repeatedly in the face. Virgil groaned but he couldn’t resist smiling as Remus curled himself tighter around his legs.

“Do you feel better, love?” Logan whispered, holding him closer aa he ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

“Yeah, Lo.” Virgil breathed loudly, tapping his fingers happily on his legs as his skin tingled at his soulmates’ touch. “I feel better.”

“Good,” Remus whispered, closing his eyes. “No more worrying.”

Virgil hummed, leaning into Logan's shoulder. “When is he coming, Lo?”

“Soon enough,” Logan whispered. “but I cannot say for certain. I can't mentally nudge him or Roman like I can Remus.”

“Why not?” Virgil muttered tiredly, closing his eyes.

Logan chuckled. “Because Janus isn't my soulmate, Virgil.”

Virgil blinked, turning up to Logan. “Does that mean you can do that to me, Lo?”

Logan nodded slowly on his shoulder.

“Huh,” Virgil breathed, deep in thought. “Why haven't you?”

“It was never necessary—”

“—and it feels real funny the first time.” Remus muttered. “Like you got worms in your brain.”

Virgil felt Logan smile against his neck as he giggled. “That is also a significant concern when you are unaware of what to expect.”

Virgil smiled, stretching his muscles as his soulmates settled in closer.

“Listen, Virgil.” Logan paused and Virgil could feel him breathe next to his ear. “There are some things about Janus we should discuss before you actually meet him.”

Virgil looked up and Logan smiled sadly down at him. He stared up at Logan for a long moment before Remus sigh pulled him from his thoughts. Virgil looked down as Remus sat up and turned to face them. Virgil found himself staring at Remus' serious expression. He leaned forward, pulling himself out from where he sat between Logan’s legs. Moving to sit between his soulmates, he looked between their weary expressions.

“What kind of things?” Virgil started nervously.

“Jan's a bit different than the rest of us.” Remus smiled weakly. “He's a precious bugger and we love the shit out of him, but he had bit of a rough patch of luck before he ended up stuck with us.”

“You see,” Logan paused until Virgil turned back to him. “though we are all selkies, there are subtle differences between us based on our kindred seal species." Logan gestured to Remus. “For instance, brown fur seals are vocal, social creatures that tend be brazen in face of danger. Therefore, Remus and Roman take on an exaggerated form of those traits. It's a feeling you’ve likely noticed as you held his pelt.”

Virgil nodded, looking cautiously at Remus as he processed Logan’s words.

Logan smiled. “Spotted seals, like myself and Patton tend to be inquisitive, quick-learning and attentive to each other. Therefore, Patton and I act in a similar fashion and my pelt resonates with mental clarity and compassion.”

“Okay.” Virgil looked between them, contemplating their words. “That all makes sense so far, but how’s Janus different?”

“Janus' kindred are harp seals, which for the most part are similar to a spotted seal like Patton and I, except perhaps less inquisitive and more compassionate.” Logan paused. “Janus is unique for more than just being the only of his species in our pod though.”

“How?” Virgil pressed.

“Selkies are like magical creatures, right?” Remus gestured dramatically. “Well, some of us are born packing a little extra juice. Gives us extra abilities and Janus was unfortunate enough to landed with two of the damn things.”

“Unfortunate?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Isn't extra power a good thing?”

“We think so and that's why Janus lives with us,” Logan smiled at him. “Despite their docile nature, selkies are not great at handling those who are different, especially when it's one of their own.”

“You’re talking like you aren’t one, Lo.” Virgil stared at him, taken aback by the sudden edge in Logan’s tone.

“Sometimes, I am less than proud of my heritage, love.” Logan muttered and the bitterness in his voice unsettled him. He opened his mouth to speak but Remus cut him off before he got the chance.

“Listen, most pods have dozens of members, but Jannie's is the last of our little patchwork family for you to meet.” Remus hummed, looking up at Virgil. “The four of us were forced out of our pods by shit far out of our control. Shitty situations all around and Jan just happened to get it worse than, uh…” Remus paused, glancing up at Logan. “well, worse than most of the rest of us anyway.”

Virgil quickly glanced at Logan beside him, noticing his demeanor had changed. Suddenly, Virgil could see tension in his shoulders and his usually bright expression had dulled. He hesitated, slowly tearing his eyes from Logan as he looked back to Remus. “Why were you guys—”

“The reason why is irrelevant.” Logan cut him off dryly. His face curled into a snarl as he dropped his head to his chest, running his finger through his hair.

Virgil flinched at Logan’s tone, immediately regretting his question. “I'm sorry. You’re right—I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey now. Don't get all flustered on us now.” Remus purred with a reassuring wink. “It's cute and all, but it’s not necessary. That’s a natural question to ask,” Remus put a hand gently on Logan’s leg. “but Lolo’s right. That's a story for another day.”

Virgil watched as Logan lifted his head and smiled at Remus with tired smile. He slowly slid his hand over, curling his fingers around Remus'. The subtle adoration in Logan’s eyes as he looked to Remus warmed Virgil's heart, but nearly as quickly as it had come, it faded away. Virgil frowned as Logan looked away, distant as he lost himself in his thoughts again.

He turned an uneasy glance at Remus and he could tell Remus had noticed the same regression in Logan’s mood. Remus cast a sympathetic smile at Virgil noticing his concern before his mustache curled into devious smile. Virgil blinked briefly in confusion. His mouth hung agape as Remus winked at him, tightening his grip on Logan’s hand. Logan glanced up briefly in confusion before used Logan’s tight grip to leverage his weight to lunge himself across Virgil’s lap towards Logan. Virgil ducked and Logan let out an undignified squeak of shock as Remus tipped him back onto the bed. Virgil smiled, crossing his arms over his knees as he watched Logan blush. Logan relaxed as Remus perched on top of him, straddling his chest and pinning his arms to his sides.

“Let me go, Re—” Logan muttered breathlessly as he squirmed under Remus' weight. His face reddened and a smile spread across his face as Remus pecked kisses into his neck. “Your mustache tickles—”

“No. Kisses now.” Remus muttered petulantly and Logan whined pitifully as Remus' deep growl tickled his neck. He nuzzled into Logan’s hair, gently kissing Logan under his ear. “Where are you, Lolo?”

“Here with you, Re.” Logan whispered and Virgil’s heart fluttered as Logan relaxed into his bed with a blissful smile.

Remus leaned down and kissed Logan’s forehead hovering just above Logan’s face. “Love you, Lolo.”

“Love you too, Re.” Logan whispered breathlessly. His face was flushed red and his hair disheveled as finally Remus pulled him upright.

Remus slid off him, plopping himself ungracefully between Logan and Virgil. He beamed down at Logan as the satisfied selkie curled under his arm and wrapped his arm Remus’ waist.

Virgil leaned into the wall. His heart filled with warmth as he watched his soulmates cuddle together. He chewed his lip and butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he watched Logan starry-eyed look as he stared up at Remus. Remus gently kissed the top of Logan’s head and Virgil was jolted from his thoughts as Remus turned his head ip to him. Virgil felt his heart stutter as he realized he’d been staring. His cheeks burned as he looked away. “I'm sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up and come over here.” Remus chuckled and extended a hand to Virgil, gesturing for him to join them.

“Are you s-sure?” Virgil stuttered as he hesitated, biting his lip. “I-I can just watch.”

“Kinky,” Remus giggled as the red in Virgil’s cheeks deepened and he pulled his hood over his head, realizing what he'd said. “but, no. Come here.”

Virgil tilted his head up, peeking his eyes up nervously under the hood. Remus held opened his arm up to him again and Virgil timidly shifted closer until Remus' arm wrapped around him. Shivering at his touch, Virgil slowly relaxed into Remus’ chest.

“Lolo needs a little help getting out of his head sometimes,” Remus sighed. “but I don’t want you to get the idea in your head that we're ignoring you—”

Virgil looked up as Remus paused.

“I know I'm exactly up to snuff for most people's taste. Roman and Lolo have had to put up with me since we were kids and I even think a few years with me has worn Jannie down to where he tolerates me—" Remus crooked grin beamed down at Virgil.

“Re, Janus loves you.” Logan pecked a kiss on Remus' cheek. “As do Roman and I.”

Virgil sensed a moment of hesitation in Remus' expression before he smiled down at Logan. “Right, Lolo. I know, but I've got a reputation to uphold."

Remus winked down at him and Virgil melted at the soft, adoring look in his eyes as he looked down at Logan. Virgil’s skin tingled as Remus turned his sparkling green eyes back down to him.

Damn.

Virgil bit his lip. He felt butterflies in his stomach and he stared up at him in awe, suddenly glad his hood partially obscured his face.

“Anyway, I get that my energy’s a turn-off for most people—"

“What?” Virgil looked up in surprise. The shadows from his hood cast dark circles under his eyes.

“I mean, I know I’m a hottie and all, but I get it if I'm not what you were expecting after someone as wonderful as Lolo—”

Virgil watched, entranced by the apprehensive look on Remus’ face. His cheeks were dusted red and the corner of his mustache twitched into a frown. This was beyond what Virgil could fathom.

He's anxious about…me?

About me…not liking him?

“Re, stop—" Logan’s arm tightened around Remus.

“Lolo, it's okay. Virgil—”

The end of Remus sentence was cut off as Virgil leaned over him and reached around the back of his head. Remus tensed for a moment as Virgil slowly leaned closer and pressed his lips gently on Remus'. Virgil grasped a handful of the man's shirt in his hand as Remus’ arm tightened around his waist. He felt his hood slip to his shoulder as the kiss lingered and they tasted each other’s breath. A quiet moment passed before Virgil slowly opened his eyes, freezing as he noticed the knowing smirk on Remus' face.

Remus cooed with a teasing grin as he leaned closer. “You kiss like a French boy—”

Virgil groaned, peeling away from Remus. He moved to pull his hood back over his head as his embarrassment flooded his face. “Shut up—"

Remus chuckled with an teasing grin, gently reaching up to stop him from covering his face. “If that's what you wanted, you should have kept your tongue in my mou—”

“Logan—" Virgil moaned, burying his head into Remus’ shoulder. “Help me—"

“Oh, love.” Virgil’s breath caught his throat at the chill in Logan's voice as he slipped out of Remus' grip and allowed Remus to focus his energy on Virgil. I think it would be unwise for me to allow you to become dependent on me to save you.”

“What?” Virgil muttered breathlessly as Remus nuzzled his neck. He bit his lip stifling a giggle as Remus’ face tickled his neck, not wanting to give Remus the satisfaction of tormenting him.

“The best way for you to learn the error of your ways is to force you to deal with your own mistakes.” Logan smiled coyly at him as he squirmed in Remus’ grip. “I do believe the proper phrase is, ‘You got yourself into this mess. You can get yourself out.”

Virgil pouted, allowing Remus to wrap around his shoulders and pull him back to Logan until Remus gently tipped him back so he lay on Remus' lap looking up at his soulmates. Still pouting, he glared up at Logan. “Traitor.”

Logan chuckled as he reached down to run his fingers through Virgil’s hair. “Fortunately, dear one, luck seems to be on your side this time. Roman and Janus will be here any moment and we need to get back to the matter at hand before they arrive.”

Remus grumbled. “Way to kill the mood, Lolo. I could do without listening to Jan’s tragic origin story again.”

“So could I, Re,” Logan muttered with a frown as he wrapped an arm around Remus’ waist. “but Virgil needs to know what to expect when Janus arrives.”

“I don't handle people hurting my friends well.” Virgil could feel Remus' voice rumble in his chest above him. There was an edge in Remus' voice that sent a shiver down his spine and he couldn't help tensing at the anger in Remus' eyes. “If I ever find those bastards, I'll personally coat them in fish bait and string them up in the water and let the fish peel their skin away layer by layer until—”

“Re,” Logan whispered patiently, running his fingers through Remus' hair. “as much as I support your inclination to violence regarding Janus' supposed family, we are running out of time.”

“Fine.” Remus muttered his reply, slumping into Logan's shoulder with a grunt.

“Good,” Logan looked down at Virgil. “Love, when a selkie transitions out of childhood, their pelt undergoes both physical and magical changes as they prepare for adulthood. From what I understand, it is relatable to the process of puberty in humans, though from my understanding, the process seems significantly less distressing for selkies. Does that make sense?”

Virgil looked to Remus' disgruntled expression before nodding and allowing Logan to continue. “For brown fur seals like Roman and Remus, it's merely a texture change, but for me, my pelt changed from a bright white color to the spotted pelt you see now. Likewise, when Patton gets older, his white coat will likely do the same.”

Virgil nodded uncertainly when Logan looked at him for affirmation.

“When Janus was younger, his pelt should have changed the same way,” Logan paused and Virgil could see a sad look in his eyes. “but it didn't.”

Virgil blinked, confused. “So what?”

“When a selkie’s pelt doesn’t change, they’re marked as an oracle, Virgil. He sees and knows things that we are unable to perceive.” Logan paused. “To be honest, he is quite a powerful ally.”

“Wow—He can see stuff things that aren’t there? How's that work—” Virgil tapped his hand excitedly until the sad smile on Logan’s face gave him pause. He looked to Remus’ serious expression before looking back to Logan “Wait—why's that a bad thing?”

“Selkies don't like it when one of their own suddenly doesn’t mix,” Remus whispered bitterly.

“They isolated him, Virgil.” Logan muttered. “They told him he needed space to develop his skills, but they were simply afraid of him.”

“Which is fuck—”

“Re—”

“—Stupid.” Remus spat, giving Logan a dirty look. “Janus is as harmless as a newborn pup.”

Logan sighed, looking down at Virgil. “He sees things that no one else does. They found his unpredictable movements to be unsettling—”

“Wait—” Virgil interrupted Logan’s explanation. “Remus said there were two things that were weird about this guy. What's the other thing?”

“Right.” Logan paused, looking almost surprised he'd forgotten. “Well, much like the effect of my pelt has a slightly different effect than Remus’, Janus’ pelt is also unique. Unlike ours though it is not based on his kindred species, but rather a recessive trait that only appears only once every few generations even in a pod at normal capacity.”

“Which is what?” Virgil watched Logan grow nervous, nearly covering his mouth with his hand as he tensed.

“I am realizing I probably should have led with this topic, but you’ll recall I said I wasn’t worried about you being tempted by holding Janus’ pelt.” Logan ran his finger through his hair as Virgil nodded cautiously. “The reason for that assumption is that his pelt does not allow you to control him, but rather will have the effect of making you more…complacent.”

“What?” Virgil’s mouth dropped.

“The power of his pelt lowers the effect of your natural inhibitions and makes you more prone to suggestion—”

“You’re planning on leaving me alone with him and just letting him brainwash me?” Virgil sputtered, pulling away from Remus and Logan and hopping off the bed. He stumbled off the bed spinning on them as he slowly backed into the bars. For the first time since he'd first woken up in this cell, he felt trapped.

“No, love.” Logan pleaded, standing up. “The actual practice is more akin to hypnosis than—"

“That's not better—” Virgil waved him away, leaning against the bars. “Do I even get a choice?”

“Virgil, his methods are not about control. He simply opens up your psyche to being read—”

“Sure. You’re calling it a reading like you don't mean he’s just going to force me to spill all of my secrets and then do whatever else he wants to me—”

“It's not like that.” Virgil tore his gaze from Logan and settled bitterly on Remus, but the kindness in Remus' eyes gave Virgil pause. “Listen, Jan will know some of your dirty, little secrets just by looking at you, and we can't do anything about that, but he can't loosen your lips. Not to mention, Janus likes to get freaky but control's not really his kink.”

Logan sighed, rolling his eyes at Remus before looking over at Virgil. “His pelt lowers your inhibitions, but your survival instincts will take over if he pries deeper than you are truly comfortable with and you can always stop. No one here will force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Virgil looked to Logan. “He can’t force me to do anything?”

“No, love. If you were already considering saying or doing something, his pelt may influence you to act,” Logan smiled patiently. “but you won't say or do anything you would be adamant about not saying or doing otherwise.”

“And I can stop?”

“Anytime,” Logan nodded with a subtle smile. “and for any reason at all.”

Virgil swallowed nervously. “What if he doesn't let me?”

“He will,” Remus jumped up off the bed toward him, stopping just a few feet away from him. He extended a hand to Virgil. “but if he gives you any trouble or pressures you, you focus on needing help. We got that weird mental thing, right? If you need help, Lolo and I will be there right when you need us.”

“Okay.” Virgil stared at him for a moment before relaxing. “Okay. I'm sorry.”

Logan crossed his arms as his brow furrowed. “Why are you apologizing?”

Biting his lip, Virgil was quiet. He stared down at the ground. “Because I freaked out—"

“Your reaction was justified given what you expected to happen,” Logan paused watching as Virgil took Remus' hand and allowed him to bring him back. He looked down at Virgil with a serious expression as they approached. “I am glad we were able to rectify your understanding of the situation before you met with Janus, and perhaps, you will now understand better why Janus' pod was uncomfortable with his presence.”

Virgil bit his lip guiltily. “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to judge him.”

“Do not apologize, love.” Logan’s expression softened and he smiled patiently as Virgil hung his head, rubbing his shoulder nervously. Logan put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder reassuringly. “Even Janus recognizes his power is intimidating. What matters most is that you try not to allow it to color your perception of him. He can be intimidating but he is a good person, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded absently. He felt Logan’s hand drop off his shoulder as Remus pulled him into the bed and he inhaled deeply as Logan dropped down next to him. His soulmates’ wrapped their arms around his chest and his anxiety began to settle in his stomach as their gentle touches grounded him.

“What did they do to him?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

A chill ran up Virgil’s spine as a deep, sinister voice resonated through the room. He shrank in between his soulmates, who both suddenly looked guilty.

“They put with me until they could barely stomach to look at me,” Virgil heard a hiss as the unknown figure inhaled sharply. “and then they slashed my face open so I'd be shark bait if I tried to follow them or hunt for myself and then they left me for dead.”

“Janus—"

“Logan—” The figure interrupted him abruptly. “—if this door isn't open in the next—”

“Of course, Jan! One second—” Logan scrambled off the bed toward the door and for the first time, Virgil caught a glimpse of the mysterious man as he curled into Remus’ arms. He barely managed to stifle a surprised gasp as he peeked over the edge of his cloak.

The fluffy, white fur draped nearly to the slender figure’s knees. He was dressed in simple black pants and a black, silk shirt. But despite the man's elegant dress, Virgil eyes were drawn to the scars on the right side of the man's face.

The deep cut started right at his hairline and snaked across his eye to curl under his jaw. Virgil sucked in a breath. Even in the dim light, the scar shimmered like it had been inlaid with veins of gold. Virgil’s gaze drifted up the golden scar until he locked eyes with the stranger snarling down at them. He shivered as the stranger's amber eyes locked onto him and he curled nervously into Remus' chest.

Fortunately, his attention didn’t linger on Virgil for long. He quickly turned away as Logan pushed open the door. Logan immediately stepped out of his way, hanging his head as Janus turned to slink past him into the room. Virgil couldn’t help but stare up at the man as he came to loom over him. He was breathtaking, despite the way his gaze sent shivers through Virgil’s body whenever he managed to catch his eye.

“Leave the door open."

Virgil watched Logan hesitate in the door way. “But Roman—”

“This guy's either leaving here after I'm done with him,” Virgil pulled his hood over his head as the man stared down at Remus with a wicked grin as Remus puffed up over Virgil defensively. “or he's going to escape right into your brother’s arms and Roman’s going to snap his pretty, little neck before he gets halfway down the corridor.”

“No one is laying a finger on him—” Remus started to hiss, curling his arm around Virgil.

“Scram,” The stranger ordered menacingly, glancing over his shoulder at Logan. “Both of you.”

“Jan—” Remus prodded.

“I don’t believe I stuttered, Remus.” The stranger growled and stared Remus down until he slunk off the bed toward Logan. “Go help your brother keep track of Patton. Between the three of you, maybe you can manage not to lose him.”

Crap.

Virgil sucked in a breath, suddenly exposed and feeling at the mercy of the man looming over him. Logan seemed to notice his discomfort, and stepped forward.

“Janus—”

“I said go.”

Remus stepped forward taking Logan's hand to guide him to the door. “It's all good, Virgie. Jan's bark is worse than his bite—”

A deep, guttural growl emanated from Janus' throat as he snapped. “Leave. Now—”

Virgil flinched as the man snapped and watched nervously as his soulmates shrieked and fled the room. His breath caught in his throat and he shrank back, tears welling in his eyes as the man’s gaze turned back on him.

“Please—” Virgil whimpered, burying his head in his knees. “Don’t hurt me—"

“Hey, now.” Virgil flinched as a hand brushed against his cheek. He felt the bed shift as the man sat on the bed next to him. “There’s no need for any of that nonsense.”

The gentle touch returned and Virgil relented, allowing the stranger to tilt his head up to look at him. Virgil blinked up at him in disbelief.

Shit.

The beautiful stranger smiled softly down at him. All malice was gone from his eyes and Virgil couldn't help but stare as the stranger’s scar sparkled in the flickering light. He shivered nervously as Janus fingertips brushed his jaw. The strange man's hand drifted up his jaw, pulling his hood down off his head.

“That's better. Isn't it, Virgil?”

Virgil shuddered as Janus spoke his name and he watched anxiously as the stranger’s hand dropped away from his face. His eyes darted across the stranger’s friendly face, trying to explain the sudden change in his behavior.

Janus let out a subtle, dramatic sigh and turned his sparkling, white smile to Virgil. “You have nothing to fear from me. I'm not upset with you. Just the dimwits who shared certain details of my life without my consent.”

“Th-they d-did it to—” Virgil pressed his back against the wall as he shuddered.

“They want to prepare you for seeing me,” Janus supplied bitterly. “I understood what they were doing, but regardless of their intentions, that doesn’t mean they had the right to share that information.”

“I’m s-sorry. I-I didn’t know—"

“Hush now. I know this isn’t your fault.” Virgil looked up to Janus' soft smile. He watched nervously as the man slowly slid onto the bed next to him. Virgil flinched, anxiously tugging at his sleeve as he avoided the man’s gaze. “I apologize for scaring you. I intended to do nothing more than scare our mutual friends into being more considerate of their actions in the future.”

“A-and me?” Virgil stuttered nervously.

“Nothing will happen to you, Virgil.” The stranger smiled as he lay a hand on Virgil’s back, guiding him off the bed. “We will finish your reading and get you out of this sad, little hole for good.”

“B-but Roman—” Virgil allowed himself to be stood up and he absently followed Janus across the room.

“—won't actually snap your neck.” Janus’ hand drifted over Virgil’s neck as he gently guided him to sit at the desk at the end of the bed. “Roman has a delicate constitution. He cannot stomach killing, even if he'd like you to believe otherwise.”

“I—” Virgil felt a strange calm settle over him as the stranger smiled warmly at him. He dropped his head numbly, staring down at the desk in front of him.

“You’re leaving here safely tonight.” Janus lowered himself on the bed next to Virgil, staring at him with an earnest look in his eyes. “I give you my word.”

“Thank you.” He felt himself relax staring at the shimmering man in front of him.

“You’re very welcome, Virgil.” Janus sighed and a tiny smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he watched Virgil closely. “I'm sorry that I scared you.”

Virgil shrugged. “You didn't know how I was feeling.”

Janus blinked. Virgil looked up as his amber eyes sparkled in the dim light. He noticed that Janus seemed to be watching something over his head. After a moment, Janus seemed to notice him watching and he smiled. “I should have known. I would have if I'd been paying better attention.”

“You really see things that aren’t there, don't you?” Virgil looked at him tiredly.

“Yes, I do,” Janus watched him warily. “Does that scare you?”

“No.” Virgil sighed. “Why would I be?”

“Many people find it unsettling to be in the midst of forces they cannot see or touch.” Janus whispered and Virgil sensed a touch of pain behind his words.

“I, uh—” Virgil crossed his arms, tilting his head up to Janus. “I think it's nice. It's cool to know there's more out there.”

“I do too," Janus smiled. “and it's actually quite beautiful.”

Virgil smiled, fiddling with his hands nervously. “I'd like to hear more about it sometime.”

“Certainly. I would be happy to share with you,” Janus smiled patiently. “but we should probably start, if you’re ready.”

Virgil eyed him cautiously but nodded slowly.

“Before we do your reading though, I believe we should address what's on your mind.” Janus prodded gently, gauging Virgil’s reaction. “Don’t you?”

Virgil’s eyes darted up at Janus as he continued to hang his head nervously. He sighed, dropping his shoulders as he nodded complacently.

“Very well.”

Virgil cautiously looked up as Janus took his hand. His eyes shifted guiltily as Janus stared at him with concern in his eyes. Virgil dropped his gaze to the ground, biting his lip as he felt it tremble.

“Who's trying to kill you, Virgil?”

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iwrestlenow · 4 years ago

Text

Many More To Die, Chapter 6

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 6)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Logan knew, for a long time now, that he had a brother--but now, he remembers who his brother is.

Virgil joined the royal guard to bust Logan out. Logan's a stubborn creature, so instead Virgil tells him about his powers--and accidentally helps Logan realize that someone hasn't been totally honest with him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Plot is happening, way too much exposition--also, who let me have nice things? I DO MEAN THINGS. >.> But the next chapter will be adorable. And come way faster.

No beta, no problem--I'm sorry I'm so hung up on lore and world building and shit, but I'm just having a lot of fun okay? Okay. >.>

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

Logan was running.

Clutching the book against his chest with one arm, clinging to his little brother's hand with the other, he was running for his life as the looming figure pounded down the corridor after them. Everything was dark, too dark...

There. Light. Souls Eternal, what in the Seven Hells was he still doing there?

Stopping dead, Logan faced Virgil. Briefly, he wished he could feel the little hand in his—because if he was here, there was only one way this could end.

Looking around furiously, he realized there was no other choice. Facing Virgil, Logan gripped his shoulder and held his gaze in the dark.

“That open door—go hide behind it.”

“No.”

“The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver—just this once, Stormcloud, I'm begging you, do as I say without arguing!”

He gave Virgil no other opportunity to argue—shoving Virgil towards the sliver of light, Logan watched him stumble forward, then look over his shoulder.

“I'm right behind you.”

The little boy scowled, but his figure swiftly moved, and his footsteps pattered against the stone.

It was the first lie he'd ever told his brother.

Turning away, lest he lose his resolve, Logan frantically tried to remember what he'd been told. The corners, the crevices...the hidden secrets of--

--yes. It was perfect.

Bolting down the corridor, Logan frantically shed his jacket and wrapped the book up as tightly as he could, dropping to his knees with enough force to bruise them. Pulling up the grate, he lowered his precious cargo into it...

Two hands grabbed him at the same time—one from the sewer, the other the back of his collar.

Panicked, Logan blindly grabbed the hand in the sewer, the one he knew, fingers gripping his with a desperate force that was painful...

“Hold on.”

He coughed, gagging as his collar cut his throat. His back hummed with the proximity of the larger body behind him, but the hand in the dark...

He strained to see into the shadows, lookin for that glimpse of light—just one look, just one...

“Loganberry!”

There was no other way.

“Do not let go.”

The moon was slow rising in the sky, a sliver of light moving to illuminate the dark for just an instant—and it was enough.

“I never have. I never will.”

The hand at his collar yanked, and Logan's fingers slid free, throbbing—

“Logan?”

Logan blinked—and the world had changed. Gone was the dim light of the war room, gone was the dark, muffled nightmare he'd been momentarily caught in. He was in a corridor of polished stone walls and pale marble floors. What little light that numerous windows didn't provide, lamps mounted on the walls did, casting soft white light into the space from the magically created luminary globes set in each one.

“Hey, you back?”

He turned towards the sound of his name, disoriented. His movements felt slow, encumbered...

Looking down at himself, Logan realized he was clinging to a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. It glimmered with a film of energy he couldn't pinpoint—until he realized it was connected to him. He was the one creating it, could feel his magic woven through the fabric. His awareness was caught in the stitches and the heavy beads of glass within...

Glass? No...not glass. Crystal...just under his fingers, clear quartz beads for calm and comfort, drawing away the fear and the panic...

All at once, the heavy haze started to settle over him again, the half sleep he'd been in before—but he knew what to do now. Some part of him had always known, even without a Name to tell him how it worked.

Shutting his eyes, Logan bowed his head and let the haze take him over, dragging him back into the dark until he could feel it, glossy wood biting his fingers as he held on tight, thick warm spider silk touching his fingertips.

“Logan—wait, here.”

He couldn't feel the hand that slipped into his, but his fingers tingled, and pulled him swiftly back into the dark.

“Loganberry!”

The little boy, his voice in the dark, screaming Logan's name...his little brother...

Virgil. That was the name of the fragment, and suddenly it made all the sense in the world. There was something else, something bothering him, something stopping him from finishing the picture but he could fix this. The shoddy weaving, the places where the thread had torn when he was ripped away from his work too soon.

He labored for hours. For seconds.

Logan let the blanket fall and opened his eyes as the glittering film of energy vanished.

Immediately, his eyes locked with the dark ones from his...dream?...even through the dark, he recognized them. The face was older, the fear less intense, hope now sitting where blind panic had once been...

It wasn't a dream. It was a memory.

“Stormcloud.”

He watched the cadet's face crumble just before Virgil launched himself at Logan. He caught the younger man easily, wrapping him up tight and greedily running his hands over his arms, his back, unable to feel his warmth or his presence but relishing the faint hum of proximity, the resistance that wouldn't let his arms close fully—reassuring himself that Virgil wasn't just safe, but that he was really here.

Four years old and terrified, cuddled up to Logan's side to watch the needle and thread. Seven years old, cloaked in fear as his ceremonial garb, every thought clear and sharp as the razor's edge. Eight years old, spinning silk for Logan's loom, bound to his side as Logan reaches for the Tome...screaming his name in the dark as Logan is dragged away by the man with the sword...

“It worked.” Virgil gasped, drawing back to grin at him with fresh tear tracks on his face. “It worked, it really worked, Souls and holy shit it worked--”

“Not completely, but enough to know that I'm going to kill you myself if you're not executed for engineering a jailbreak.” Logan snapped, clutching Virgil's face between his hands. His own cheeks felt wet, his vision blurry with a stream of tears he couldn't stop, and he had to stop because his powers had to stay in check...

Virgil. Virgil, Virgil, a cadet of the royal guard, a criminal, his baby brother, his Spider.

Logan pulled Virgil close again, pressing his nose to Virgil's temple. His hair still smelled like damp stone from sleeping on the floor all the time. The shoulders Logan had his arms around were lean, but powerful—how old was he now? Nine years old when Logan was imprisoned...

“You're nineteen.” he realized aloud, finally letting Virgil go so he could look into his face again. “I didn't know, I knew I had a brother but I didn't know...I didn't know you...”

“Shut up, you can pretend you aren't all emotional and shit later.” Virgil soothed, stepping back to grab the blanket off the floor. Logan couldn't quite remember making it, but he knew he had. He could see Virgil with his thumb in his mouth, feel the tug on the half finished blanket as Virgil pulled one end to rub the soft fabric against his nose and cheek, feel the sting of the needle as he pricked himself...

“OW!”

“Wha' happen?”

“I stuck my finger with the needle—there's blood on the blanket now.”

“We can wash it.”

“No, we most certainly cannot.”

“Loganberry! Tha's so gross!”

“Falsehood. This is advantageous—we must let the blood dry first. See where it fell? It will soak through and charge the crystal pocket with my personal magic. That way, when you need it? You can wrap up in the blanket, and you'll feel me there with you.”

“...promise?”

“I swear it.”

“Lo...you gotta do it.”

“Souls—how is a few drops of blood more inherently disgusting than a spit handshake? Fine...”

“The crystals that made this a healing charm—my blood charged them with my personal magic.” he realized aloud, staring at Virgil in shock. “You snuck this in here hoping to restore my Name with it.”

“At least some of your power, but looks like I didn't have to go to the trouble.” Virgil shot back.

“You could have been killed! If the nature of the power had been discovered—oh, I am going to murder you myself once I—“

“Souls, Lo, do you have to go full bloodlust all the time?” Virgil laughed, grinning as he grabbed Logan's arm to pull him along while he started walking down the corridor. “Even after ten years, nothing changes.”

“I will take your word for it, as my memory has not been restored.” Logan replied, planting his feet as he gave his surroundings more serious consideration. The opulence of this area, the magical lighting instead of standard torches...

“All I have back is you, Storm—that said, where are we? How did we get here?”

“The residential wing of the castle—you brought us here.” Virgil explained, gesturing to the end of the corridor he was still trying to pull Logan away from. “You were channeling in the war room, but Mori tried to kill you by taking the blanket off...I thought he was gonna strangle you. Then you woke up, but your eyes were...weird. You just...stood up and bolted.”

Logan started to move towards the door, pulling Virgil with him. “Where is the king? And...the others? I was in and out of consciousness...Emile and Remy?”

“The heart-healer and the prison mage, yeah—couple members of the royal council spotted you heading this way, and word's out that Colonel Mori's been arrested. Roman's doing damage control with Prince Remus, I don't know where the others are. Doesn't matter, though, Logan will you stop and let me get you out of here?”

“No.”

“Loganberry, what the actual fuck?!”

“I'm not leaving. I have to resurrect the king.” Logan reminded him, head twisting around to regard Virgil with genuine confusion. Did Virgil really not understand this? He was Logan's Spider, he...

...didn't know where that came from. Didn't know what it meant.

The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.

“Okay, one? You couldn't even if you wanted to, his Barrier is still open—you try to raise him now, the wrong soul could end up in his body. For another? He's the king and you're a necromancer. This is a jailbreak, remember? We're getting you out of here.”

Virgil emphasized his point by tugging on Logan's arm again, but Logan didn't move.

There was something else, something he wasn't seeing. Something about this...it felt off.

“Logan, we don't have time to fight about the life of a royal, okay? You don't remember why they can't be trusted--”

“Yet you trust him.” Logan pointed out. “You call him Roman, not 'His Majesty' or 'King Thomas Roman.' He...said something in the war room...”

Virgil finally let go of Logan's arm to start pacing back and forth in front of him. With a practiced flick, he draped the blanket around his shoulders—a petulant gesture Logan recognized. He recognized it, remembered it...the feeling was so alien to him.

“Yeah, I do—Souls help me, I trust him.” Virgil replied. “He swore on the Spider's Thread.”

“And?...”

“And...you're a Weaver.”

“You realize I do not know what that is.”

Virgil stopped pacing, then sighed and removed the blanket to drape it over his arm.

“Can we get out of here first so I can at least pretend I'm taking you to your quarters?”

Quarters?...their rooms. Patton.

“That is acceptable.” Logan relented, relieving Virgil of the blanket so he could walk unencumbered, as a guard ought to with a prisoner in tow.

“The Necromata aren't necromancers—they're a tribe.” Virgil explained as they walked, keeping his voice low as his gaze darted furtively around. “We're a tribe. Not every necromancer can raise the dead, some can foresee it or forestall it. The seers are the Black Dogs, the healers are the Reapers, and the resurrectionists are the Weavers. That's what you are.”

Logan thought of the magic he'd worked on instinct, the strange trancelike state that brought him the image of the shuttle, wound with spider's silk.

“The shuttle and thread...” he murmured.

Logan's stride faltered as Virgil crowded closer unexpectedly.

“Yes. So it worked, then?” he hissed excitedly. “We're connected?”

“I...believe?” Logan hedged uncertainly, the phrase echoing in his head again. “'The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.' Are you...”

“Your Spider, yeah. I'm your familiar.”

“My what? Familiars--”

“--aren't stupid animals, idiot stick, that's for outsiders. Familiars are Sensitives that are connected to other necromancers, a perfect match to the power they wield. A Sensitive that's bonded to a necromancer as a familiar can actually do a little magic in tandem with their partner. You're pretty powerful on your own, you always have been, but when we realized we were matched? You got scary good.”

“So...Weavers raise the dead. And Spiders help them do it.”

“More or less. We were bonded when you got your True Name—it means you can draw focus and some small amount of magic from me, and I can communicate with ghosts. The souls you restore to life.”

“My...True Name?”

“Yeah—Loganberry. Every one of the Necromata has one.” Virgil replied, his features softening with a strange mixture of grief and gratitude. “Necromancy is rooted in memory, that's why being stripped of your Name wipes it out—makes you powerless. Your True Name, though, is rooted in identity. There are stories that say a True Name has the power to undo the Cleansing...I guess it's kind of true, since you have your powers.”

Logan fell silent, despite lacking certain answers. That feeling that something was off, it was only growing stronger. Something about names...

“So, the Spider's Thread?...”

“The oath Roman swore? Yeah—it's a reference to the Animata. Outsiders say they kept the Necromata in check? It's total bullshit. The Animata weren't life manipulators, they were a tribe of twin spirits—a being born with two souls. The Spider's Thread is the bond that exists between Animata and Necromata...necromancers don't have souls, but one that finds their Animata lays claim to their second soul, and...well, it's basically immortality. For both of them. That's why the familiars of the Weavers are called Spiders, 'cause we provide the thread that lets Weavers return souls to the Living Tapestry.”

Immortality...an immortal necromancer.

...like the Animator, the First of their kind. The necromancer so powerful, he still marked the passage of time.

A.A.--After Animator.

“How does he know about that, anyway?” Virgil asked. “That's not common knowledge outside the tribe—Logan? Logan, talk to me. What's wrong?”

Virgil's voice was fading. The world was going dark around the edges of Logan's vision again.

In the dark, pulled in two directions. Choking at the hands of one, latching onto another for dear life.

Grabbing blindly. Fingers gripping his, fingers he knew...

“Loganberry?...Logan!”

Gripping with a desperate force that was painful.

“...stay here, okay? I'm gonna get someone--”

Logan grabbed Virgil's hand as hard as he could. He looked down at their joined hands, watched Virgil's knuckles turn white with the force he was using to hold on in return.

Logan couldn't feel it. He wouldn't even feel it if Virgil broke his fingers.

The hand in his memory hurt, burned, seared...

He could feel the hand in his memory.

“Hold on.”

Logan strained to see into the shadows of the sewer, prayed for one final look.

The moonlight shifted.

Green eyes glittered in the momentary illumination.

“Loganberry!”

“He knew.” Logan breathed, releasing Virgil's hand. “He didn't come out of kindness, he came because he knew.”

“Knew what? Logan, who are you talking about?”

His voice was strangled, barely audible, but the words echoed in Logan's ears and cut out the heart he wished to the Souls that he did not have.

“Do not let go.” he demanded, begged through clenched teeth.

If he pulled Logan down, the man behind him might follow. Then they would both die.

There was no other way.

“Maybe he thought I'd remember, maybe...maybe he thought I'd escape...”

“Logan, who?”

Logan squeezed Prince Roman's hand as tightly as he could. He burned those green eyes into his brain, hoping he could carry them with him into the Void when he was gone.

“I never have. I never will.”

He never did—he hung on until the grip on his collar finally yanked him out of the fourteen year old prince's grasp.

“Roman—Virgil, I knew him. Before. I...I think he might be the reason I was arrested.”

#necromancer au #sanders sides #fanfic #ts logan #ts roman #ts logic #ts creativity #logince #dukexiety #moceit #ts virgil #ts anxiety #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again

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oh-theatre · 4 years ago

Text

I Have to Tell You Something

A/n: HEHE I SUCK AT WRITING BUT I LOVE LOGICALITY AND THOUGHT I WOULD WRITE THIS ON A WHIM ANYWAY ENJOY THIS TRASH

Warnings: medical talk, no happy ending, angst but it has some comfort! Ask to tag

“How do you always look so beautiful in the morning?” Logan mumbles through his kiss as he places a gentle one on Patton’s cheek. He flops back onto his pillow sighing, Patton lays stiff.

“Logan we have t-“ he begins quickly getting stopped by Logan

“I can’t even look at you” He turns his back to his partner laughing as he makes a joke of his antics. Patton gives him a weak smile unsure of how much longer he can hold onto. “But I have to so I can do...this” Logan whispers the last part as he cups Patton’s face giving him a kiss, the breath leaving Patton’s body “Now come, I’m going to make you the most delicious food you have ever had the pleasure of tasting” he quickly leaves the warmth of their bad, his hair a mess as he places his glasses on his gruffly face. Patton admires him for a moment, the faded navy blue shirt rested on his waist scrunched with the grayest sweatpants all bunched up.

“Hold on” Patton sat up, bringing the blanket with him “Just give me a second ok?” He requested, his efforts were futile as he watches Logan’s mind already wandering. His boyfriend crawled onto the bed once again taking Patton’s lips on his own.

“Breakfast” he smiled, a smug excitement as he bounced off the bed and into the loft.

“Breakfast” Patton repeated, rubbing his face vigorously he took his own glasses and hesitantly followed Logan. He sat at the kitchen counter whilst Logan had already begun cooking.

“Coffee sunshine?” He offered Patton a cup, Patton gave him a lazy nod hoping the brewed drink would help him get through this. He was glad for the Saturday morning. Remus slept until noon, Virgil had already left for his morning shift. Now in the hazy living/kitchen area, with the sun finding its way through the curtains, was the perfect moment.

“So listen-“

“I smell food!” A third voice cried. Logan whipped around a giant smile plastered on his face. Remus strolled in giving Patton a kiss on the forehead. They had always shared this bond, a sibling one. Which of course extended to Roman, Remus’s actual brother. He took in the scene before humming as he leaned onto the counter. “Peaches, what’s better than Logan cooking?” He inquired from Patton

“Logan cooking breakfast” Patton responded meekly. A clap and bounce was his verification that that was indeed the answer remus was looking for. Patton forced a tighter smile, his patience and ability wearing thing. Of course he couldn’t fault his roommate, but when was he supposed to do it. Remus and Logan no doubt would be working on their project today, Patton had clients and tonight was Virgil and Romans engagement party. Speaking of clients, he watched his phone vibrate the metal counter. Logan and Remus paid no mind as they continued discussing the true meaning of breakfast. “Patton Foley of Foley Fashion speaking, how can I help?” He answered.

“Oh good, i thought I had written the number down wrong” he heard a familiar voice speak through the other end.

“Mister Voce” he recognized “How may I help you?”

“Oh please just call me Janus. I was just wondering if we still had our meeting today? About the outfit for the gala?”

Patton yawned rubbing underneath his glasses.

“Yes, twelve pm at Monsier Meals” he nodded, instinctively holding the phone away from his ear as an elated shriek was heard.

“Merveilleuse!” Janus replied “Thank you” and soon the phone was quiet.

“Breakfast is served!” He heard Logan announce. He walked back towards them watching as Remus took no survivors, allowing a hefty amount of food to grace his plate.

“I will be in my room watching the season finale of the bachelorette if you need me” he says before rushing away. Finally, this was Patton’s chance. The loft fell quiet as Logan and Patton sat across from one another eating their meal.

“You had something you wanted to talk to me about?” Logan reminded, for the first time this morning Patton’s heart stuttered.

“yeah um...look Lo i-“

Surely this was a joke, as if the universe was so hellbent on making Patton’s life difficult

“I’m not marrying him!” Virgil slammed the door. Logan and Patton shared a look, their eyes and nods a full conversation. After pacing with anger Virgil sat down with a drop next to Logan “what was I thinking, saying yes..to him” patton chuckled going to clean his dishes. Logan set his utensils down facing his friend.

“What now?” Logan asks expecting something minor, it was typical with the pair, they were perfect for eachother. Of course they were, but ever since they had met when Patton moved in and introduced the twins to the group, Virgil and Roman were set, game, match. Patton listened humming ever so gently, but the sudden sobs almost caused him to drop a plate.

“I-I can’t marry him!” Virgil gasps “He’s so fucking perfect and annoying and I love him!” He wasn’t typically like this in all fairness, but he was a sucker for romance...especially his own. “He came to my work today, he bought me flowers! He invited me to lunch!” Virgil shook furiously, Logan nodded not grasping what the problem was.

“What a horrible horrible man” Logan’s response fell flat. Virgil stood and began walking to his room, Logan knew he was meant to follow, he placed his dishes by the sink quickly. Before he could go he felt Patton tug his shirt pulling him gently. “Tonight I promise”

“Tonight” Patton begged. Logan gave him a careful kiss on the forehead, before smiling. “I love you starlight” Patton watches as his boyfriend ran after a rambling Virgil.

The place became clean once more, as if untouched. Patton debated going into his room but after walking by and hearing the raging fit Virgil was making he decided to work in the living room, after he showered.

It had been about fourth five minutes of design and putting together a portfolio for the meeting before Patton’s concentration was broken by the sound of his phone.

“Patton Foley-“

“Hello this is Doctor Mauras office, is this Patton Foley?” His heart dropped, he was unsure as to why he knew this was coming. He was hoping it would have gone differently, Logan by his side at least. He leaned back sighing as he massaged the nook of his nose.

“This is he”

“Mister Foley, you came in for check up the other day and doctor Maura wanted to run some extra tests is that right?” He knows the woman on the phone was doing her job but he wanted nothing more to rush this. Just tell me he could hear himself scream.

“Mhm”

“Right well I have the results here...” her tone wavered and Patton took note “from our tests we were able to conclude you have a grade one glioblastoma growing in your brain, it’s not as aggressive but it’s quickly getting to be a problem we have some treatment...” he heard her voice continue talking but nothing was processing the words just existed as his mind went blank. The nausea...the constant fatigue and weakness...his inability to comprehend things... What was he going to do? What was he going to tell Logan? “... even with all of that it’s an incurable condition”

He wanted to faint right there, pass out.

But his fear seized him. Would he ever wake up?

“Ok finally done with that..” Logan breezed into the room watching Patton instantly shut his phone. “Are you hiding a secret lover from me?” He teased expecting at least a giggle of amusement. But the way Patton’s face morphed...the small shake before his eyes were swept with a glossy look. Logan rushed to his side allowing him to collapse into sobs as he held him. “Patton...” but he couldn’t find the words, so gentle strokes and kisses of comfort was what he provided.

Glioblastoma..

Treatment options...

Hard to process...

Preparations should be made..

Can improve condition but...

A choked sob broke though

...it’s incurable

#sanders sides #youtube #Patton sanders #Logan sanders #Remus sanders #Virgil sanders #writing #write #my writing #angst #hurt/comfort #hurt comfort #fic #fiction #fan fiction #logicality #tw angst #tw medical

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bella-in-a-bag · 4 years ago

Text

Not mine

Ao3

Masterpost

- Next

Words: 2446

Day 5 - Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience

Maybe that was worse, because he was just broken and no one was to blame, just himself. Maybe he had repressed his feelings to the limit and they were retaliating, unlike, but he wasn't human after all. Maybe he deserves this and there is no reason, it just is and he has to accept that.

Where Logan gets someone elses feelings.

Tags and triggers under cut

Hurt/Comfort, Unsympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, more or less, he's just mean and never actually in the story, just mentioned, it's implied that he's just stressed, mention of violence, Swearing, Remus doesn't get gross, , tw panic attacks implied

Logan didn't know how his chest had suddenly gotten so tight, his eyes watery and his gut twisted in a way that made him want to throw up. Feeling such an intense array of emotions left him unable to think, let alone reason his way out of something he didn't know the cause for. Just a minute ago, he was fixing Thomas's schedule to include his meeting with Joan, an action that he deemed deeply satisfactory, when a wave crashed into his train of thought. Anger for something he didn't know the motive but knew was wrong, as well as many other things he could only identify as a mixture of pride, guilt, grief and sadness.

Well, no use in trying to get something done now.

Logan was used to these impulses, as he liked to call them, but every time he suffered them he felt like the world was figuratively trying to crush him into a pile of dust, so maybe the appropriate term should be awareness of the situation. He didn't freak out when they happened, which was good, but the unpleasantness still stuck all the way through the episodes. Surprising no one, he hated them more than he hated Thomas pursuing theater and YouTube instead of a stable career, but unlike the latter, these problems only affected him. Maybe that was worse, because he was just broken and no one was to blame, just himself. Maybe he had repressed his feelings to the limit and they were retaliating, unlike, but he wasn't human after all. Maybe he deserves this and there is no reason, it just is and he has to accept that.

Logan realized that if Janus heard that he was going to get lectured, but he didn't really mind, not when his brain was spiraling back and forth between a decision he wasn't sure he was making himself. The pros and cons, the possible outcomes, the whole problem laid out to him in a way he could only watch someone from afar look at a map he couldn't see. It reminded him of the courtroom scenario, but at the same time the problem felt more trivial and more important. The stakes were high, he guessed while trying to assume the best decision based on the pieces he could get, but then a choice was made and anxiety filled his mind to the brim.

He almost didn't answer when he heard a knock on the door, too many things happening at once, but he pushed himself up his chair and answered with the loudest voice he could manage. "Who is it?" It still sounded too emotionally charged, or maybe it didn't and his ears were playing tricks on him. "Can I come in?" Still no answer to his question, but if he ignored them maybe they would go away. The three seconds he stood in the middle of his room waiting for an answer felt like an eternity, but to his dismay, that someone finally decided to reveal their identity.

"I'm Remus, Logan" he sounded far too broken for the Duke, and Logan deduced that wasn't good. "Can I come in?" The desperation in the voice pushed Logan to open the door and let him in, trying to look collected.

"How may I assist you?" He wanted to add that he couldn't even assist himself, but the thought remained in his head.

"I need you to coach me through Virgil's breathing exercises" it still felt wrong the way his voice broke when he said Virgil and why would he need them in the first place? Remus was becoming a decent distraction from his own problems, he realized as he tried to make sense of the situation. Logan gestured at the foot of his bed before beginning to speak.

"Ok, I want you to breathe in for four, hold for seven and exhale for eight" Remus simply nodded and Logan began the exercise, counting with his fingers when he saw the creative side struggling to follow his instructions. After 15 minutes and 23 seconds, Remus seemed to look more like himself and Logan stopped counting, finding comfort in the way his mind had started to function as well. Remus was looking at the ground while biting his nail and it didn't look like he was going to speak any time soon, but Logan needed to know what happened in order to help Remus. He might be also teeny tiny bit interested, but that is besides the point.

"If you are not comfortable you do not have to answer" Remus's finger was out of his mouth, good. "But may I ask what is bothering you, you seemed troubled. And by previous experiences, I assume you do not get easily troubled." Remus snorted, Logan wasn't sure why but that is a problem for another day.

"I might have fought with good ol' Virgin again, which might not have ended so good ol' ok" That usually didn't end up well, Logan remembered trying to comfort Virgil with Patton making cookies and Roman swearing revenge on the background.

"If you were in his room that would explain your distress"

"We were on common territory, so my bullshit comes exclusively from me."

"I wouldn't consider your stress fake, but did anything he said upset you into this state or was it the whole situation in general."

"Well, there were some things said." He paused for a moment, looking down weighting if it was worth it or not. Logan was beginning to think he would just get up and leave when he resumed talking, startling him just enough to make him flinch but improbable that the other side had noticed.

"I had this extremely good idea, you see. It was good, so good I was going to show it to Thomas. Not an intrusive thought, you don't need to worry legged dictionary, but an actual real plot for an episode." Logan nodded along, listening carefully to the side's words. "I made the mistake of telling Virgil, cause he was the only one around and I needed to tell somebody. He's still pissed that jay-nus got sort of accepted, hypocrite coming from him," Logan bit the urge to correct him, shifting a bit on the spot." so he didn't take well the idea of me making something useful. Or he was afraid that I wasn't going to make anything and kill Thomathy on the spot, but hey, same difference. He also called me something a bit ugly." Remus's voice shifted into Virgil's like second nature, which would make sense given Janus's history. "Yeah, well maybe you are better off trapped in the subconscious, no one wants you around anyway. I'm sure your brother won't miss you."

This time Remus didn't continue speaking and Logan understood that he wasn't getting more info right now.

"I am sorry Remus, Virgil has been a little over the edge lately with Janus up in the primary mindscape." Bad wording Logic, now he looks more sad. "I am in no way trying to excuse his actions, perhaps I could talk to him later. Make him see the error in his thinking, possibly getting him to apologize."

"Thanks Logan." Satisfactory, he isn't even using a nickname.

"If I’m not intruding too much, why didn't you go to Janus for help?"

"Intruding is my thing logical meat bag" That one's creative "but he's busy and you seemed good at comforting V-movie, so I guessed you could comfort me too. Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw, I sound like Roman."

"I guess you do not want anything to do with chainsaws, but I appreciate that you would come to me for help. I am not in any way qualified in dealing with emotions, but I am suitable for providing physical help, techniques do not depend in whether you are very sad or mad at someone eating your last crofter jar." Remus smiled, which was good.

"Well that was fun." Remus stretched and half laid on the bed, his legs dangling on the edge. "But you seemed pretty out of it Wikipedia, when I came in" So much for looking collected, then.

"I was not doing well, but I am fine now"

"You can't just not tell me what bothered you, I need to know what to hit." That was nice, in its own way.

"I am afraid you cannot hit my problems, Remus"

"If you don't tell me I'll have to disagree, Logan”

"Well, why would I lie to you if it doesn't benefit me?" A short idea dashed through Logan's head, and he followed it. "Remus"

"Janus lies without reason, Logan"

"I am sure he has his reasons, Remus"

"You don't know that, Logan"

"You don't know that either, Remus"

"Logan?"

"Remus?"

"You're good at avoiding issues, glasses." Maybe Logan laughed a bit, not that he would admit it.

"I like you, but if you don't tell me I won't leave your room till eternity." Logan did not appreciate the idea of Remus in his room for an eternity, whatever that meant given that Thomas, and per se his sides, won't live an eternity.

"It is difficult to explain, but let's just say that nothing caused my distress." Remus launched himself forward to sit down properly, one of his hands playing with his mustache.

"I belive I am feeling and experiencing things that haven't happened to me. I am unsure of the cause but I know for certain that it is not an emotional response to something that happened to my person."

"Do you know when it started?" Serious Remus voice, that is definitely scary.

"I do not remember"

"So you had a crisis but you didn't know why it happened."

"Yes and I did not tell you anything about a crisis, how do you- nmg" A hand pressed his lips together, making him unable to speak.

"I think I figured out and I am not smarter than you, probably." The hands off now, that's good.

"Well then, what is it?"

"I do not know how this happens, but I know why it does. Still no clue?"

"No, I am afraid I do not know. Emotions are not my expertise."

"I don't think this has anything to do with emotions. Ok, I'm going to give you the data and see if you can complete the puzzle, live up to your title Sherlock." That nickname made Logic all warm inside, not because he was being called Sherlock but because Remus meant it as a compliment and not an insult.

"You were feeling bad emotions but they weren't yours. I was feeling bad emotions. At the same time." Logan could almost physically feel the click his brain made while connected the dots, every time he had seen Remus sad or angry after he had had an episode, but as they have also happened without seeing him, there was no need to make a connection before. But it was obvious, of course it was. Obvious as it was, it still left option for a lot of questions, like for example, why?

“Ah, well.” Logan had to stop talking, the realization dawning on him. If this is what Remus was feeling, maybe that wasn’t so good. Because he knew what he had gone through, and if he had a reason, it had probably been worse. “Well, that is a lot to take in. Remus, you have gone through a lot.” A pause for air, so he wouldn’t drown in all the weird feelings he was having now. It was probably Remus, or him, or both. “You don’t need to deal with this alone anymore.”

“I wouldn’t want to drag you more into hell with me.” Sadness, and this time Logan knew it wasn’t his, even if Remus’s smile tried to convince him otherwise.

“You are not dragging me anywhere, because we are sitting on my bed and you did not choose your feelings to go to me.” Another beat of silence, this time less dense.

“I think it happens both ways.”

“Oh. That would make sense.” Logan did not want to think of what that implied, had the other side felt the anger he couldn’t control when it escaped its grasp and flooded his senses, or was he safe. No, he probably knows now, think clearly Logic.

“Don't worry dicktective, I’m not going to judge you. I don’t do that, not even kink shaming! Unless that is your kink, then maybe I’d make an exception for you.” Logan figured he tried to sound suggestive, but in all honesty he just sounded tired. He was tired too, so tired he could jawn. So he did, at the same time as Remus. Remus smiled afterwards, less maniacal, more soft. Logan smiled back.

“We are soulmates, Logan.” The logical side was taken aback. He barely knew Remus and he was sure that soulmates meant a declaration of love so good it was as if it was chosen by the universe.

“No?” Yes, appropriate response Logan, five stars would recommend.

“I mean, that’s the drill right?. We share emotions, we share a soul. Isn’t that soulmate 101.”

“Soulmates aren’t real, those are just fairy tales.”

“Maybe Thomas wanted them to be real, so he made them real in his messed up mind.”

“That, that actually makes sense.”

“Look, it’s even making me intelligent. I should hang around your room more often.” An offer perhaps, to see where this goes. Logan is very dense right now, but he nods unsure of everything.

“Why me? I’m the least emotional side.”

“That might be what you think, but you don’t know everything.”

“It’s terrifying.”

“Not knowing or soulmates?”

“Both.”

“I figured. I am pretty scary.” A feeling of discomfort, but this time is his own.

“Not you, emotions. I would react the same way if it was any other side. Maybe not Patton, as he insists on calling me his kiddo and that would be uncomfortable.”

“I’m morally depraved and it would still feel weird.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.” Silence, this time they are just lost in thought. A minute passes, maybe ten. Logan isn’t keeping track of time. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when his world just tilted a bit to the side.

“Logan?”

“Remus?”

“How the fuck are we going to tell the others?”

“We'll figure it out, let's worry about ourselves now.”

"Thanks Lolo."

"You're welcome Remus."

He wasn’t really sure of anything. But with Remus by his side, sounding so confident and yet so scared, maybe things would turn out ok. He was greeted with happiness, a feeling that wasn’t his but still belonged, somehow. And somehow, he knew Remus was receiving happiness as well.

@tsshipmonth2020

#logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #virgil sanders #sanders sides #soulmate september #bella's soulmate september #tsshipmonth2020 #bella writes

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thechildoflightning · 4 years ago

Text

Vergilius

Title: Vergilius

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: none

~~~

Summary: Vergilius. Vergil. Virgil. Different spellings for the same Roman poet.

For some reason no one talks about the fact that Virgil's name does in fact fit the dark sides naming pattern.

Or: Logan and Virgil have a discuss about the name 'Virgil' and what it means.

Warnings: none

[ao3 link]

~~~

Vergilius

It’s after a meeting with Thomas- who is once again panicking over the simplest of decision making, though to be fair, a large part of that is Virgil’s responsibility as well- when Logan corners him.

Virgil recognizes the situation for what it is right away. Logan gets this shine to his eyes, not quite a twinkle, more of a glimmer. Virgil knows what that look means. Logan is curious and he wants answers and he won’t leave until he gets them.

It's one of Logan’s best traits, his determination and dedication. It’s also one of his worsts.

“Why Virgil?” Logan asks, once he’s fully entered the room and checks that they are alone. (Logan’s not subtle to begin with, and it’s Virgil's job to notice the things others don't, he’s not going to pass over Logan’s sweep of the room for what it is. Logan’s making sure that they are truly alone).

“What?” Virgil replies, “Logan I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’ve literally done nothing.” A brief course of panic. “Wait, why- Logan is something wrong?”

“No, no, no,” Logan confirms, and Virgil relaxes. He lets his muscles and fists untense from where they were coiled and ready to strike as if he had the physical ability to fight every single problem away.

“Not ‘why, comma, Virgil,’” Logan clarifies, “why Virgil.” Or attempts to clarify, because Virgil is now even more lost than before.

“Why the name Virgil?” Logan asks, “Why not change it completely.”

Virgil blinks at Logan. Once. Twice.

“What?” Virgil asks, completely thrown off balance and one word rebuttal coming off slightly harsher than he intended. He trusts Logan- he does- but vulnerability has never been his strong suit and his name- well… but Virgil’s working on it. He is. He’s trying.

(Why does he feel like trying is never good enough).

“I don’t understand why you would keep it. I thought you would have changed it,” Logan remarks, oblivious too or plain ignoring Virgil’s inner turmoil.

Logan’s dismissal of his name stings more than Virgil’s ready to admit, and he realizes he has to do something fast. Because Virgil is his name, of course it is, and he’s not getting rid of it. But Logan- are the other light sides mad at him for keeping his name? Do they think it ties him to the dark sides that much more?

(Virgil’s so tired of being a dark side. So tired of everything he does being marked bad. He’s still having to relearn that he is not fundamentally a bad person after all these years).

“Logan,” Virgil says weakly, not sure how to build his defense on this particular subject, “Logan it’s my name.”

“I know,” Logan agrees, “and I would have thought that you don’t like it. You have already taken small measures to change it. I thought it was strange you stopped at that. Do you not wish to change your name? Am I mistaken?”

“I-” Virgil stutters, trying to gather his thoughts on the matter. Because Logan’s right. Virgil doesn’t like his name, doesn’t like how it rolls off the tongue. Too many syllables, too much weight, too much history.

Virgil is a small change. But it’s so so so much better.

Virgil is Virgil.

“I- I mean- yeah- I don’t like my original name. But Virgil- Virgil is better.”

Logan considers him for a moment, watching Virgil with a steady gaze before giving a slight nod.

“Alright,” he agrees, “as long as it works for you.”

Virgil nods, and thinks that’s it.

But Logan hovers in the rooming, leaning forward slightly. Virgil can practically see his mind racing. It’s obvious he has something to say.

Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Yes Logan?”

“May I ask two questions?” Logan asks, “the second might be uncomfortable or invasive. You may refuse to answer at any time, even if you give me consent to ask it now.”

Virgil mulls over the words and reminds himself that this is Logan. He would never hurt Virgil intentionally. Unintentionally- sure, but it’s happened in the past. It could certainly happen here.

But Virgil’s willing to take that risk.

He nods.

“I don’t understand why Virgil is acceptable to you,” Logan prefaces, “Virgil is nothing but a shortened version of Vergilius, and both names along with Vergil- spelled with an ‘e’- are all alternate titles for the same historical poet. They seem so completely connected together that I don’t understand how you could find one comforting and the other repulsive.”

Which is fair. Like Logan said, Virgil is one of many spellings, but all the spellings refer to the same name. It’s like when people sometimes spell Kaitlyn with a “c” or a “i” instead of “y”. Alternate spelling, sure, but the same name.

That’s all Virgil has done, switching from Vergelius to plain old Virgil.

“So,” Logan continues, “My question for you is wherein lies that difference? What allows you to be comfortable with Virgil but not Vergilius?”

Virgil has an answer. He’s thought about this for quite some time himself, even if he had never expected anyone to ask him about. But Virgil represents anxiety, and he double, even triple checked his own name, his own reasoning to determine that he was completely satisfied with it.

Now how to explain it in words?

“We all started with names,” Virgil says slowly, “Intentionally or not, Thomas assigned us names that fit us when we were formed. Right?”

“Yes- well not exactly,” Logan responds. Virgil raises his eyebrows at him. “The names Thomas gave us represented how Thomas perceived us when we formed, not necessarily are true authentic selves.”

Virgil gives a small nod of acknowledgement.

“Fair enough,” he allows. “So- Logan, a question for you. Why were you named Logan?”

“Logan. Logos. Logic,” Logan reciters, “the principle of reason and judgement.”

“Right,” Virgil agrees, because his has always been one of the easiest to make sense of. “And I’m Virgil. Again with the Greek and Roman origins. Potentially coming from the term ‘vigil,’ to keep watch. As anxiety that’s my job. Then the connection to the poet- which sure that takes us closer to Roman’s territory but the few times Roman and me have actually gotten along is when we’ve mixed his creativity and the way I feel emotions- specifically surrounding anxiety and fear- to create art.”

“Yes,” Logan agrees.

Virgil nods and considers how to continue. He knows what he wants to say but he has to think about it for a moment and calculate the proper way to present his feelings to Logan. Logan wants facts, knowledge, logic. That isn’t Virgil’s default and it takes him a minute to speak Logan's language.

“Your name fits your role. My name fits mine. It’s not a name I chose, but I feel that it fits me well. It- my name allows me to be more than anxiety. Anxiety has always restricted me, made me be one thing. Virgil gives me the freedom to choose and be myself while still providing comfortable familiarity. I don’t have to limit myself to a simplified emotion. I can just be… Virgil.”

Logan studies him for a moment, eyes sweeping across his body as if searching for a lie.

“Okay,” he eventually says, “I can understand that. But then why not keep Vergilius?”

Virgil gives a weak smile.

“I thought that would have been obvious.”

Logan frowns.

“Your name doesn’t make you a dark side.”

“But it matches the undeniable pattern,” Virgil points out.

Logan hums but doesn’t protest. It’s not like he could. Virgil’s right.

Roman. Patton. Logan.

Remus. Janus. Vergilius.

“It hurts,” Virgil admits finally. And it’s hard to admit but he’s trying to be vulnerable, trying to open up and he’s going to give Logan the benefit of the doubt. (Even so his heart beats louder and his breath grows slightly shorter and his fingers and toes curl tight and tense up). “It hurts to know that somewhere in Thomas’s subconscious, he sees us as good and bad.”

Logan's frown grows deepens.

“That’s an over simplification of the complex roles each of us carry out.”

“I know,” Virgil says. He didn’t once upon a time. He used to truly believe that there was good and bad and that he was bad, that he hurt Thomas no matter what even when he tried his hardest to be good. But those days are mostly behind him. Mostly. He still had some bad days. “I know that Logan. But Thomas hasn’t always seen it that way.”

“Do you think Thomas sees you that way now?”

A few weeks ago Virgil would have said yes- that Thomas only thought he hurt them and would be glad to get rid of Virgil and the pain he brought with him.

Now though…

Thomas told him that he was wanted, that he was needed, that he was loved.

What a strange concept.

“I-“ Virgil hesitates, “I think Thomas is learning to see shades of gray.”

Logan nods.

“And you are of course aware that Thomas was raised religious.”

Virgil snorts.

“No shit Logan, it wasn’t like I was there for all of it or anything.”

“You weren’t?” Logan friend, eyebrows knitting in, “I was certain you had formed by then, am I-“ Logan pauses, clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, “right. Sarcasm.”

Virgil quirks a smile and gives a small nod.

“Got it in one teach.”

Logan straightens his posture, hands coming to rest in front of him and head up. Virgil recognizes it as Logan’s “I’m about to give you a shit ton of info posture.”

“Okay then. Well then you are aware that Thomas was raised with the awareness that things were either good or bad. Thomas was raised with extremes. And as he grew, he eventually started to learn about shades of gray. But as a very young kid it’s hard to see things as nuanced and detailed as they actually are. Add religious teachings that emphasize that good and bad are opposite absolutes and it makes sense that a young Thomas’s brain divided us that way. But that does not mean we still are that way.”

Virgil is- quite honestly Virgil is touched. He’s used to putting up strong walls, ready to fight back against whatever tries to hurt him. He’s still getting used to the idea that people actually want to interact with him and being validated so strongly by Logan almost makes him glow.

“I know,” Virgil says softly, “I know. The world isn’t black.” Vergilius. “Or white.” Something entirely new. “It’s grey.” Virgil. “And I- I’m not exactly sure where I fall now. I’m not- I’m not a dark side, but I don’t think I’m a light side either. I’ve uh- kinda created my own little space.”

Logan looks at Virgil with his piercing gaze.

“Ah. I understand now. Thank you Virgil.”

And for some reason, Virgil thinks Logan really understands it. His name, and so much more.

(There’s so much more than light or dark).

“Yeah sure. Anytime.”

Logan gives him a final nod and turns to exit, leaving Virgil to his thoughts.

Just before Logan passes out through the doorway, he turns around.

“Virgil?”

“Yes.”

“You have a nice name. It is- admirable that you chose to keep parts of it and alter the rest to best define you.”

Warmth. warmth everyone, sleeping across his body and into his heart, through his entire being.

“Thank you,” he manages.

And then Logan is gone.

If this is what being accepted is like- well, he might want to get used to it.

~~~

Taglist Below

-message me to be added or removed-

@mewithanie @eddies-spaghetti @lemonyellowlogic @savioursailor @goldteethandacurseforthistown @gattonero17

#ts virgil #ts logan #platonic analogical #sanders sides #ts sides #character study #fanfiction #fan fiction #mywriting #ao3 #colupdate

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uniformbravo · 3 years ago

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having a full on existential crisis over an episode of anime i watched tonight

it all started with big time rush

in 2009 a sitcom called big time rush aired for the first time on nickelodeon; it was about a group of four teenaged boys from minnesota who move to hollywood under a famous producer to become his next big boy band sensation. a simple premise, launched into unprecedented success, resulting in four seasons of musical shenanigans, three full music albums, and three big concert tours, including international shows. the band, both fictional and real life, featured four attractive young men by the names of kendall, james, carlos, and logan. they quickly gained a fan base of mostly teenage girls, which resulted in online spaces created for the purpose of sharing their passion, and as is common in such online communities, this certainly involved fanfiction- lots of it.

enter me, a teen in high school who loved to write fanfiction. my big time journey began the day my younger sister decided to put on the show big time rush in the living room, where i sat at the family computer typing away. the noise caught my attention, and i got sucked into the episode. there was a boy wearing a dress on the screen. i became interested.

i watched more of the show. i typed its name into the search bar on the website fanfiction dot net. i had a friend at school who shared my interest in fanfiction, particularly of the slash variety. i introduced her to this new show i had been watching. she shared a fanfic she had enjoyed immensely with me. we dragged each other into the world of big time rush fanfiction reading and writing.

it took over my life; i lived and breathed big time rush. i began posting my own stories to fanfiction dot net. i received positive feedback; i met people. i made friends- two people in particular who became very close friends. we communicated through ffn’s private messaging system, then through email. we talked every day, we wrote stories for and with each other, we exchanged phone numbers. it was one of these friends who introduced me to the website called tumblr, where fellow fans of our beloved big time rush gathered and talked about it- a community.

it was a slow start- this website was new and unfamiliar to me- but eventually i got the hang of things and settled into my niche. i had fun, gained followers, met even more people. tumblr was a place not only for sharing one singular interest, but for accumulating all of your various interests and celebrating them in one place. it was through this aspect that i first learned of the up and coming band known as one direction.

they had released their first smash hit single and everyone was talking about it. i was wary, far too loyal to my beloved big time rush- but eventually i started to feel left out and in an effort to feel included, i decided to take the plunge and see what this “1d” was all about. it was intimidating, though- there was so much information, and no apparent beginner’s guide to tell me where to start. this drove me to making a post calling for a “one direction buddy” to take this role, to introduce me to all the most important aspects of this band. and my call was answered.

enter my wonderful friend cam, a follower of mine at the time. they were into both big time rush and one direction and were eager to provide me with all the information needed to get into 1d. while ultimately this venture didn’t amount to anything, as i lost interest in becoming a fan, my friendship with cam persisted and we grew very close. even as time went on and big time rush faded into the background to be replaced with newer, fresher interests, and our paths as fellow fandom members split, we kept in contact and remained friends. years and years of fandoms, years and years of friendship.

in the midst of the tenth year, cam developed a new interest, in a sport called ice hockey. as is tradition, they shared their passion with me, showing me their favorite team, highlighting their favorite members. we watched a game together. personally, i’ve never been one for sports, but i am quite into anime, which consists of many genres, including the “sports” genre. one in particular that i’ve enjoyed immensely in the past is the volleyball anime, haikyuu!!. this anime devotes a lot of time to explaining and depicting the sport in a way that makes it easy for any viewer to understand the rules and inner workings of volleyball. it’s exciting. it’s the first time i’ve ever even adjacently been invested in a sport. one could even call it a gateway into the world of sports.

all this to say, when i watched that game of ice hockey with cam, the same parts of my brain that loved haikyuu!! lit up and in a classic display of my specific brand of interest, i found myself yearning for the epic highs and lows of ice hockey, but in an animated format. an animated format originating in japan. a japanese animation. an anime. my curiosity burned a hole in my brain that resulted in a combination of the google search bar and the words, “hockey anime”.

to my disappointment, i found nothing- at least, not to the degree i was hoping. there is an upcoming anime, slated to air in the fall 2021 anime season, about a group of girls who form an ice hockey team together- as it is an original project rather than an adaptation, it remains to be seen whether the anime will fall into the category of “sports anime,” or if indeed it will lean much more closely to the “moe” genre. the latter is not what i had in mind during that particular search.

adding the anime called “pride of orange” to my “plan to watch” list on myanimelist dot com, i moved onto the next result: an article about an early 2010’s anime i had never heard of before. while not about the sport i was looking for, it featured a character whose signature weapon was a field hockey stick. it wasn’t even the right sport. it was a weak, insignificant link, but all was not lost.

i happen to have an affinity for watching anime i happen upon completely by random and know little to nothing about; i found the movie “anthem of the heart” purely coincidentally, when i searched the name “jun” as part of some research for one of my original characters and discovered that it was the main character of said movie, which i then watched and ended up enjoying quite a lot. another time, when i was at best buy one day i happened upon a dvd on their dedicated anime shelf for a movie called “hana and alice”, which i had never heard of before. i liked the box art, so i took a picture of it to remember the title and watched it on my own later that week; it became one of my favorite movies.

with these and other similar experiences in mind, i saved the anime in my “plan to watch” list, and, later that same week, began my watch of “sket dance.”

it’s a school comedy anime, one of my favorite genres, so it’s no surprise that after overcoming the initial skepticism i carry into every new show i watch it quickly became my new fixation. not an obsession, but something i was pleasantly surprised to find consistently enjoyable. the characters are fun, the humor is tight and fresh, and the stories are unexpectedly touching at the right moments. everything i like to see.

which brings us to tonight. the culmination of this ten plus year string of events and occurrences. getting into big time rush. joining tumblr. meeting cam. watching anime. searching for hockey anime.

i put down my apple(TM) pencil. i set my ipad aside. i downsized the ebook window i’d been referencing. i stretched; i was hungry and tired. i’d been rereading passages of various animorphs books all day. i needed a break. i needed to sit back with some food and an episode of my latest comfort watch, sket dance. it’d be nice to set the dramatic, tragic world of animorphs aside for something lighthearted and fun in its place.

well.

i sat down with my bowl of strawberries and played the episode. it finished. i watched another. this one broke the formula a bit, played with the art style. i was into it. the preview for the next episode was mysteriously blank, and short, stating only the title. it was intriguing. i’m down for the show to get a bit more serious for an episode, i thought. i’m down for some potential backstory for one of the main three. i’m ready.

i was not ready.

bruh.

b r u h .

next two episodes proceeded to take me out back and beat me to within an inch of my life, slowly at first and then all at once. barely made it out alive. questioning everything. how can a show, so silly and goofy, do that, to me. how could i let my guard down like that. how could i be so tricked, and deceived, and blindsided like this. i don’t know who to trust. i don’t know if i can trust again. whiplash so damaging, permanent. i thought i wanted answers. i thought i wanted to know backstory. i didn’t want this. i never wanted this. emptiness

how did it come to this, these twelve years of my life. had i known back then, would i have posted that fanfiction? would i have joined tumblr? would i have sook out a “one direction buddy”? a hollow husk of a person, i am left with only my thoughts to ponder this small history of mine. the things i could have done differently. the things others could have done differently. all these butterfly effect moments, adding up to what? culminating in what? it’s 2:26 am and i’m writing an essay on how shook i am over that episode instead of going to sleep. but i can’t just say nothing, you know? i need to put something out there, reach deep enough within myself to find the thing that’s still there, broken and huddled and tiny as it is. i need to feel some semblance of the self again. the me from before i watched this episode. the innocent version of myself, blissful in ignorance. it’s too late now.

that episode…………..was fucked up. that was seriously fucked up. im not okay bro they really just came in left field and slapped that in my face expecting me to get up and walk away just fine afterwards like No that isn’t how this Works y’all need to bundle some therapy sessions with ur episodes pullin that shit come ON

exhaustion is taking over the shock, i am simply tired now. i will fall asleep and when i wake up sket dance will be a happy fun show again with NO fucked up backstories ever Or Else. i’m fucking serious right now i’m gonna count to 3 and that shit better be retconned when i turn around,

screams

thank you

#tldr sket dance has some really fucked up shit in it & i wasn’t expecting it & im having a crisis #it was supposed to be funnie clown show not ouchie oof show #how did it end up like this #fuck. christ. what the fuck #retag later #ani blogging #me watchin this show: yea this is fun like idk if i see myself getting /invested/ invested but i’m enjoying myself nonetheless!#gets to That Episode: …../oh./ oh i /see./ we’re doing That Shit huh #*sound of me getting /invested/ invested*#just a neat lil show about funy jokes :)#wheeeeeeee

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thecatprince · 4 years ago

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Luckier Than Most

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Summary: Janus and Patton struggle to cope with the death of Virgil, Roman tries to talk to Remus and Virgil has a heavy realisation.

Warnings: Mentions of death, alcohol, drunkeness and general angst.

Authors Notes: Thanks for all of the support on this fic!!

Reblogs > Likes

Chapter Four - The Realities of Being a Ghost

Whatever Patton had expected that night, a phone call from a very drunk Janus wasn’t it. That being said, Janus hadn’t intended to get drunk either.

The whole day had left Janus feeling numb and lost. He felt the pain of his friend’s death sharp like an arrow, but at the same time he felt a bit empty. He hadn’t cried much since the accident, even though he wanted to. Janus felt this aching hole in his chest, the feeling of something missing. He kept thinking he would pick up his phone and there would be a new message from Virgil, or that he would look across the street and see the light on in Virgil’s room. He had even called Virgil, knowing that it would go to voicemail, just so he could hear his friend’s voice again.

In fact, that was what had caused him to get drunk in the first place. Nothing could emotionally prepare him for the sound of Virgil’s voice coming through the phone. The message that Virgil had rehearsed for an hour before finally recording his voice into his phone. The quick “Hey this is Virgil. Leave a message after the beep”. Just a couple of seconds, then the beep sounded and Janus was alone again. He put the phone down, and walked into the kitchen. His father was out picking up takeaway, and there was a bottle of wine left on the bench. Janus felt an overwhelming feeling of temptation, to be able to provide relief however temporary, to the sense of emptiness and pain he was feeling. He got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it up the way his father had done countless times. This wasn’t Janus’ first time having wine, for his father had always allowed him a little sip when he was having some, but this was the first time having a glass all to himself. He took a big gulp of it, and felt a slight warmth in his stomach.

Janus took another sip, and then another, and soon the glass was empty. His head felt a little foggier, and the internal pain he was feeling had diminished a bit. He liked the feeling, the way he felt slightly numb, but this was a numbness he brought on himself. He poured himself another glass, slightly more than the last one, and drained it. Now the world seemed to be spinning slightly and his brain felt very foggy. Even though the emptiness and pain he was feeling before had subsided into a gentle ache, Janus decided that he hated the feeling of being drunk. Patton had only been home for a couple of hours when his phone rang. He of course picked it up, despite being exhausted from the events of today, because his friend needed him. Janus had answered, and after a couple of quick questions Patton realised that he was drunk as a skunk. Out of all of his friends, Janus was the second last person who he expected to get wasted (Logan was the last person, for the only beverage Patton had seen Logan drink other than water was juice).

Janus’ speech was slightly slurred, and halfway through the call he started crying heavily. Patton tried to comfort him the best he could, though he was exhausted and it was really difficult to comfort a drunk person over the phone. Eventually, Janus hung up, whether on accident or on purpose, and Patton was left alone in his room again. He stared out of the window, his chest aching from the loss of his friend.

“Hey Virgil,” Patton murmured. He knew Virgil wasn’t there, he knew Virgil would never come back, but he couldn’t help it. He just wanted to talk to his friend. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he brushed it away. “I hope you’re okay. I miss you… a lot, but I know that it will be okay, and you are in a better place now… hopefully. I just wanted to say, I love you, you were one of my best friends and I didn’t ever want to lose you…” Patton stopped talking as tears overcame him. He buried his face in his pillow as sobs wracked his body and he cried himself to sleep.

Roman awoke the next morning, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. He had no idea why, until he saw Virgil sitting on the beanbag in the corner of his room. He was wearing headphones, and apparently listening to music, given that he was bopping his head, and for a moment Roman forgot that he was the ghost of his friend who had drowned just yesterday. Roman watched his friend for a little longer than was probably normal, watching the way the morning sun seemed to make his purple hair even more vibrant. Virgil stared out the window, casually moving his head along to a beat, and it took him a while to notice that Roman had woken up. When he did, he smiled and took his headphones off of his head.

“Good, you’re finally awake. Do you know how long nights last when you aren’t tired? I don’t think ghosts need to sleep. But I did manage to conjure these headphones and play music, which is pretty cool. I have no idea how it works, but I did it.”

Roman gave a shrug, lying back down on his bed. “Ghost logic is something we need to figure out. We could write everything down in a notebook. Maybe Logan could help us. OH!” Roman shouted, sitting up suddenly. Virgil winced at the loud noise and gave Roman a confused look.

“What? Did you get bitten or something? Foot cramp?”

Roman brushed off the questions and continued. “No, I realised we can show you to the others! Virgil you can talk to the others!!”

“Oh,” Virgil said, a look of realisation dawning on his face, which quickly morphed into an uncertain one. “Roman… what if they can’t see me?”

“What? Of course they will be able to see you. I can see you, so they should be able to! Just think of it Virgil, it will be like you never left.” Roman seemed to be vibrating with joy at the prospect. Virgil gave a small smile, conflicted between not wanting to get his hopes up and being overjoyed at the prospects of seeing his friends again, of talking to them again. Roman bounced out of bed and out the door, gesturing for Virgil to join him. Virgil followed, and found them outside of Remus’ door.

The pit of nervousness in Virgil’s stomach swelled, but a rush of overwhelming joy cancelled it out. Roman knocked on the door loudly before barging in. Remus was sprawled out on his bed, picking at his nails, looking unusually quiet and dull.

“Ree, you will never believe it!” Roman shouted, practically jumping up and down with excitement. Remus glared at Roman, and Roman paused for a minute.

“Get out,” Remus said slowly and calmly. Roman looked as shocked and uncertain as Virgil felt. It was very uncharacteristic for Remus to act like this. Normally if he was angry or hurt there would be a lot of loud yelling, punches potentially being thrown (though Remus was always careful to not hit people just things) and you would know exactly why he was angry. It was a hot type of anger and negativity. This was different. His voice was cold, quiet and calm, but he was very clearly angry. Roman swallowed and tried again.

“Remus you won’t believe this.” Roman sounded a little apprehensive. Remus glared at him again, then stood up very suddenly. Roman took a step back.

“Get out!” Remus shouted. Roman’s face fell, but this was territory he was used to. Now that Remus was yelling it would be easier to handle the anger. And part of him knew that it wasn’t fully directed at Roman. “Why are you so happy? WHY?? Our best friend died yesterday and you’re smiling? Did his life mean anything to you?! How could you be so horrid?”

Roman’s face looked both shocked and hurt. Remus had tears streaking down his face, and after he had finished yelling he crumpled to the floor. Virgil went forward. “Remus, look, it’s me! Virgil. Remus, I’m here!” Remus didn’t respond and Virgil knew that what he had feared was true.

“He can’t see me,” Virgil whispered, deflated. He turned around and ran down the hall back into Roman’s bedroom. Roman followed shortly afterwards, his shoulders hunched slightly in defeat. “I’m sorry Virgil. I really thought that would work,” Roman said, his voice sounding low. He flopped onto the bed and looked at Virgil.

Virgil avoided Roman’s gaze and just stared at the floor. “No, it’s okay. I should have known this was too good to be true.”

Silence filled the room, weighing heavily on both of them. After a considerable amount of time, Virgil broke the quiet. “How come you are the only one who can see me?”

Roman made an effort to look everywhere but Virgil. Roman knew exactly why he was the only one who could see him. He made the wish, even though he had no idea it would come true, and he had forced Virgil to come back from wherever you go when you die to the living world. If he told Virgil, Virgil might hate him for forcing to be stuck here as a ghost. Was Virgil even stuck here? Could he leave and go back to being permanently dead with no way for Roman to communicate with him ever again? Would he leave if he knew the truth? Roman wanted to tell Virgil the truth, but he didn’t want to risk losing him again. Not after just getting him back.

“I don’t know,” Roman mumbled. He felt incredibly guilty for lying, but he couldn’t risk it. He will tell Virgil the truth eventually, but not now. He had just got his friend back, and he couldn’t lose him again.

Virgil seemed oblivious to Roman’s inner turmoil as he stared around the room, seeming lost in thought. Eventually, Virgil sighed and turned to face Roman, a sad smile on his face. “Guess I’m stuck with you Princey.”

Roman struck a dramatic pose and mock fainted. “Oh the horror!” he cried in an over the top voice. Virgil laughed.

“Yeah, who would want to be stuck with you? I don’t know how I can cope,” Virgil said in a playful tone. Roman gave him a “really?” face.

“Shut up. It is a privilege to be stuck with me. You should feel honoured!” Roman said, flailing his arms around dramatically.

“Oh I feel so honoured,” Virgil said sarcastically. “It’s just too bad no one shrank your head before I was summoned from the afterlife.”

Roman gave an overly dramatic gasp, then stuck out his tongue. Virgil laughed. “Oh real mature.”

“Hey!” Roman exclaimed, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Virgil. It went straight through him, hitting the wall behind him with a loud thump. The two paused for a moment, waiting for someone to come into the room to see what all the commotion was about, but no one came. Roman assumed his parents were out of the house.

Once it was clear no one was going to come up, Virgil let out a triumphant laugh. “Ghost remember?”

Roman flipped him off, and there was a beat of silence before the two of them collapsed into laughter. For the first time since Virgil’s death, everything felt normal. There was no way Roman was ever letting this go.

Comments are greatly appreciated!!

#cat writes #luckier than most au #tw mentions of death #tw alcohol #tw drunk #sanders sides fanfic #ts virgil #ts patton #ts janus #ts roman #ts remus

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sign-from-god-complex · 5 years ago

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Summary: “Patton sucked in a deep breath. His hand that wasn't in Logan's hair clenched as all his other muscles tensed, teeth gritted and nails digging into his palm in an attempt to curb his emotions. Later on, Patton would be glad that Remy lived so far away from them because he was quite sure that if he had been nearby Patton would not have hesitated to take out all of his anger on him—and right now, Patton had quite a lot of anger.”

Or, Logan gets into an argument and Patton just needs him to know how much he’s loved.

(With ADHD Patton and autistic Logan, cause Projection).

Pairing: Queerplatonic logicality

Warnings: Discussion of a past argument, possible ableism, very minor self-harm as a result of emotional overload.

A/N: Thank you, hon!!! I hope this is alright!!! I haven’t written anything in over a week and it felt Bad, but here is something! It’s here! And I hope it’s good.

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

Patton was sweeping around the kitchen—having entered the room about half an hour before in a plan to make cookies but having yet to actually start—when he heard the sound of the door clicking open. Immediately, he discarded the shopping list he'd mostly been thinking about writing and bounced his way over towards the front door, a smile planted firmly on his face.

The minute he saw his partner, however, Patton stopped dead in his tracks.

Logan was slumped down against the door, head in his head and shaking almost imperceptibly. He seemed to be fighting to keep himself together, trying to project an aura of some level of calm and control despite not even knowing Patton was there—he'd taken a day off and neglected to let Logan know.

Patton felt something inside him crack and he bit his lip, raising a hand to tap against his chest.

"Lo?" Logan snapped his head up, eyes red and watery and Patton tapped faster and bit harder. "Can I...? Am I... allowed...?"

Logan laughed but his smile was more like a grimace, his face contorted in pain from a series of emotions Patton was sure he wished he wasn't feeling. He blinked rapidly, sucking in his bottom lip to stop the way it was wobbling.

"Patton, quite frankly, if you don't hug me right now, I think I might fall apart."

Patton was beside him in an instant, arms pulling Logan's chest against his and wrapping him up as tight and as safe as possible. The idea of Logan so bluntly admitting his wants was jarring and more than a bit concerning.

Logan wasn't great at asking for things. Granted, he wasn't anywhere near as bad as Roman who seemed to deny the very idea of needing help, but he almost never requested anything that wasn't being explicitly offered.

If you didn't provide Logan a drink at your house, then Logan wouldn't drink at your house; if you didn't invite Logan to watch a movie with you, then Logan would remain in his room until the film was over; if you didn't ask Logan to come and cuddle with you then Logan would not touch you because he would assume that it was unwanted. Everything needed to be clear and explicitly stated.

So, the idea of Logan feeling the need to disregard all of that to request comfort was a lot for Patton to process.

After a moment, he could feel Logan exhale, his tense muscles slowly relaxing as tears leaked out against Patton's shirt—something he was sure Logan would apologise for later, even if it was only water and would quickly dry. The quiet around them was interspersed with hushed sounds from Patton and the occasional sniff, paired with the soft rustling of their clothes as Patton rocked them back and forth. He made no move to break the near-silence with any questions; he knew Logan would speak when he was ready.

It took a good seven minutes of maintaining their positions on the hardwood floors before Patton kindly suggested they relocate to the couch.

Logan's limbs were stiff as Patton pulled away to stand up, almost as if he were trying to resist the movement, but Patton quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him up to stand beside him. Patton's motion towards the couch was met with no resistance, Logan letting himself be dragged along as if he were a ragdoll, limbs limp and void of autonomy. He pulled Logan down almost on top of him and again Logan didn't move, just lying there and letting Patton thread his hands through his hair.

"It was an argument."

Patton paused his motions for a moment at the sound of Logan's voice blending into the space around them but quickly picked it back up, not wanting to make his partner worry about his reaction. Logan seemed to take Patton's silence as a cue to continue.

"Remy was... upset that I had corrected him in class and it escalated to the point where he... went off on me—is that the correct usage of that phrase?"

Patton just hummed noncommittally. Truthfully, he wasn't all that sure. Virgil was usually the one to help Logan with all of the current slang—Patton just got by on what he picked up from them and Roman—and he wasn't going to interrupt Logan just to ensure that he'd used a term correctly. He had a good enough idea of what he meant.

"He-" Logan sighed, deep and pained. "He made the claim that the only thing I have "going for me" is my intelligence and considering how atrocious my social skills are, I should be lucky to have any friends at all."

Patton sucked in a deep breath. His hand that wasn't in Logan's hair clenched as all his other muscles tensed, teeth gritted and nails digging into his palm in an attempt to curb his emotions. Later on, Patton would be glad that Remy lived so far away from them because he was quite sure that if he had been nearby Patton would not have hesitated to take out all of his anger on him—and right now, Patton had quite a lot of anger.

He leant down slightly, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Logan's head. "Love, will you be alright if I just take a break? I just need 5 minutes and I'll be right back."

"That's fine," Logan replied and Patton couldn't hear anything in his tone to indicate otherwise, so he carefully extracted himself from underneath Logan so he could stand. "Are you alright?"

Patton took a breath. He knew that it was helpful for Logan if he identified his own emotions, even if sometimes it felt like an odd thing to do. "I'm angry. I have a lot of pent up energy and I'm not going to be a lot of help until I've gotten some of that out."

Logan nodded in response and Patton knew he understood—they'd both taken breaks on several different occasions, so it wasn't like this was uncommon. Hastily, Patton tugged off his hoodie and passed it over to his partner, hoping that it would be an acceptable replacement while he was gone, before running up to his room.

Patton could feel his rage bubbling up and over as his hands started to flap—harsh, angry gestures that made him screw his eyes up tight. He flung the door of his room open and closed it behind him with more of a slam than he had really anticipated, wincing at the sound and flapping harder for a moment to counteract it. He briefly worried that he may have startled Logan before the thought was cast aside in the wake of all his other emotions.

Resisting the urge to bite at his lip again or dig his nails into his skin he began to jump up and down—something that quickly turned into stomping, the carpet beneath him making satisfying thumping sounds at his feet hit against it. He let out one muffled, high pitched cry before relaxing, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slow and feeing the tension in his body leak out.

There was definitely still some anger buzzing about inside him, but he was much more okay now than he had been.

He crept back down the stairs to see Logan laying out on the couch, swamped in Patton's hoodie and looking half asleep. Patton wasn't surprised he was so tired—emotions can certainly take a lot out of you and Logan wasn't used to feeling quite as strongly as Patton did. Logan perked up when he saw him, humming and allowing Patton to situate himself with his thighs underneath Logan's head—a good position for Patton to return to his previous stroking of Logan's hair.

A few moments of silence passed before Patton spoke up again. "For the sake of clarity, you want comfort and not rationalisation, yeah?"

"I believe so." Logan's voice was mumbled and tired and Patton tried to not tear up because he cared about him so much and he deserved so much and yet rarely seemed to get it.

Patton wanted to give everything to Logan—wanted him to be safe and comfortable and to feel happy all the time—but he knows the world doesn't work like that, so instead, he settled for trying to make a safe and comfortable place for Logan with him.

"Firstly, Remy was wrong, Lo—so unbelievably wrong. I adore you. And that isn't because you're smart or because I pity you or whatever you're theorising about in that big ol' brain of yours. It's because you're sweet and caring—you offer me the last bit of your Crofter's when I've had a bad day, you bring me my stim toys when you notice that I need one and you buy me cookies whenever you see them because you know how much I love them.

"I like you because you're considerate and kind. You take over for chores I don't feel capable of doing, you indulge me in my silly, half-thought out plans and point out why they're a terrible idea, then patch me up in the aftermath of what is always a terrible idea.

"And I like you because you get me, honey. You don't get upset when I have to leave the room cause things are overwhelming, because they're usually overwhelming for you too. You understand that my disorganisation isn't my own fault and you always try to help me when I have important things I need to do. You let me be me without having to worry about watering myself down for other people's consumption."

Logan at this point had turned his head, his mouth parted, gazing up at Patton with awe and Patton simply returned his look with a smile. Something in him wished that he could hold him but he didn't want to disrupt the comfort the two of them had already established.

"Your social skills are not atrocious, Logan," Patton finished, blinking away the moisture in his eyes, "They're just specialised for a different group of people."

Patton watched as Logan shut his eyes, taking a few deep breaths and making no moves to reply. Patton had removed his hands from Logan’s hair at some point during his speech, using them instead to pick at the fabric of his t-shirt. To remedy that, Patton tangled his fingers back into Logan's hair to resume but was stopped by an almost silent whine from his partner below him.

Patton pulled his hand away from Logan in case the touch was too overwhelming, "Lo? Are you alright?"

"I love you." The words were quiet and wet and Patton let out a breath when he heard them, his lips quirking up into a soft smile.

It wasn't something that was said aloud too often, mostly because neither of them commonly communicated their feelings with words. It was something that was said in gifted cookies and excitedly recounting the most recent chapter of new books, through shared Netflix recommendations and helping the other to bed when they fell asleep where they shouldn't. It was held in between the lines of every sentence they spoke to each other yet rarely acknowledged.

Though, all of that didn't mean that Patton didn't love to hear it.

"I love you too, my dear," he replied, soft and sweet, "Do you want to come up here with me and cuddle?"

Logan began to move almost instantly, shifting so he sat astride Patton's lap with his arms wrapped around his neck and in turn Patton gripped at the back of the hoodie his partner had borrowed, swirling patterns into the fluff and noting the way their breathing synced together. It was calm and it was wonderful, Patton's earlier anger having drained away a long time ago.

Later he would be angry again—confronting Remy for the way he behaved and listening to him apologise more times than he can count—but for now, Patton was content, holding his partner and them both being so sure that they were loved.

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

General tag list: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @mctaetae613 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @that-one-sunfish-with-a-wig-on @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hhhhhhhhhhfjaskfsagfhasfgdsakfsa @autistic-virgil @stopitanxietymain @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logicality #patton sanders #logan sanders #queerplatonic logicality #lo can write #1500 milestone

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sugargaysides · 5 years ago

Text

out for blood | episode 4

Word count: 1309

Warnings: biting, passing out, blood mention, kidnapping (dee kidnaps someone)

It's been a week since the last murder victim was found. Most citizens were still uncertain whether or not they should go out and live their daily life. But that didn't apply to a certain citizen.

Remy was a simple guy.

He lived in the apartment above the local library, whose owner was Emile Picani, or also known as Remy's father. They weren't biologically related but Remy needed a place to stay and Emile loved kids so naturally, he took the orphan in.

While Remy, now a young adult, is a big fan of parties and hanging with friends he still prefers to keep his adoptive dad company whenever he has the time. The least he could do was be a good son for the tired man.

Right now he was locking up the backdoor of the library, ready to head out to a bar and get drunk. Emile had wanted him to enjoy his life some more and Remy was eager to do so.

After making sure the door was definitely locked, he turned around only to be pinned against the backdoor.

"My, my, my... " Remy was looking into glowing golden eyes, "what do we have here?"

The stranger who had him pinned to the door with surprising strength was shorter than him and was dressed classily. A bowler hat, bowtie and dress shoes. For a second, Remy thought he had travelled back in time. Unfortunately, he couldn't see his face clearly, he was an idiot to wear shades this late.

"Who- who are you?" He asked with a shaky voice, trying hard not to sound scared. The man chuckled, his hands tightened their grip on Remy's wrists causinf the latter to wince in pain. He felt like his bones were being crushed but after a few more seconds of silence, the stranger finally let go. However, he still stood chest-to-chest with him and Remy knew better than to run away.

"You may call me Dee," the man took one of his hands and kissed his knuckles, "I'm here to pick you up, Remy."

And before Remy could ask why the stranger knew his name, his vision went black.

Logan was a peculiar man.

He did nothing but read and read and read until he ran out of books. He loved looking at stars and had - you guessed it - read all about them. To most people he would seem boring as he only spends his pasttime reading.

However, Remus saw a mystery that was yet to be solved. Sometimes he forgot his friend was a vampire. Sometimes he forgot his friend could easily end his life if he wanted. But Remus wasn't scared, not one bit. Logan was his best friend and he doubted he would do anything to his only human companion.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Remus snapped out of his thoughts only to realize he's been looking at Logan for almost ten minutes. The latter was reading a book - shocker - as he looked right back at him with those irresistible, predatory eyes.

"Am I not allowed to look at art?" Remus fluttered his long eyelashes at him, seductively, "You have no idea how beautiful you are, Lolo."

"I think I might have an idea."

"Oh my, where did that sudden confidence come from?"

"Must be thanks to you," Logan tried to hide the small smile that was slowly but surely creeping on his face but his human friend saw right through him, "You've been helping me out a lot lately."

"Wow, I'm flattered." Giggling shyly, Remus lifted a hand over his mouth. Logan liked to surprise him with sudden compliments, his human friend wasn't used to those at all. That's another reason why Remus liked him so much, it was easy to be with him.

The clock struck 9PM when Logan's breathing quickened and his eyes started glowing brighter. Remus knew exactly what that meant, and didn't hesitate to make his way over to the vampire.

"Bite me, Lolo," Remus placed the other's book on the table beside him and sat on his lap. He lifted his head a little, exposing his neck to his friend. Logan's fangs grew longer before he quickly pierced them through Remus' skin. He tried not to show how much it hurt as he let the other suck the life essence right out of him.

Right as Remus started seeing black dots pop up in his vision, Logan carefully removed his mouth from his neck and sat back in his armchair. Lifting the tired human by supporting his back and legs Logan carried him to his bedroom and laid him gently on the bed. He knew Remus was going to fall asleep any minute and the vampire wanted him to have all the comfort Logan could provide. It was the least he could do.

Everything was dark.

Faint purple and red and green and brown spots drifted through the darkness, so Remy knew he was awake. But his eyelids were so heavy he couldn't open his eyes at all.

Then he heard voices. Several unfamiliar voices that were kind of blending together - not to mention, what sounded like music.

Next, he felt something under his head, not as soft as a cushion nor as hard as the floor would be. He was only a little bit worried about the slim fingers that were brushing through his hair. He didn't know whose hand it was but he strangely didn't want it to stop either.

The voices quieted down when his eyes slowly tried to open. Remy was struggling a bit but he finally managed to see again. Kind of. The room - which looked a fancy living room - was still dark but he could make some things out. The hand in hair disappeared so he looked up.

Staring straight into golden eyes.

Eyes with slittled pupils. Eyes with long, pretty eyelashes. Eyes he could stare into all day. Eyes which he was slightly familiar with.

"What do we have here?"

Remy shot up instantly, jumping to his feet as he became aware of his surroundings. The voices he had heard earlier were coming from the TV and the volume was now turned down. No lights were on, save for the couple lit candles sitting next to that - that unfairly gorgeous man.

The man who kidnapped him.

Said man didn't move an inch while Remy was internally freaking out. He just sat there, silently, not once taking his beautifully predatory eyes - get it together, Remy - off of him. He watched his every move. And he was undoubtly strong if he could take out Remy, who was quite a few inches taller than him.

There was no escape.

The worst thing is, Remy's not even mad.

"Are you done being dramatic?" His kidnapper's voice broke the quiet when Remy clutched a hand into his shirt. He tried hard not to flinch, he was a strong and brave man, thank you very much.

When he realized he wasn't getting an answer out of Remy, the scarily pretty man - shut up, brain - took a few careful steps closer as if not to frighten Remy any further. Not that he was frightened to begin with, of course.

Still, Remy walked backwards until he hit a wall and it only took seconds before the shorter man closed the distance until they stood chest-to-chest. Remy had a strange feeling of deja-vu.

Getting lost in those golden eyes, he didn't even notice as the man took one of his hands and lifted it to his mouth.

He didn't notice the long teeth that were slowly peeking out the man's mouth.

He didn't notice the sharp pain flooding through his body when the teeth pricked his skin.

He didn't notice until it was too late.

tag list:

@007ardra

#sanders sides #sanders sides au #logan sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #remy sanders #sympathetic remus #vampire au #remceit #vampire logan #intrulogical #my writing #out for blood #unsympathetic deceit

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tiny-anxious-mess · 5 years ago

Text

the art of love and lies

Summary: Dorian wondered, somewhere down the line, how he had become such a good liar that he could fool even himself.

Pairings: All platonic!

Warnings: Angst, Deceit Sanders (sympathetic), Remus Sanders (sympathetic), Remus typical behavior (so some gore/blood/injury imagery and talk, nothing too graphic nor too focused on)

Notes: hello! this is my first fic here and my first sanders sides fic. comments and critiques are greatly appreciated, especially since this is my first sanders sides fic. uh so yeah lets go!

***

Lying was an art. Deceiving, although a lighter, duller, more gentle act, was similar. Weaving sweet nectar into your words, creating a world and a story that fit your liking or purpose. Attaching the story to a string in your mind, giving it a good tug when you needed to be reminded of its presence, its plot. Being creative and quick enough to add to it at any given time.

Lying was an art. As was deceiving. And fibbing and bending the truth and twisting your words. An art, a practice, a risk, a life jacket tossed to you at sea; as capable of saving your life as the waters around you were capable of ending it.

Dorian liked to think that you could never be too good at something. That was somewhat applicable to lying. If your words were too sweet (or likewise too sour), whoever you were feeding would spit the lie out. If the world you tried to create was too far to grasp, whoever reached up would only hold air. If you weren’t quick enough, didn’t attach that string to your story, it would float away, begin to wither away. There were ways for a lie to fail, for the story to fall apart. It was a tightrope walk. Too much, not enough, you had to find the balance.

Remember, an art. And art was supposed to be refined, perfect. And so Dorian presented his art only when it was perfect. If it were to unravel, that was because Thomas worked through it. He grew and learned and so did Dorian—so did Deceit.

If Dorian was being honest with himself (ironic, he was aware), he would admit that he was proud of Thomas. He was a part of the man after all. If Thomas grew then so did Dorian. Every stumble, every fall, every rise, every victory was reflected in Dorian; in the others too.

Dorian only got better as time went on. He offered his art throughout Thomas’ life, it being rejected more than accepted. Which, again if Dorian was being honest, wasn’t a bad thing. Thomas needed to grow, needed to learn. Dorian was a twisted piece of logic, a whisper in your ear, a frail idea of protection that never lasted.

But as Dorian got better, as Thomas grew and changed, so did other things.

His art wasn’t needed as much, not with the blinding northern star that was Patton, nor with the cool and steady words of Logan. He still offered it though, presented it to Thomas as delicately as one would when presenting their heart on a golden plate. It didn’t hurt, not really. Sure, he was bitter and was prideful of his art but it didn’t quite hurt.

(At least, it didn’t hurt back then. Now? Now Dorian wished, hoped, yearned, ached for the time when pain was only an idea; something he tried to bar against, not experience himself.

He knew why it hurt. He knew it the second he felt the first pang, a harsh tug in his chest that nearly sent him stumbling.

Change was a hell of a thing, huh?)

Even if Thomas didn’t accept his art, Dorian knew people who would. Who contributed and offered him color and new paintbrushes to use. Who grabbed his wrist before he could apply an uncomplimentary color to the moment. Who provided a soothing presence while he worked, a companion to bounce ideas off of, to test colors on the back of their hand.

Remus was the first to join in. Bitter, scared and alone. Torn from a brother and shunned. Surrounded by darkness that should’ve been comforting. Alone. Wondering, wandering. Dorian knew what that was like. Dorian wasn’t much older than Remus in the sense that Dorian had become Dorian, had become Deceit not too long before Remus became Remus.

Dorian took in Remus. Created his own little world separate from the others (they made it abundantly clear they liked it that way) and went off. His art was much more real. They did not exist, not really, but it was nice to know there was a place they could return to. Someplace with an art room, filled with paint and memories and open space. Someplace with a tall tower to drop things off of, to spin and dance and think for hours on end. Someplace with a kitchen even though they didn’t really eat, a living room even though they didn’t really live. Someplace to call their own.

It was nice.

For a while, it was just Dorian and Remus. Others floated in, found solace in the someplace they called home, before drifting off. They didn’t have names like Dorian and Remus. They didn’t remember these others, just vague ideas, and feelings, clouds of color and stars. They still mattered though. They were still a part of Thomas, though the man himself might not even realize. That made them matter, regardless of the name, regardless of their small impact.

When he thought back on it, Dorian thought that’s why he was so fascinated with Virgil.

Virgil came to Remus and Dorian, first, as nothing more than a swirl of purple. A galaxy inside of Thomas that traveled with no destination. Dorian didn’t remember their real first meeting. He had seen so many of those clouds, those little galaxies with little purpose.

What Dorian did remember was that Virgil was gentle at first. Tentative and wondering and hurting. He was lost, he didn’t understand what was happening, who he was. He was so confused but so gentle. He came back too. Much more often than any of the others. Dorian took notice after the fourth visit. And so when Virgil came to them, so small, young, pale, shaking, but surrounded by a faint purple glow, Dorian knew who he was.

Dorian already knew that Virgil was important. Remus came to him as himself. Never once did he come to Dorian in a cloud, an almost someone. But Virgil, Virgil grew right before his eyes. He evolved and learned and changed. And then he became. Dorian had never seen anything like it. So he knew Virgil was special. And unlike the clouds that floated in through the someplace two of them (soon to be three) called home, Dorian knew Virgil would make a big impact. For better or for worse.

Virgil’s uniqueness persisted when Dorian had asked for his name. Virgil had to have a name, no part of Thomas as formed as them didn’t have one. But Virgil just stared. Remus asked, thinking perhaps a little enthusiasm would get him to speak. Virgil shook his head. The purple around him had warped, flickering against the darkness around them. “I-I don’t have one,” he said, voice soft in volume but raspy in use. “I’m just... Anxiety.”

From there, two became three. Anxiety, not yet Virgil, joined them. He joined them in the art room, in the tall tower to drop things. And soon, Dorian and Remus joined him in the newest room, a calm, quiet room with a ceiling of stars and galaxies.

Virgil spent most of his time with Dorian. Not just in the art room, but in general. He was often trailing behind Dorian, sitting by him, watching him work. Dorian would never forget the first time Virgil—small, little, gentle Anxiety—fell asleep on him.

***

Time was a little jarring in the darkness. Dorian and Remus mostly used Thomas’ birthday and holidays as a checkmark. They started keeping track more once Virgil—once Anxiety revealed that it helped keep him calm. Still, it was hard to know exactly when Virgil became Virgil.

It was Remus who came up with it. A moment when his rambling and mania made some sense.

“You guys are Dorian and Remus,” Virgil said one night.

The stars above them glistened and seemed to shine brighter when they spoke. Dorian wondered how alive his art was. “You’re not just what you exemplify in Thomas. Me? I’m-I’m just anxious, just Anxiety. I’m not anything other than that.”

“Oh, please, dear friend,” Remus tutted, “you’re not just anxious. What do you think all that creativity,” he winked, “is in the art room? Your imagination? A series of moments and movements and thoughts that are all made up in your mind that doesn’t really exist either because none of us really do?”

Virgil gave a dry chuckle. “It’s just anxiety! I run through scenarios and tell Dee what to avoid.”

“You’re much more than just anxiety, Anxiety,” Dorian said softly. “You’re...” Lies might’ve been art but the truth was a certain kind of magic Dorian wasn’t sure he could perfect. He wasn’t made for it in the first place but even if he tried, he wasn’t sure where he’d end up. But he meant it: Virgil was more than just anxiety.

“You’re caution,” he began again. His words were sweet but he tried his best not to slick them in nectar. Lies wouldn’t help his friend right now. “You’re protection. You’re a shield, Anxiety. You just... it’s in your nature to worry as it is in my nature to lie, as it is in Remus’ nature to create. That doesn’t mean that is all we are. At our core, we are here to help Thomas.”

“You’re-You’re a helmet!” Remus added, a helmet appearing in his hand for emphasis. He placed it on his head with an impish smile. “When Thomas wants to go riding his bike called life, you give him a bit of protection. Of course, sometimes there are spikes inside the helmet—“ there was a distinct cracking sound before blood began to trickle down his forehead, “—and then, of course, there’s blood and brain matter and, well. It gets messy quick but the thought and purpose of the helmet is still there!”

He snapped his fingers, helmet and blood disappearing, then turned to Virgil, still smiling.

“Thanks?” Virgil muttered, expression uncomfortable.

“You’re welcome!” Remus replied enthusiastically. “You’re just a little hyper-vigilant.”

No more than a second after Remus finished speaking, he sat up and gasped. His hand shot out to grip Virgil’s shoulder. “Kid, kid, kid,” he said rapidly, turning to the two beside him. “You’re hyper Virgil-ant.”

He squealed and shook his free hand in excitement. “Get it?” he asked loudly. “It could be your name! You’re more than Anxiety, you’re hyper Virgil-ant!”

He then threw his head back and laughed, the slightly crazed sound breaking through the air. Despite themselves, Dorian and Virgil, who was really Virgil now, began to laugh too.

***

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t something Dorian could paint over, could shape into a simple, fit form that made sense. But it worked. The three of them worked in their own twisted, imperfect way.

Virgil offered new colors to paint with. He came up with new designs, new scenarios, to cover. He was somewhat contradictory. He wasn’t gentle in his work, in his anxiety and thoughts. But he never shed the gentle atmosphere either, still retaining that tentative nature he displaced when he and Dorian first met. When he was still nothing but a cloud of potential.

The challenges he presented took some getting used to, however. Dorian would never forget the first time Thomas had an anxiety attack. Nor would he forget how small and scared Virgil had looked afterward, how he hadn’t spoken for hours after because it was loud and distorted.

Remus would tease and Dorian would deny, but there was something Dorian privately called “care” within himself for Virgil. He was so new, so young. Dorian and Remus had been around for some time now, but Virgil? Virgil was just a kid in a sense. He was born to worry and fret. Dorian found himself making sure Virgil felt okay, felt safe and calm. He made sure Virgil slept regularly, that his room was to his liking, that he was heard, that he ate enough (though that was more for structure and schedule than for actual consumption of energy).

After all, deep down, at his core, Dorian was more than just Deceit. He was twisted logic, a warped sense of self-preservation. All for Thomas. Virgil was a part of Thomas so it only made sense that that preservation extended to him.

At least, that’s what Dorian told himself. Surprisingly, he found that he couldn’t quite lie to himself about the thing he privately called “care.”

***

At one point, Virgil asked if there were others like them.

“Y’know,” he added after the question, swinging his legs from his perch on the kitchen counter, “other sides like us to Thomas.”

Dorian paused in his cleaning and thought intently about his next choice of words. “There are,” he answered. “The most present are his morality, Patton, his logic, Logan, and his… creativity, Roman.”

“I thought Remus was Thomas’ creativity,” Virgil questioned, eyebrows furrowed together.

“He is,” Dorian replied, “in a way. This… it’s Remus’ story to tell. If he wishes to do so, I’m sure he will. However, I can tell you that both Remus and Roman are Thomas’ creativity, just opposites. Remus tends to be a bit… crass—“ Virgil snorted at the understatement, “while Roman is much more wholesome in a sense.”

“So they’re reflective of each other, a mirrored image?” Virgil said.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Huh. What are they all like?”

“You surely feel their influence; any part of Thomas does.”

“Yeah, but you seem like you know them. Like you’ve met them. Tell me about them.”

Dorian sighed. “Patton is Thomas’ morality. He is the most emotional; everything he does is surrounded by the emotions he represents. He is at the center of Thomas’ emotions. He also has an affinity for dad jokes.” Virgil snorted again. “Logan is Thomas’ logic. He is straightforward and often times cold. He works best with literals and facts. Unlike Patton, emotions seem to evade him to an extent. Roman is Thomas’ creativity; a part of it, at least. He is a dreamer, a fantastical, dramatic thinker. His ideas often conflict with Logan’s strict look at how best to help a situation.”

“Why don’t we see them?” Virgil asked.

Dorian paused, placing down the plate he was washing. He thought carefully about his words.

“We have very different… ideas on how to best help Thomas,” he said slowly, resuming his cleaning. “Patton wishes to help Thomas to what feels right, what feels moral. Logan wishes to for Thomas to do what makes sense, what is logical. Roman wishes to inspire Thomas to reach his wildest dreams. In the end, at their core, they want to help Thomas. Their ways divert from our own, however. They’ve made it clear that because of that divergence, they do not wish to maintain a strong form of communication. Thusly, we don’t.”

Virgil didn’t respond for a while. It was just silence as Dorian continued to clean. Dorian had never much liked silence. It always told him that something was off, something was about to happen. That something was usually Remus, but this silence was different. It was still and crowded, tense. There was something dreadful about it. Dorian didn’t like silence but he found that he hated this kind of silence.

Finally, though, Virgil spoke up. “So, what? We’re the bad guys?” He asked, sounding distinctly incredulous. His voice was small too; a little nervous, a little hesitant, a little purely Virgil. Dorian often heard it when Virgil was being earnest, being sincere.

Dorian dried his hands and leaned against the opposite counter to Virgil. “There is no good or bad, Virgil,” Dorian said calmly, patiently. “It’s all subjective. We are capable of both, just as they are. They drew the line in the sand because of our differences.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not the bad guys,” Virgil stressed, biting his lip. Virgil’s voice was tense, strained.

“Virgil, there is no—“

“But what about them?”

“Why is this so important to you, Virgil?”

Virgil stopped. He looked down. Dorian watched his finger tap four times, pause, then seven, pause, then eight. He watched Virgil breathe in time with the taps. Dorian waited.

“I want to help Thomas.” Virgil’s voice was quiet, small again in that purely Virgil way. “All I want is to protect him. But what if what I’m doing is wrong? What if I am the bad guy?”

Dorian breathed steadily. He was used to calming Virgil now. Still, this was a new topic, which presented new challenges and new fears and new reassurances. Dorian stood from his position against the counter and walked over to Virgil. He placed one hand on Virgil’s shoulder and the other under Virgil’s chin. He nudged Virgil’s chin up, making him look up and meet Dorian’s eyes. “Bad, good, it doesn’t matter,” Dorian said. “You help Thomas. You try to help Thomas. It might not always be helpful, nor might the outcome of your warnings reflect the intentions of said warnings. But you try, Virgil. That’s what matters; not whether you are good or bad, nor whether or not others think so.”

Virgil only stared at him. Maybe he was looking for something in Dorian’s expression. Dorian wasn’t sure. Remember, new topics, new challenges, new fears. Still, he held still and waited for Virgil to respond.

Finally, although Virgil said nothing, he smiled. A weak tug at the corner of his lips.

Dorian would later wonder why he hadn’t been able to catch the lie in that smile.

***

Thomas started making videos.

Covers, mostly, or parodies. They were fun and short. Entertaining to those who watched them. Then Vine came along and Thomas was thrust into the spotlight. He made more and more videos, collecting a fan base along the way. It was still just for fun; silly videos for people to laugh or relate to.

Thomas then announced he would be going on tour. And that’s where things began to change.

Thomas brought forth his morality, logic, and creativity for a video not long after the tour. He presented these sides of him to the masses. He was beginning to create something new, something big.

Dorian was not brought up, nor were Virgil or Remus. Sure, they were all was omnipresent; they were still apart of Thomas. They couldn’t just be gotten rid of.

But then one of them was brought forward. Virgil appeared. He was Anxiety to Thomas though. He appeared and did what anxiety did and then came back.

“What was it like to be out there?” Remus asked him when he did. “Out in the big, unknown world that could collapse at any moment due to the pressures and expectations society puts upon the people, while also destroying itself through those said exceptions?”

“I didn’t go that far,” Virgil said, sitting down at the dinner table. They didn’t need to eat but they liked the normalcy of it. “Just over to a friend of Thomas’. It was… odd.”

“How so?” Dorian asked, finishing the sauce for their pasta.

“It…” Virgil sighed. “He was doing fine at first, then I started to think and he started to worry and then I showed up. He wasn’t exactly happy to see me—“

“Wonder why?” Remus giggled.

“—But he brought me to Lily’s. She… helped him. He kinda has an idea now on how to handle me.”

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic about that,” Dorian noted, not unkind.

“I don’t know,” Virgil shrugged. “I don’t mind not working overtime, but—“

“You worry,” Dorian finished.

“How could I not?” Virgil drawled.

“Well worry not, My Chemical Necromance,” Remus said, smirking, “if something does happen, we can all just lie down for an eternal slumber, where our bodies will slowly decompose and melt into the grown where worms and maggots can feast upon our flesh.”

“Ugh, come on,” Virgil groaned, “we’re about to eat pasta. Now all I’m gonna be thinking about is worms.”

“You’re welcome!” Remus beamed.

“This video was largely about you, correct?” Dorian asked, bringing the food to the table.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” Virgil said.

“And it was on how to handle the pressures you present?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then perhaps this is the only video you’ll appear in,” Dorian concluded, sitting down. “Thomas has learned a few tricks and will be satisfied with that.”

After a moment of consideration, Virgil nodded and that was that.

For now.

Because, evidently, that wasn’t the only video Virgil appeared in.

***

The change was gradual and yet seemed to happen so quickly.

Virgil went to do a video, dropped out when he wasn’t needed anymore, and that was that. He said little about what happened during the videos; not that he really needed to say anything, they all knew what went on.

But it was after such a silly, little, playful video that the change became noticeable.

Virgil appeared really more for the fun of it. Anxiety wasn’t necessarily needed for the video but Virgil said it himself in the video: “I, too, am a Disney fan.” What more reason did he need than that?

When he came back, he wasn’t… well, he wasn’t talkative, but he didn’t look quite as downtrodden as he normally did.

“How was visiting brother dearest?” Remus asked, smirking from his place on his fainting couch. It wasn’t a pleasant expression.

Maybe that was what gave Virgil pause. His normal response was a shrug or groan. But this time, he stopped, opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment longer before saying, “It… wasn’t bad.”

The way his voice went up at the end suggested he might be questioning himself. But the statement rang true either way.

Remus straightened from his position, eyes sparkling from dull interest to intrigue. Dorian too perked up to listen from his seat at the dinner table. “Do tell,” Remus trilled, sitting up and crossing his legs over the other, resting his chin in his hand.

“Um,” Virgil stammered, clearly startled by the sudden attention, “it was just… we just talked about Disney. Y’know, like the meanings behind each movie. It was--I don’t know. It wasn’t bad.”

There was no lift in his voice at the end this time. He wasn’t questioning it.

Dorian… didn’t quite know what to make of it. So instead, he stood from his seat and walked to them in the living room. “If we’re in the Disney mood, then pick a movie for tonight,” he offered.

The shift in conversation might’ve been noticeable but not enough to be suspicious since he stayed within the same topic. The rest of the night went off without a hitch.

Still, Dorian was left wondering and questioning; thinking delicately of Virgil and what could happen next.

***

What did happen next went by so quick.

It was… stupid really, the reason they fought.

Virgil was spending more time with the others, even outside of videos. Just hanging out with them and getting to know them. All of it made Dorian’s stomach twist. He didn’t know though, not exactly.

But it was after, again, another little video. It barely had anything to do with them all. Thomas just got some input from them after starring on a Disney show. In the end, Dorian offered his art to Patton, Logan, and Roman. Plain and simple designs, catering to each of them and what they want for Thomas. Clean and concise, he presented his art to them. And they took it, none the wiser. They didn’t need to be. His art wasn’t necessarily harmful, just showcasing to Thomas the expectations he had for himself. That Roman wished for power and presence and an important title. That Patton wished for them to have a legacy. That Logan wished to enter a high position within the subject they all so loved.

And then Virgil spoke. As plainly as Dorian’s own art, he said that he wished that Thomas used his platform to positively affect his audience the same way Disney had with Thomas.

It had given Thomas pause because, here, his Anxiety was comforting him.

Virgil of course deflected but what was done, was done.

He returned back home. Dorian was waiting in the living room.

“Hey, Dee,” Virgil said upon arrival.

Dorian didn’t respond. “You okay?” Virgil prompted.

“Fine, just… thinking,” he replied.

“‘Bout what?”

“What you said to Thomas.”

Virgil paused. “What do you mean?”

“It was clear and simple,” Dorian told him, “I think both Thomas and I found it interesting that his anxiety was to suggest it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Virgil’s body language stiffened.

“Nothing, Virgil. It’s just that you usually like to point out the macabre, what could go wrong with the expectations the others presented. Instead, you gave Thomas something realistic to think about.”

“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m simply explaining what I noted.”

“My statement still stands. I know Thomas’ limits and offered something more simple. So what?”

“What if--”

Virgil flinched, spinning around to face a smiling Remus.

“What if, little Virge,” he repeated slowly, hands behind his back, “Thomas begins to doubt what he’s doing because you, his dear anxiety, suggested something that made sense?”

“Remus,” Dorian started, eyes glued to Virgil.

“But Anxiety can never make sense,” Remus continued, taking a step towards Virgil. Virgil took a step back. “So what if he begins to doubt his content and his intentions, his work, and meaning?”

“Remus--”

“What if he begins to doubt it all, all because you said something that made sense?”

“Remus!”

“What, Mister Dee?” Remus exclaimed, still smiling, still almost chest to chest with Virgil.

But he turned around to face Dorian and gave Virgil an out. In the blink of an eye, Virgil sunk into the ground and out of the room. Remus turned back then looked down to the ground. He groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance. “Ugh, c’mon, Dee-Dee!” he whined.

“That was unnecessary,” Dorian told him, “and quite out of character, actually.”

“Oh please!” Remus cried. “I was just teasing!”

“You would’ve drawn imagery into his head that painted a gruesome scene, not play with his anxieties,” Dorian said, standing up. “So what was that?”

“I was teasing,” Remus insisted, stomping his feet childishly. “I might even be telling him the truth.”

“You don’t know that,” Dorian said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This wasn’t teasing or opening his eyes. Don’t try and weasel around.”

“We can weasel around if you want,” Remus purred, suddenly behind him.

Dorian just turned around to face him and met his eyes. “Remus,” he gritted out.

“Ugh, fine!” he groaned, sagging. “What’s wrong with scaring the kid a little? Get the blood pumping?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed.

“You’re no fun, Dee! So maybe I wanted to scare the kid a little. So maybe I wanted to show him that he won’t be accepted! ‘Cause that’s what will happen, dearest!”

“You don’t know that, Remus,” Dorian sighed.

“Puh-lease,” Remus barked, falling back onto the fainting couch, “he’s one of us, isn’t he?”

Dorian ignored the nagging in within him, the teasing, sickeningly sweet voice that asked, isn’t he? and sunk into the floor and up in front of Virgil’s door.

He knocked and waited.

“Not now, Dorian.”

“Remus is just trying to get under your skin, Virgil.”

“Well, he succeeded.”

“I’m trying to tell you not to listen to him. He’s just being… well, being Remus.”

“It’s fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“I’m serious, Dee. It’s fine. I just… I’m fine, okay?”

“Virgil--”

“Dorian.”

Dorian sighed. Virgil was stubborn. He wouldn’t budge if he didn’t want to.

“May I come in?” he asked instead.

Virgil took a beat to respond. “I’m fine, Dorian,” he insisted softly. “Nothing… I have it under control. I…”

Dorian waited.

“You can come in.”

Dorian opened the door silently and walked in. Virgil was sat perched on his bed, knees pulled to his chest and head hung low.

Dorian sat closer to the edge of the bed, careful not to touch Virgil unless he was given permission. “What can I do?” he asked quietly.

Virgil breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, out. “Just, I don’t know. I just want to sleep right now.”

“Okay.” Dorian snapped his fingers, changing them both into pajamas. He waited until Virgil was situated under the covers before settling in. He stayed seated while Virgil lied down.

“What movie do you want on?” he asked, turning off the lights and on the salt lamp.

“Dunno, whateva’ you wan’,” Virgil slurred, pressing his face further into Dorian’s side.

“Finding Nemo sound good?”

“Hell yea’.”

Dorian snickered as the movie came on automatically.

It was quiet and warm and nice overall. Dorian wondered and even wished it could be like that forever.

But nothing lasts forever.

***

Dorian wished he could say he didn’t notice it at first. The reality of it was that he noticed from the very beginning. And yet he did nothing.

Nothing; absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t have. He would’ve hurt Virgil if he had.

And so Virgil slipped out his fingers, slowly but surely. And yet the day Virgil did not come to breakfast, it hurt as though he had never seen it coming.

It hurt, it all hurt so much. And yet, Dorian pretended it didn’t.

He was a liar, through and through. Perhaps it wasn’t his core but it was a part of him and he could convince himself it was the only part. If it helped him help Thomas, then he could convince himself. If it made it all hurt a little less, then he could convince himself. If it all worked, well, then he was just good at what he did.

It didn’t always work, no, nothing lasts forever.

No, sometimes he would forget and he would make a few extra pancakes and suddenly even Remus was quiet. Sometimes he would forget and knock on a door that led nowhere, calling for someone who was no longer there. Sometimes he would forget and wish and hope and hurt.

For the most part, he just remembered. Holidays and parties at home, staring up at the sky in the special room, dropping random things off of Remus’ tower, painting in his room. Late nights spent with each other, stupid jokes, calming each other down, blueberry pancakes, apples with sugar and cinnamon, trying silly dance moves in the living room.

There was so much to treasure, so much to savor.

Sometimes, Dorian closed his eyes and thought of nothing but purple, a soft presence at his side, and Finding Nemo.

Sometimes, Dorian closed his eyes, remembered, and smiled.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #sympathetic deceit #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts remus #ts deceit #sanders sides fic

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iwrestlenow · 4 years ago

Text

Many More To Die, Chapter 8

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 8)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman and Logan reconnect. Remus and Virgil find some common ground. There are too many secrets--but the royals finally expose a big one to the Crofter brothers: the one that ultimately led to Logan's imprisonment and the destruction of their family.

Meanwhile, Janus is looking for some information from his treasure trove--and Patton is more than happy to provide it to him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: I’m nervous about this one, ‘cause it sucks? But I also don’t care cause there are cuddles for my fave ships and I do what I want.

I am, however, SO SORRY FOR THIS TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGER, but the next chapter will come out much sooner. Promise. XD

Also, no betas, we die like men.

Also located at AO3 over here.

1033, A.A.

Logan asked Virgil to leave. With murder in his eyes, Virgil acquiesced.

And when the door clicked shut...they were alone.

For long moments, the silence was deafening. They sat there, staring at each other—Logan seated on the edge of the bed, and the king with the blankets pooled around his waist, bare chested and staring at Logan as if...

Logan's mouth suddenly went dry as his heart seemed to grow in his chest, swelling to the point that it compressed his lungs against his ribcage, preventing him from drawing breath.

Silently, Roman extended his hand, palm up. It took Logan abruptly back to the visitations in his dreams, anchored by the feel of human contact he thought he had only before imagined. The reality of it was so much more, so intense—so necessary he could hardly stand to think about it.

And yet, with the king's silent offer, Logan was helpless to resist it, reaching out to slide his hand into Roman's. Their fingers meshed with the ease of experience—through dreams or through the history that had been stolen from him, Logan could not say, but that alien ecstasy of skin on skin felt so right it hurt.

“I have dreamed of this for so long.”

Logan looked up from where he'd been staring at their joined hands, spellbound. For a day now, he'd been in the presence of his Green Man, seen his true face, but this was the first time he'd actually been alone with him since...

“So have I.” he confessed. “Every time you came to me.”

Roman blinked, confused—then a light went on behind his eyes, making them snap with something electric and so alive it made Logan's chest tight.

“They...were real.” he realized. “I wasn't dreaming.”

“You were, but... we were inhabiting the same dream at the same time.” Logan explained softly. “Knowing who you are now, it's unsurprising. Conduits cannot use the magic within them, but it does make certain forms of involuntary magic possible—such as dream walking.”

“I've never done it with anyone else before.”

Logan frowned. “That is unusual. If that was the case, the ability would be consistent.”

He paused, then felt something in the core of him tremble with...a feeling he could not name, even reluctantly. It was light and fragile and enormously powerful—and Logan wasn't totally sure if it was good or bad.

“Did...did we share dreams...before?” he asked hesitantly.

Roman smiled, sad, tremulous, and hesitant in his own right.

“It's...a complicated thing to explain.” he confessed. “I don't have all the answers.”

“Do you have any?”

“I do. If you want them.”

“Why would I not want them?” Logan asked.

Something slid through Roman's eyes, dimming their light, and it ripped through Logan with a fury that had no root, no real cause.

Only that something dared to darken his demeanor, and with terrifying clarity Logan knew he would even destroy himself were he to discover that he was the cause of it.

“Because I'm a royal?” he pointed out. “Because my family did this to your people...because I did this to you?”

“Falsehood.”

Roman smiled, and Logan felt suddenly powerful. He felt...he felt, with no anchor for any of these feelings. It was deeply disconcerting—and it was also intoxicating.

“Hearing that again is almost as comforting as hearing you call me an idiot.” Roman laughed, squeezing his hand. “I missed it.”

Logan felt dizzy with the gaping hole in his chest, the warmth of Roman's touch—the world, every breath, every second that ticked by, it all suddenly felt like too much to hold inside of him. If he could remember, maybe he could bear it, maybe he could handle the things that his fingers and his heart seemed to know as he clung to the king's hand and stood on the edge of a chasm of years that stretched between them with no memory of how it got there.

“I do not remember,” he managed to choke out, “but...I think I did, too.”

“Oh, Starlight...”

Roman pulled him forward, and suddenly Logan was being held, cradled against acres of bare flesh and solid muscle. His lungs were filled with the scent of warm cotton and sweet skin, tinged with something that reminded him of fresh earth and damp stone—not the rank stone of the dungeons, but granite and petrichor, fresh from a gentle, cleansing rain.

Logan could not have stopped himself from clinging as Roman held him, not even if he wanted to—and he didn't want to stop.

“Tell me?” A question, whispered against his shoulder as he was held in strong arms and drowned in the warmth of safety and affection.

Roman did not hesitate to open his mouth and start talking—and he kept talking until there was nothing left.

Until Logan finally knew everything.

********** 1022, A.A.

“Okay, wait, so—familiars are human?”

Logan laughed—one of the greatest sounds in the world, as far as Roman was concerned. It was rare as diamonds, soft as a whisper, and always so filled with bright, gleaming emotion that it made him happy even if he was having the worst possible day.

Roman lived for his laugh—among other things. Logan's eyes, Logan's intelligence...Father called it that 'special age,' told him that he'd started noticing how certain boys made him feel when he was thirteen, but this wasn't just...

Logan was younger than him by two whole years—it might as well be decades. Besides, Logan probably liked girls, and oh yeah, he was a Weaver. Being one of the Necromata was one thing, but Weavers were revered among his people. Even if liking a necromancer wasn't a crime, Logan's family wouldn't want him to have anything to do with an outsider like Roman. He'd learned that much in two years of friendship with him.

Two years of hiding how he really spent his afternoons away from the tutors. Two years of learning the truth about how good and kind and generous the Necromata were...how good and kind and generous Logan was.

“Yes, familiars are human.” Logan replied, sweeping the flat stone marker of the grave they were tending. “Virgil—my little brother, the one I call Stormcloud—is my Spider, the keeper of the Loom of Memory.”

Roman risked peeking out from under the hood of the cloak hiding his face to follow the tilt of Logan's head to the eight year old boy on the other side of the open field. He was small and slight, with a shock of black hair like Logan's, save that his gleamed blue-black in the sun where Logan's shone with the most subtle red-brown hints of dark cherry wood. When he faced them, beaming up at the massive redhead that Logan had identified as their grandfather, Roman could see that Virgil's eyes were dark compared to Logan's startling blue.

Over the last couple of years, Logan had gradually shared the True Names of his whole family with Roman. Outlaw was his grandfather, Josiah. Rainbow was his pari, Talyn. Joan was his geni, Elliot. He'd trusted Roman with that knowledge...but Virgil, his little brother, the person Logan loved more than life itself (and possibly more than jam tarts), he'd protected.

Until now. Now, he'd let Roman in all the way—in more ways than one, given where they were.

While Logan finished sweeping the headstone clean, Roman watched the countless other families among Logan's tribe attending similar areas just like they were. Some were cleaning other graves, others were scouring the ground for signs of unmarked ones, others still were tending the trees in the open field that needed pruning or fertilization to grow healthy and strong over the graves they stood as markers for.

The Festival of the Forgotten that came every autumn was a day Roman had only ever known as one of solemn remembrance for those who had fallen to the Animator's slaughter a thousand years ago. He got dressed up in his formal attire, stood by Father's side while he gave speeches at the palace memorial, and basically spent the day being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible.

Logan had treated the whole thing with open disdain and offense when Roman explained it to him—then told him what the real Festival was all about.

The Festival wasn't happening for a week yet, but the Necromata were already preparing. For Logan's people, it was a week long celebration of the dead that involved hard work and loving attention. The field they were in had once been a graveyard in the time before the Animator, and many of the dead who lay in repose below the earth had been lost to time. Some had no names to be remembered, others had no lineage to go after them, still more were buried carelessly without even a marker to their name.

The Necromata took custody of these dead, trying to give them remembrance even if they couldn't give them names. All week, they carefully cleaned the field up, tended what few graves they could identify, looked for others—and at the end, had a giant party full of food, music, and drink. They decorated graves, left offerings for the departed, and kept the forgotten souls company with laughter and song. They would soak the earth and the air with enough joy and celebration to ensure that these lost ones would have comfort enough to take them through the year, when they would do it all over again.

Roman had been humbled by the true story of the Festival—and so Logan had invited him to attend. Both the party, and the stewardship of the dead.

“Familiars enhance the power of their necromancer in different ways.” Logan continued once Roman had given him his attention again. “A Black Dog has their Wolf, who acts as their spirit guide through their visions. A Reaper has their Raven, who helps them take the pain away from those they heal or release—and a Weaver has their Spider, who spins the fibers for the Loom of Memory. When a Weaver reaches the Loom, it's very much like the real thing: a visual representation, where a soul to be resurrected is mounted like a half finished tapestry, and the Weaver completes it with the connection he has to his Spider.”

“What does the fiber represent?” Roman asked as Logan stepped back, dropping his broom and moving to crouch before the worn headstone while Roman quickly followed suit. “The fiber your Spider spins?”

“Focus. Virgil gives me his focus to aid me in retrieving the memories I need to restore the soul to life. With his mind working in tandem with mine, it's like I'm weaving with a shuttle wound in spider silk, and it allows me to finish my work much more quickly. It ensures the tapestry lasts longer once it's taken off the loom before it unravels...before the soul I raise to life slips away again.”

Roman didn't like the way Logan's features fell a little at that. Ever since his Warping, Roman knew that Logan was troubled by the idea that there were people he couldn't fully resurrect—those not meant to die, he could save, but those whose soul had slipped through the opening in the Barrier carved for them at the moment of their death? Those were temporary—and the few times he'd half restored a soul like that as part of his training lingered with him.

Knowing he could say nothing to comfort him, instead Roman turned his attention to the smooth granite surface before them.

“You said this grave was new, right?”

Logan nodded, shifting to kneel while Roman remained in his crouch—and with hardly a care, rested an arm on Roman's knee so he could lean forward and peer at the gravestone. The touch made Roman's heart flip in his chest, but he tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Grandpap discovered it last year while they were digging out the roots of a dead tree. We replanted it over there to better mark the site because the stone's been worn so flat.”

Roman frowned, reaching down to run his fingers over the stone. “This poor person will never have a name now.”

“Sadly, no.” Logan agreed, reaching down to lay his hand against Roman's atop the stone. “Whatever epitaph was on this stone was worn away hundreds of years ago—“

“What's that?”

Roman, reluctantly, slid his hand out from under Logan's to run his fingers along the base of the stone.

“See this ridge? There's something beneath it...here, help me...”

The earth was damp, and for a moment Roman was left to dig on his own, fingers sinking into the loamy earth at the base of the stone. In truth, it was fun—feeling the grit under his fingernails, the ache of muscles as he clawed at the dirt.

Only when he started to uncover a broader base on the stone did Logan move to start helping him dig.

After about five minutes, they had exposed a second, broader slab beneath the stone. This one, heavily covered by dirt, seemed to be part of a larger piece that appeared to just...keep going.

“This isn't a headstone.” Logan realized. “It's a burial vault.”

Roman nodded. “I actually know what those are—big boxes for dead bodies, right? So they don't rot in the dirt. For the coffin to sit in!”

“Correct.” Logan murmured. “What's more, it's not buried all that deep. Perhaps, once upon a time, it wasn't buried at all.”

Roman thought about the last burial vault he'd seen—that of an adviser in his father's court council. He hadn't been buried in the royal mausoleum, being of common birth, but he'd been given a special place in the surrounding cemetery: an above ground burial vault, bearing the royal seal and just beneath it...

“This isn't a headstone.” he realized aloud, furiously going back to digging.

“That's what you said—”

“No, I mean this part! The crest of the royal family sits here, not the epitaph! We have burial vaults like these in the palace cemetery, and the name is always under this piece! Help me, Logan—we can find out who this is!”

Glancing to the side, he was pleased to see Logan adjusting his glasses, a restless sign of pleasure as he crowded closer to Roman's side.

“If the name was not exposed to the elements before it was buried, it might still be preserved.” he agreed.

“So we can help them?”

Logan nodded eagerly, making Roman grin. He was so happy, and it warmed Roman's heart—but so did the fact that they might actually be able to give some poor, forgotten dead necromancer back their name. The fact that Roman, himself, was helping to do this thing for one of the Necromata, an heir to the throne helping these good and caring and generous people that just wanted to make sure that the dead were remembered...

It gave him so much hope for the future. Logan gave him this hope by letting him in.

That was the moment Roman knew...

Refocusing on their new task, Roman began to dig in earnest. Logan shifted to reach for the broom, trying to scrape away the earth from the stone vault with the end of its handle. Gradually, they worked down a couple of inches until the edges of a very clear engraving became visible. First the frame, then what looked like...

“Numbers. These may be the dates of birth and death, if this person died Before Animator.” Logan murmured, jostling Roman in encouragement. “Keep going.”

Voices buzzed around them. The cool autumn air stung Roman's nose. His fingers were sore, cuticles caked with dirt. Logan was pressed securely to his side, digging tirelessly alongside him.

Time stopped. Nothing existed but the two of them, crowded close and digging, all heavy breath and exertion and movement, bumping and jostling in a strange rhythm that blurred the line between where one ended and the other began...

“...Roman.”

Roman blinked, shaking his head. He glanced at Logan, who'd gone ashen as he stared down at the inches of earth they had uncovered.

With a start, he realized they had finished. There, in worn but very clear lettering, was the epitaph of a forgotten corpse. Beneath the confusing dates of birth and death, there was a name.

Reading it, Roman could feel the blood leaving his face just as it had left Logan's.

“This...cannot be right.” Logan murmured.

“No, it can't.” Roman agreed softly, flopping artlessly back on his behind. Logan collapsed with him, half across Roman's lap, with Roman too stunned to fully take it in. “You said this was a burial ground for the Necromata.”

“It is.”

Roman met Logan's gaze, something sick and panicky forming a lump of ice in his throat.

“Then why, in the Seven Hells, is one of my ancestors buried here?”

**********

1033, A.A.

Few things in the world scared Remus—but that scrawny little necromancer fucking terrified him. The cadet wasn't much better, mostly because they were brothers.

Remus was smart. It was a problem, had been his whole life. For all that he knew, easily and quickly, there were few things he really understood, important things like personal boundaries and courtesy and the difference between things that were fascinating and things that were disturbing.

Brothers, however, he understood. Which was why the cadet was so fucking scary: look at either one of them wrong, and the other would take your fucking head off to defend them.

So Remus stayed in the shadows, watching the pipsqueak stomp around outside Roman's suite like he wanted to get caught by some other member of the palace guard, cursing just loud enough to be heard but not understood, vibrating with tension and so furious the air seemed to ripple around him with heat waves rising from his skin.

“Why is your brother alone with mine?”

Scary as the situation was, Remus found some deeply satisfying pleasure in watching Virgil Storm leap about six feet into the air with fright, choking on the scream he fought to stifle.

“Shadow's Balls, you miserable son of a bitch, what the hell are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?” he spat, clutching his chest with both hands.

Remus shrugged. “Hey, not my fault if you don't have the nerves for guard duty, toy soldier. Should've tried hiding in the kitchens instead. The wash boys bring the dungeon prisoners their daily meal.”

“I'm not guarding anything.” Virgil shot back, turning to glare at the closed door of Roman's suite. “I was sent away. By my own damn brother—doesn't remember shit, and he's still treating me like a little kid.”

“He's your big brother—that shit doesn't change with age.” Remus huffed. “Ro Ro's got a half life on me, and he makes use of ever second of it.”

Virgil looked at him strangely. “A half life? I thought you were twins.”

Remus shrugged. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Can you speak in anything but sarcasm?”

“Can you address the crown prince with a little respect?”

“Not when I've seen the kind of people you sneak around with. Cadets pull a lot of graveyard shifts.”

Damn—the game of questions was just starting to get fun. The toy soldier wasn't just cute, he was feisty and totally lacked any fear of the throne. That was a problem, because Remus was actually starting to like the little shit.

“You're lucky I'm into that.” Remus quipped, but finally rolled his eyes and leaned back against the opposite wall of the corridor. “Fine: we're half-twins: identical, born one hour apart on the cusp. Roman came at eleven and I came at midnight. We celebrate our birthdays on the same day to hide that fact.”

Virgil went eerily still—and Remus's estimation of the kid went up a couple notches because of it.

“You do remember I'm Necromata, right?” he asked slowly. “Everyone in this castle knows you and your brother are both well versed in the ways of necromancy. You know what we can do with half-twins.”

Remus sobered, wondering for one irrational second if he'd been wrong. Wrong about the scrawny necromancer, wrong about the toy soldier, wrong about the limited amount of sense Roman had in his thick skull...

“Does anyone else know?” Virgil asked in the silence of Remus's brain spinning away from him.

Remus shook his head. “No, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“...you gonna kill me, Highness?”

Remus rushed him then, pinning Virgil to the wall with a hand wrapped around his throat.

“Only if I have to.” he warned quietly. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears, but it was slow, steady, far too calm. He could already imagine those gleaming dark eyes going flat and dead, that lovely pale skin going ashen as he choked the life from him, hear the bubble from his lungs as they gave up their last breath...

He'd do it. He'd sleep easy. He wouldn't regret a thing.

Not for Roman.

“I'm a little brother, too.” Virgil reminded him quietly, breathlessly—and for one split second, as Virgil reached up to wrap his hand around Remus's wrist, gentle but firm, he was kind of breathtaking. His pulse was jumping in his throat, every exhale was shaky and his lips were parted as he sucked down oxygen...

Remus let him go, but he didn't move away. He couldn't quite make himself, not when he suddenly felt like swallowing the terrified little spider whole.

“No one can know what Roman really is.” he whispered. “No one.”

“Make you a deal,” Virgil shot back, “you protect my big brother, and I'll protect yours.”

Remus narrowed his eyes...but it was what he wanted, after all, so he offered Virgil his hand to shake.

“Mutually assured destruction it is.” Remus agreed. “Can't trust a royal and all.”

Virgil had just wrapped his hand around Remus's when he blinked, startled. “I...yeah?”

Laughing, Remus shook his hand firmly, and let the world fall away for just a moment. His grip made it easy: firm, warm, strong.

“You're right about us, toy soldier: Roman and I? We're both pretty into necromancy. That means we know more than most about the royal family—at least I do. Roman...I'm not quite sure what he remembers anymore.”

“About what?” Virgil asked.

Remus released Virgil's hand, then sighed and shifted to press his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground.

“Park it, Storm. There's a few things you need to know about my brother...and yours.”

**********

1022, A.A.

“It has to be a mistake.”

“It's not.” Logan insisted, reaching up to tug at his mask—he would have adjusted his glasses if he'd been wearing them, but he couldn't with the domino that covered his features, heavily adored with thick black feathers. Roman reached up to stop him before he could remove it.

“Can't be rude to the dead, can we?” Roman chided gently.

That got a smile out of Logan, despite the circumstances—almost as good as his laughter, and once again the spirit of the evening swept over him.

Five days had passed since the discovery in the graveyard. Earlier in the day, this day, he'd done his duty: donned his formal dress, stood beside his father, pretended to be solemn and respectful while, all the while, he'd been vibrating with excitement for this.

The final day of the Festival—the final night.

The real Festival, an actual festival with music and food and costumes. The Field of the Forgotten was now clean and well cared for, lit up with torches and free floating luminaries. There were tables laden with food and drink and plates and cups—large for the living, smaller ones for graveside offerings. It was a celebration of life lost, a gift to the dead.

And the costumes—they were so much fun, and yet even these carried meaning. Roman hid his face behind a domino adorned with white feathers to Logan's black, and rejected his name to call himself Muse for the evening. Because these souls they honored no longer had names or faces, forever lost to time, the living hid their own with masks and costumes, gave up their true names and identities for the night out of respect.

It was magical, all of it. He enjoyed himself, drinking sparkling cider and eating meat skewers, burning his mouth on sweet-searing phoenix taffy, wrapped in wax paper printed with tiny black skulls. He even pocketed some for later, vowing to enjoy them slowly and remember the forgotten as he let the cinnamon tingle sting his tongue.

He celebrated instead of mourning, gave his own joy to the forgotten dead for a year, and for the first time dreamed of being king one day instead of crown prince so he could show this to the citizens. After all, they would understand if they knew—how much the Necromata cared about the dead, how hard they worked for those who were gone because it made things so much better for the people that were still here.

They weren't messengers of death, they were guardians of life, and one day Roman would set them free. He'd show everyone...he'd watch Logan stand beside him before the whole kingdom and smile when he realized that he was no longer feared, but loved. Just as he deserved to be.

Smile like he was smiling now. At Roman, because he stopped him from removing his mask, and for one really stupid second, Roman almost hoped Logan would...maybe reach for his hand or press against his side like he had earlier in the week, huddled before the final resting place of Thomas Roman I.

Roman's namesake. Roman's ancestor.

“Can we be sure?” Roman asked, the brief euphoria stolen from him as they walked side by side, trying to be discreet about returning to the grave in question. “I mean...what's the likelihood that a necromancer would name their child after a king? It's done, you know.”

“Not among our people.” Logan insisted with a shake of his head. “The royal family are our oppressors, have been for generations. As much as it pains me to say it, my people view the royal bloodline much as the population at large view necromancers. They are cutthroat, bloodthirsty, power hungry demons that will stop at nothing to see every single one of us destroyed. No parent would ever do that to a child.”

Roman felt a little like he'd been punched in the gut, but he said nothing. Logan wasn't great with feelings—better, a little, since his Warping, but it always made him squirmy to try and confront them, in himself or in anyone else.

“I want to change that.” Roman replied quietly, vowing he'd say no more on it.

“Falsehood.”

“What?”

“Falsehood.” Logan repeated, as if he hadn't just called Roman a liar. For a second, Roman wondered if he'd done or said something that...oh, gods, did Logan know how Roman felt? Was it bothering him that badly? Were they—

“You will change that.” Logan pressed on before Roman's thoughts could spiral any further. “This is simple fact.”

“Lo—er, Starlight, I appreciate that you have so much faith in me—“

“It's not faith, Muse. It's fact.” Logan insisted, stopping in his tracks. “This revelation is confusing, life changing...dangerous for what it could represent, but the facts are thus: your ancestor is buried on sacred Necromata ground. For generations beyond the Animator, we have taken great pains to ensure that no outsider has ever been interred among us for the simple reason that necromancers cannot be resurrected because we have no souls—it would be sacrilege to allow a resurrection to disturb the rest of our dead. This can mean only one thing: the royal family is either of our tribe, or of theirs.”

“Whose?”

“The Lazari.”

Roman's stomach dropped clear through his shoes and into the sacred ground of the Necromata. “Seven Hells, do you think that's truly possible? W-w-what about the Animata?”

Logan shook his head, then turned to keep walking. They were nearly at the grave—the pair of them had hastily covered up the name they had unearthed, pressing the dirt flat and scattering some leaves to make it look like nothing had been disturbed.

“The Animata are not necromancers—not all of them were even fully human, given their twin souls. It would be easy to resurrect one of them. No, the only other creature it could possibly be is a Lazari.”

“But they're a myth—they're not even real.”

“Myth to you, theoretical to us.” Logan replied as they reached the grave. Sitting in front of the tombstone, he beckoned Roman to join him. “The Lazari are, essentially, an evolution of Weavers. They cannot merely recall the dead to life, they can change the fate of the dead. Their power is such that they can weave a soul not from memory, but from the Spider's Thread. They can change fate.”

Roman fell silent, staring down at the careworn tombstone before them. Reaching out, he ran his hands over the smooth stone that once likely bore a royal crest—the crest of his family, above the name of his ancestor.

“How can you change fate?” he asked softly, forcing himself not to look at the boy beside him. Not when he felt so...weird. So full, like his lungs were being crushed against the inside of his ribcage by his heart and his soul, and everything he was feeling.

He wanted to not be of the house of Sanders. He wanted Logan to not be of the Necromata. He wanted to live in a world where nothing separated them, where one day he could court Logan as proudly as his own father had courted his dad, as proudly as his dad had courted his mother...

Roman wanted, wanted, wanted in that moment, and he was afraid to look at Logan...suddenly afraid of what would happen if he did.

“Knowledge.”

Logan's quiet utterance nearly stole his resolve, his head twitching, but remaining down as Logan continued.

“Knowledge is how. It is an incomparably valuable, multi-purpose tool that is instrumental in identifying and solving any problem.”

He paused—then Roman felt his hand on his shoulder.

Don't don't don't don't don't...

Roman looked up, and found Logan meeting his gaze with a look that briefly stole his breath.

“If you're worried about getting hurt? Then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon...and our greatest defense.”

The words felt oddly weighty, like he was trying to make Roman remember something for later. That, or...

He couldn't give the feeling words, and so he didn't. He held it inside himself, embraced the crushing weight against his lungs and the way his entire body felt too small for his bones.

“And the Lazari would be a pretty powerful weapon—especially if they were members of the royal family.” Roman mused softly.

A necromancer on the throne—if it was true, it could destroy his family. However...

It could save Logan's people. If the world knew that one of the royal family had been a member of his tribe? Maybe the Necromata could finally be free to live in the open, free and unafraid.

Looking into Logan's face, Roman realized there was no decision to make.

“Where will we find it?” he asked finally. “This knowledge...the knowledge we need to prove it, one way or the other?”

Logan fell silent at that. He still had that strangely intense look in his eyes, high color in his cheeks—and at some point, his hand had found its way off Roman's shoulder and down to mesh with Roman's fingers.

Roman's face felt warm, and the world felt kind of spinny.

“We start with the king.”

**********

1033, A.A.

“What're you thinkin' about, Janny?”

Janus drew a deep breath—not quite a sigh, but very close to it, not over Patton's question but his own inability to function properly.

He should be looking over the shoulders of his lieutenants, currently investigating the king's death. What he was doing was walking through the North Gardens in the dark with Patton, their hands firmly linked together between them. Patton even went so far as to swing them occasionally, making something deep in Janus's core twist in a manner that made his baser impulses nearly impossible to control.

“Nothing I can discuss with you.” he replied.

“Oh, wow. You're telling the truth—it must be bad.” Patton breathed.

Janus squeezed Patton's fingers, uncertain if he was trying to reassure Patton or himself.

“You have no idea,” he admitted softly, “and if I get my way? You never will.”

There was no immediate answer as Janus scanned their surroundings, double and triple checking to make sure they weren't being spied on. He was well aware of the fact that Logan had already absconded with the cadet—his brother, now that was never going to stop being funny to Janus—and could give a damn. He knew Logan well enough to know he'd be careful...he had to admit, reluctantly, that Storm was a damn capable soldier...and by holding up the pretext that the prisoners were safely ensconced in their quarters...

He could steal this time with Patton. Stealing, sneaking, taking things he had no right to, things that didn't belong to him.

“You're gonna ask me things again, huh?”

Janus stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Patton sharply. Patton, the gods love him, was just smiling that smile he always had when he told Janus things that Janus didn't ask for, much less the things Janus did make a point of requesting.

“That's not why we're out here.” he replied instead of rebuffing Patton's assertion. It felt more important, even if it wasn't...

It wasn't.

Patton giggled—actually giggled at that—and wrapped Janus's hand in both of his.

“Janny, I asked you to spend some time with me, remember?”

How could Janus forget that desperate plea, wide eyed and beaming through the tear tracks that lingered on his cheeks after he was done crying in Janus's arms earlier, done warning Janus about what was happening to Logan in another part of the castle? How could Janus have ever said no?

How could Janus admit that, even if Patton hadn't asked, Janus would have come anyway—just because he couldn't stay away?

“You couldn't possibly know I wanted to...ask you things, as you put it.” Janus pointed out.

Patton stepped closer, looking up into Janus's face from his diminutive height. The moon was nearly gone, but its few stray rays caught his mop of curls, forcing Janus to ball his hands into fists to resist the urge to touch one.

But, of course, because Patton still held one of his hands, he only succeeded in holding on tighter, sending a ripple of warmth and softness through Janus that ought to be more troubling than it was.

“I always know.” Patton pointed out gently. His dark blue eyes were black in the low light, his face shining and open and so dazzling it made his very bones hurt with the primal dragon's urge to grab him and hide him and claim claim claim mine mine mine...

Patton sank to the ground, tugging gently on Janus's captive hand. Janus followed—but rather than sit on the ground as Janus did, Patton got to his knees and immediately deposited himself in Janus's lap with a merry giggle that Janus swore lit up the garden if only for a heartbeat.

Janus let go Patton's hand, wrapped his arms around his waist instead, and felt the dragon in his bones settle back to sleep.

“You always know.” he finally echoed with a sigh and narrowed eyes that did nothing to taint Patton's bright smile. “Fine, I want to ask you things.”

Visibly pleased with himself, Patton rested his hands on Janus's shoulders, shut his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath.

“Okay. I'm ready.”

Janus gave Patton a gentle squeeze, taking a deep breath of his own.

“I need to know how to kill the necromancer.”

Patton didn't move or speak for a long time. Janus just held on, waiting.

His eyes slammed open—solid, pale sky blue and glowing faintly in the dark instead of the impossibly dark shade Janus knew so well.

In hushed, faraway tones, Patton spoke...and Janus listened closely.

#logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #necromancer au #fic #my name is liz and i swear to god i'll fic again #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it

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starstruck-xavier · 4 years ago

Note

30 or 33 for Prinxiety?

A Love Story Between Ice and Fire

30: “i don’t want to hurt you” for prinxiety in my magic au!! i hope the magic talk isn’t too complicated hfghfd in short: virgil has water and ice magic, roman has fire magic, roman can melt virgil’s ice and virgil can hurt roman with his water magic but he’s scared that he’ll accidentally do so. love ensues

ao3 || wattpad || fanfiction masterpost

words: 1652 ships: romantic prinxiety warnings: anxiety, panic attacks, food mention, one vague implication of sex, crying and a healthy heap of angst

summary: Virgil loves Roman but he's afraid of hurting him. Roman loves Virgil and he'll never let go.

If Roman had known that Virgil’s ice magic would be overflowing when he got here, he wouldn’t have pushed himself so hard at the magic gym.

In fact, not only is his ice overflowing, turning a patch of the floor around him where he lies on his side into a miniature skating rink, but he appears to be hyperventilating, stuck in his brain, zoned out completely. Roman quickly drops to Virgil’s side, careful not to skid on the ice, and examines Virgil’s state. He has his arms up to cover his face as if he’s guarding himself from a hit, and his chest is rapidly rising and falling. The only noise he makes is his rattly breathing and sparse, short whimpers. It breaks the fire-user’s heart to see him shivering, possibly from the cold, perhaps from the panic. His first instinct is to melt the ice, but he decides against it. The first thing to do is let Virgil know he’s there, prepare him for the discomfort of magic fire.

"Hey, Virgil, are you in there?” Roman’s voice falls to something akin to a stage whisper. It’s loud enough to penetrate the clouds in Virgil’s head without startling him and making the ice patch even larger. His arms twitch; he drags the air into his lungs as if he’s trying to breathe tarmac. A sign that he’s heard, at least. Roman continues to bring him back to earth. “I'm here for you, stormcloud. Try to take a deep breath in with me, okay?”

Virgil continues to shake, but one of his arms falls away from his face so that he can see Roman. There’s a glint of recognition in his eyes, but they look misty and distant. Still, he breaths in at Roman’s request, sputtery, unstable, and it all rushes out after a second, but he tries again. Over and over again, he tries to hold his breath, looking a little more frustrated each time he loses it, but Roman keeps whispering to him, saying nothing in particular, just bringing him out of his head and into the real world once again. Virgil’s shivering ceases for a moment as he finally seems to hold a stable breath all the way through, his eyes finally moving up to look into Roman’s, but then it starts up again. Roman can see his own breath condensing before him as he realises just how cold Virgil is getting.

“I'm gonna melt your ice, okay, virge?" He reaches out to take Virgil’s hands.

"No," The water-user begins to protest weakly, scared of what might happen to Roman. "No, nonono—“

Roman shushes him gently and shuffles over to lay on his side, face to face with him, and wraps one arm around his middle. Virgil squirms and huffs, but Roman holds on tight and begins to work his magic, melting the ice, radiating warmth from his body. Counteracting the ice magic always makes Virgil feel weird; it hurts ever so slightly and elicits a sharp gasp from him, but after a moment he gives in and collapses against Roman’s chest. The heat is relieving now. Gradually, the ice shrinks into little patches until eventually it leaves behind a damp carpet. It feels uncomfortable, but Roman doesn’t mind. The only thing that matters is Virgil right now.

However, he suddenly begins to feel a familiar fatigue. He remembers how hard he’d been working at the magic gym, training his fire to be even stronger and running down his energy. Melting the ice must’ve taken the last of it, because the heat begins to leave his body.

Virgil also quickly notices how the warmth is short-lived. “Roman?" He pushes himself up onto his elbows, the dread beginning to return to his face. “Roman, you feel cold— Roman—“

"Shh, shh." He cups the side of Virgil’s face with one hand. “I'm okay.”

"No, you’re not. No— your magic is burning out, no, no…” Virgil shifts again, onto his knees. He holds his own hands close to his chest, as if he’s afraid to make Roman even colder. His breathing quickens, he’s about to start hyperventilating again, but Roman sits up slowly and touches Virgil’s face again, gently. He brushes the icy streaks out of Virgil’s eyes and inspects them.

"Your water’s not overflowing, you’re not gonna hurt me. C’mon, hug?" He takes his hands away from Virgil’s face and holds his arms out. The shorter boy freezes in thought for a second, then sighs and lets his body slump into Roman’s, resting his head on his shoulder.

He still seems tense, though. “I'm just gonna make you colder.”

Roman buries his nose into Virgil’s snowy-coloured hair, ignoring the way it makes him shiver. "I can handle it.”

"Can I at least get you a hot chocolate or something?” Virgil asks, but he doesn’t seem to make an effort to move right away.

"Hmm," The fire-user squeezes Virgil lightly, and then lets him go. "You do make the best hot chocolate.”

For the first time in hours, Virgil cracks a tiny smile. "It’s just store-brand chocolate powder and milk.”

"Yeah, but you get the consistency just right.” Roman allows Virgil to pull him up to his feet and presses a kiss to his nose.

The water-user sits him down on a chair in the kitchen, then quickly darts away to find some blankets. They aren’t the best for providing heat itself, but the hot chocolate certainly will be, and blankets are always comfortable. After giving Roman what some would say an excessive amount of soft blankets, Virgil locates two mugs in one cabinet and the chocolate powder in another.

Roman still shivers slightly under the blankets, but the slight natural body heat he always has is beginning to return, only slightly, trapped in the cocoon of comfort. “I'm sorry I hurt you when I melted your ice." He smiles apologetically.

"Huh?” Virgil whirls around after mixing the powder and milk together. "Oh, it’s okay. You were only helping me out. It’s just… you wasted your energy on me.”

"Spent," He corrects the water-user. "Not wasted. I was pushing it at the gym, I should’ve taken it easier. Logan even told me that, and I ignored him, so I'm at fault.” Roman sighs. The monotone buzz of the microwave fills the room as Virgil walks back over and pushes himself up onto the table, facing Roman adjacently.

"I can see that, but still. I was panicking over dumb stuff.” Virgil hunches over and watches the microwave passively.

Reaching out to place his hand on Virgil’s arm, Roman frowns. "You were barely breathing and you were about to turn the house into some panicked, twisted winter wonderland. I don’t think you’d do that if you were only thinking about dumb stuff.”

"Hmm," An uncertain hum leaves Virgil’s throat. "I guess." He looks like he’s about to say more, but the microwave suddenly beeps and he jumps at the loud noise before hopping off the table and retrieving the mug, stirring the drink around a little more before pressing it into Roman’s cold hands. "I was thinking about last night, among other things.”

Remembering the many events that occurred yesterday, Roman meets Virgil’s eyes with worry as he takes a sip of the hot chocolate. "What about last night?”

Virgil sighs pensively and reclaims his spot on the table. "After the four of us did our first real mission together and we all crashed at Logan’s afterwards, I kinda realised I'd fallen in love with you and then we kissed and… I wasn’t thinking too much about it until earlier, when you were gone and I remembered everything." He leaves out the part where one kiss turned into a thousand, clothes were discarded and they fell asleep in Logan’s spare room with laboured, exhilarated breaths, but they both find themselves smiling just a little at that memory, even if Virgil’s smile only lasts for one second. "I love you, but I'm scared that one day I'll hurt you with my water magic. I… I don’t want to hurt you. I'd never forgive myself if I did." He casts his eyes downward. Roman can see the tears gathering in his eyes despite the way his fringe falls down to cover part of his face.

“Virgil, darling." He reaches out with one hand, gently swiping at the tears despite how Virgil flinches by instinct - this isn’t water magic overflow, it doesn’t hurt him, he reminds himself. "I trust wholeheartedly that you will never hurt me on purpose. I was being serious when I said that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Any accidental magic water contact or fire burnout or anything else doesn’t take away from the fact that I discovered this amazing person who I'll never let go.” Virgil’s fully crying now, sniffling and hitching his breath, but Roman places the now empty mug to the side and drapes the blankets on his shoulders over the back of his chair so he can stand and envelop Virgil in his arms. "It’s going to be okay. We can work this out.”

The heat is returning to Roman’s body, the drink warming him up from the inside and so Virgil’s touch doesn’t make him shiver as he continues to hold him close to his chest, only pulling away after some time to kiss his tears away and then connect their lips in something less enthusiastic but just as passionate as last night. Unspoken words hang in the air, ‘I'll protect you’, ‘I don’t want to let go’, ‘I will never leave you’.

Conversations about getting Virgil back into magic training so that he won’t overflow are yet to be had, but for now, all Virgil needs to know is that it’s going to be okay. And he trusts that it will be, deciding to take that terrifying leap of faith all for love.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #xavier's fanfiction #prinxiety #romantic prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #virgil angst #roman angst #ts virgil #ts roman #virgil x roman #roman x virgil #underestimatemethatwillbefun

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perspective-series · 5 years ago

Text

Meta Perspective (11)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Slight fear, arguing, and injury mention

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

————————————————————————————————–

Allison settled in the pocket, her head tilted so she was staring up. She...honestly couldn’t believe how everything had turned out. And why she had denied staying with Amanda. Well...that was probably because of the humans she barely knew. But she was just trading them for another set of humans.

She knew these humans would let her go home though. Hopefully without too much questioning. At least Amanda was okay...well, as okay as she could be with her leg like that.

“We’re home,” Roman announced aloud, closing the door behind them.

Logan reached into his pocket, carefully pulling Allison out into the light.

Allison tensed in the grip but did her best to not shake too much. When she was out, she looked between the two humans. “...Thank you for helping me. Even though Amanda didn’t really need any help.”

“Of course.” Roman gave a dramatic bow. “It was our pleasure to help a damsel in need.”

“Indeed.” Logan knelt on the ground, lowering his hand to the coffee table. “We would be happy to provide assistance any time.”

Allison hopped off. “Maybe…” She found herself saying, surprising herself. “But for now, I just want to go home. It’s been a...long day.” A long rollercoaster of a day and now that Allison knew things were okay, she was starting to feel the effect the day had left on her.

“No, of course! Completely understandable.” Roman jumped at the opportunity to reassure her, feeling excited by the possibility she might return.

“Would you like assistance getting home?” Logan asked. There was a pause before his next statement. “I am certain Roman would assist you.”

“Oh, uh, no. No, I’m okay.” Allison said, taking a step away from the humans. “Thanks but, I can get there on my own.”

“Very well then.” Logan gave a decisive nod.

“Do you have to go so soon?” Roman all but whined. “We could play another game! Or I’m certain you’re hungry.”

Allison just shook her head. “I’m fine. But thanks. Maybe I’ll uh...take you up on that later.” Maybe. Allison still didn’t know what to think about everything. “But I really should be heading home.” She headed toward the edge of the table, taking out her hook.

“...okay.” Roman plastered on a fake smile, trying not to show how deflated he felt. “See you later then, perhaps.”

Allison nodded and climbed down the side of the table. After gathering her hook, she headed under the couch and back into the walls. Away from the humans, she felt like she could actually breathe. She was drained and she honestly couldn’t wait to have a few hours to herself. She headed towards home.

“That was disappointing.” Roman groaned.

“Did you expect a different outcome?” Logan raised an eyebrow. “You forget, she’s not exactly fond of us.”

“No, she’s not fond of you.” Roman jabbed a finger into Logan’s chest. “You’re the one who screwed up my chances by being affiliated with you. I mean really, a jar?”

Logan said nothing, instead getting up to return to his studies.

“Oh, sure, now you’re just going to ignore me.” Roman rolled his eyes. “Try to act like you’re all high and mighty because you’re willing to sit in quiet, depressing contemplation. Well, guess what? I can just go where I’m wanted. I think there’s another borrower who I could befriend; one whose chances haven’t been ruined by my robot of a roommate.”

“By all means, leave.” Logan glared at Roman briefly over the edge of his glasses. “No one is stopping you.”

Roman paused, having clearly expected some sort of resistance. “...I will then.”

Making good on his word, Roman opened the front door, only to be greeted by a familiar face.

Virgil stood there, hand up to knock and briefly surprised the door was opened. But his face soon turned to a glare as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Heya Princey, going somewhere?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Roman leaned back warily, not liking the look on Virgil’s face. “...maybe?”

“He was traversing towards your apartment,” Logan called out from his spot in the armchair.

“Oh good, you’re here too.” Virgil let himself in, closing the door behind him and pulling Roman away from it. “Allison isn’t here, is she?”

“No, she just left, why?” Roman pulled his arm from Virgil’s grip, looking vaguely annoyed.

Logan closed his book, looking to Virgil expectantly. He had a hunch why Virgil was here.

“Good.” He wouldn’t have to worry about scaring her now. “Okay, let me start this off by asking, what the hell?” Virgil asked, once again glaring at his two friends.

“Hey, it was a fair assumption!” Roman raised his hands in defense. “All the context clues pointed to the possibility you two were kidnappers! Sorry to accuse you like that, but it had to be done.”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” Virgil said. “I don’t think Allison is in the best state of mind and I think you two are to blame for that.” Virgil turned to Logan. “You most of all, though. I mean, seriously, a jar?”

“That’s what I said,” Roman muttered.

“Yes, I am aware my actions were incorrect.” Logan sighed. “But perhaps I do not need to be berated thrice.”

“By the sounds of things you also ignored her for hours. Like, dude, who does that.” Virgil then whirled around to Roman. “And you. I don’t know exactly what you did but I know you’ve had to have done something.”

“Okay, I relent, we both ignored her pleas to be let go,” Roman admitted. “But only for a little while! We released her later in the day!”

“Hmm.” Virgil still had his eyes narrowed. “Still, I think the damage has been done.” Virgil had seen it with his own eyes. Unlike Amanda, who was more or less comfortable around him and Patton, Allison was more than skittish and afraid when it came to Logan and Roman. Though, mostly Logan.

“I know.” Roman sighed sadly. “That’s why I was going to go attempt to befriend Amanda instead.”

“Yeah...I don’t think so.” Virgil turned away. “At least, not yet.”

“Why not?” Roman raised an eyebrow. “Who made you in charge of Amanda’s friend repertoire?”

“No one, I’m just trying to look out for her. And she doesn’t need a grabby human while she’s trying to let her leg heal.” He tapped on Roman’s chest as he said this and then crossed his arms.

“I’m not grabby!” Roman clenched his hands. “...anymore.”

“Roman, it would be best if you leave her alone.” Logan advised. “We would not want to cause any more collateral damage.”

“Exactly, at least Logan gets it.” Virgil was glad Logan at least knew where he went wrong. Though why he did it in the first place he will never know. “Look...maybe eventually. Maybe if Allison comes back to you, then you can meet Amanda but I have a feeling Allison won’t be back.”

“That may be a sound assumption,” Logan admitted.

“Okay, no, that’s not fair.” Roman huffed. “For one, I can assure you that Allison will come back. She played games with us this morning; it was a whole thing! And for another, I’m beginning to suspect you’re not as nice a borrower companion as you say you are.”

Virgil glared. “We’re not here about me.” Virgil huffed and headed towards the door. “And if you’re so sure, then fine. If Allison comes back, you can meet Amanda. Until then, it’s best if you don’t disturb her.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Roman pointed an accusing finger at Virgil. “You’re making Amanda’s decision to meet us for her!”

“It does seem rather odd.” Logan murmured, standing up. “After all, from our encounters with Allison, it was made clear that our largest mistake was making assumptions on her behalf.”

“Look, I know Amanda. And I know she doesn’t need more humans in her life. Especially ones she doesn’t know if she can trust. You going to see her could just make things worse.” Virgil glared.

“Worse for whom, exactly?” Roman thought back to her injured leg. “It’s not like she’s going anywhere.”

“Exactly, so she doesn’t need people crowding her.” Virgil glared. “Look, I’ll admit I wasn’t the best at first either. But I’ve been forgiven and Amanda more or less trusts me. Has Allison ever forgiven the two of you yet?”

“Of course she has.” Roman scoffed. “She did come back to us, after all.”

“...she tolerates us,” Logan explained.

“It sounded like she only came back to you for help when she thought Amanda was in trouble.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t exactly call that forgiving you. More, doing what she thought she had to.”

“Oh, suddenly you know what it’s like inside Allison’s brain.” Roman rolled his eyes.

Virgil bunched his shoulders up. “Whatever, I’m leaving.” He opened the door. “Let me know if Allison comes back.” He said, before shutting the door behind him.

“Hey!” Roman swung the door open, following Virgil down the stairs. “You don’t get to storm off all dramatic like that!”

“Roman!” Logan called after him, not wanting his roommate to do something he might regret.

Virgil ignored them, rolling his eyes and he picked up the pace towards his apartment. He quickly slid inside and shut the door behind him.

Patton blinked. “Virgil! Is...something wrong?”

Virgil shook his head but kept his back on the door. “...No.”

“Open up, Virgil!” Roman called out, pounding on the door.

Amanda jumped, startled by the events as she sat watching from the coffee table. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Roman just things he can barge in here and try to be your friend,” Virgil said, keeping a hold on the door.

Patton blinked. “Virgil, is that where you went? To talk with them?”

“...Maybe.” Virgil admitted and Patton sighed.

“You can’t just keep them away Virgil, uh, unless…” He turned to Amanda. “Do you not want them here?” He asked her.

“Uh, well…” Amanda barely liked her own humans. She certainly didn’t want to deal with the hassle of adding several more to the mix. What if it got overwhelming?

“Come on, just let me talk to Amanda!” Roman pleaded through the door. “It’s not fair if you just declare these things, Dr. Gloom.”

“...what?” Amanda turned to Virgil, confused. “Declare what things?”

Virgil winced. “I-I just told them that it would be best for you if they didn’t come and see you. Isn’t that what you want? Not to be overwhelmed by so many humans.”

Patton groaned. “Virgil…”

“How do you know what I want?” Amanda narrowed her gaze. Didn’t she go off on Virgil about this exact same thing earlier? Had the human listened at all?

Virgil deflated at her look. “I-I was just trying to help you out,” Virgil said. “I mean, you said before you didn’t want other humans knowing about you. I just thought that...still applied here. Especially with how they treated your friend.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Amanda admitted, lessening her gaze. “I’m...sorry for doubting you, Virgil.” Maybe Virgil was alright after all, even if he could be a pain.

“Hello?” Roman knocked on the door again. “Anybody home?”

“Eh, it’s okay.” Virgil smiled, happy to still be on Amanda’s good side. Patton smiled at how cute it was but then was focused on Roman, still outside the door.

“Uh, but what about Roman?” He asked, looking over at Amanda again.

“I’ll tell him to leave, just say the word,” Virgil said.

“The word,” Amanda repeated, giving Virgil a thumbs-up.

Virgil nodded and turned around. “Sorry Roman, Amanda said beat it.” He said through the door.

Patton winced. “Virgil, you could be a bit nicer than that.” These were their friends they were talking to.

“...can I come back later?” Roman’s question had a hopeful tone.

Virgil blinked and looked to Amanda for the answer.

Amanda wrinkled up her nose, putting her thumb down.

“Nope,” Virgil answered Roman. “Now go home, Princey.”

There was a soft sigh on the other side of the door, the retreating sound of sluggish footsteps, and then Roman was gone.

“Thanks,” Amanda told Virgil. “He seemed a bit too eager for my taste.” Especially when, with her injuries, Amanda would have no way of avoiding such a human.

“No problem,” Virgil said with a smile but Patton was still looking at the door.

“I...I feel kind of bad.” Patton admitted.

“Why?” Amanda asked, looking up at Patton.

“I don’t know I just…” Patton rubbed the back of his neck. Virgil sighed.

“Patton is here is really empathetic. He just feels bad because he knows Roman is upset.”

“That’s silly.” Amanda raised an eyebrow. “After all, you’re not in charge of Roman’s emotions.”

“I know.” Patton sighed. “I just hate seeing people upset. Like, I get why you don’t want to see him. But...well, doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”

“A second chance? What?” Amanda looked more confused. “I don’t even know the guy. He hasn’t even had a first chance yet.”

“Well, I said second cause Allison was technically their first,” Patton explained. “And I don’t...feel like that went very well.”

“Me neither. She still seemed jumpy around them. Especially Logan, which makes sense considering he left her in a jar and ignored her for a few hours.” Virgil still couldn’t believe Logan had done that.

“Yeah, and why exactly would I want to hang around a human who made my best friend paranoid?” Amanda pointed out, shuddering in sympathy for Allison.

“No, I know. I understand, it’s just, they’re our friends, you know? Sure, they made a few mistakes but they aren’t bad people.” Patton said, trying to defend his friends.

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean they’re good borrower people,” Amanda argued.

“...I guess.” Patton said with a sigh.

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #au #borrowers #human!roman #human!logan #human!virgil #human!patton #borrower!amanda #borrower!allison #platonic #meta perspective #part 11

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roman-deserves-love · 6 years ago

Text

Go To Sleep Goddammit

Hey so @officialwaterfairy I'm your secrets santa for @marsupials-of-mars' SS. The cuddles aren't until like 2/3 of the way through I'm sorry.

~1.6k words

Pairings- Prinxiety(could be platonic? I guess?)

Triggers- none of the top of my head, food mention, lack of sleep I guess?

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There were two (2) things about himself that Virgil Calavera would go to any length to prevent his roommates from knowing.

1. His middle name. Keeping that a secret was easy enough, as driving made him too anxious to even consider doing something that would require him to show his driver’s license. He suspected Logan knew, mainly because what didn’t Logan know, and he was the one who talked to the landlord and filled out paperwork on the behalf of all four of them, and thereby most likely had seen a fair amount of Virgil’s records.

2. The dread fact that, when Virgil was extremely tired, he got, as loathe as he was to say it, affectionate. Capital ‘a’, capital ‘ffectionate’. Not in the verbally affectionate way, oh no, that would be too easy. Rather, when he was sleep-deprived, Virgil was like a cat. An alarmingly cuddly cat. That was more difficult to hide, as Virgil had an oh-so slight (though Patton would certainly contest that) tendency to not sleep.

Now, usually Virgil was aware of his tired self’s antics, and kept to his room when he hadn’t slept, though that may have also been because if he left he knew that Patton would find him, lecture him, and convince him to sleep with one of his Patton-tented (heh) Dad Looks™, and Virgil didn’t want the father figure to have to waste time parenting him.

Fortunately, on this particular night, Patton was out at work, as well as, to his knowledge, Logan and Roman. Knowing this, Virgil felt comfortable hauling himself away from where he had been editing his third draft for the last ten consecutive hours to stuff some sustenance in his food hole so his hunger pangs, which had been distracting him, to go away so he could retreat back to his room and keep revising. Of course, before he’d been editing his draft, he’d been writing it, which meant that over the last two and a half days, he’d gotten one, count it up, one, uno, one singular hour of sleep, so, as one could expect, he was really fucking tired.

Virgil slogged into the kitchen and opened the pantry, peering at the meager offerings it had to provide. A sandwich would require a measure of effort Virgil was unwilling to expend in his current state of exhaustion, so that was out. Was that a Pringles can? Yes, but it was tragically empty. Damn it, Remy. It’s not even your apartment. He glanced at the rest of the kitchen. The bowl full of fruit that Patton insisted on buying was empty, and from where he was standing, he could see a cereal box stuffed haphazardly into the trashcan, ruling out that as an option. For a kitchen stocked by two different parental figures and the most high maintenance person this side of the century, there was shockingly little. Whatever, coffee’ll stave off the hunger. Damn necessary bodily functions. Alas, they were also out of instant, and as stated, Virgil was not in the mood to put time into his food. He wanted something quick and lazy, like the damn millennial he was. A random-ass tumblr post popped into his head, something about water tricking the stomach into feeling full. Virgil privately thanked god for the internet, helping sleep-deprived writers work since whenever the hell the internet was created. Virgil didn’t give a shit, he just wanted to retreat back to his room, so he could work, and his editor would get off his ass about deadlines.

As he stepped away from the pantry, tearing his eyes away from the spot above the dust-gathering oven that he just now realized he’d been staring blankly at for the last minute, a decidedly unexpected voice sound came from the doorway between the living room and kitchen. “Fancy seeing you here, Johnny Depp-ressing. You’ve been in your lair for the last four days.”

Virgil grunted at the figure before him, before responding in a voice gravelly from disuse and lack of sleep. “First of all, Princey, don’t compare me to that asshole. Second of all, it’s been maybe three days since I came out. Maybe.”

The prince arched an eyebrow, his face displaying a look of… was that concern? Virgil had always assumed that Roman hated him, since all he ever did was give him insulting nicknames and mock his admittedly cliché style. Whatever, Virgil was too tired, and his deadlines were too close to bother with reflecting on the actions of the regal man still standing in the doorway. As he considered this, he didn’t notice Roman opening his mouth to speak again, snapping his fingers in the emo’s face “Virgil? You there? You’re staring at me.”

Virgil snapped back out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m good. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work,” He attempted to push past Princey back towards his room, ready to call this excursion a failure and get back to work. Instead, he bumped directly into Roman, who was now blocking Virgil from getting to the stairs, and thereby his room and his laptop. So, ignoring his tired lizard brain telling him how warm Roman was, he squinted up at the taller man and tried (operative word being ‘tried’) to push him out of the way. “Dude, let me through. I have shit to do, my revised draft is due in a week and I’m only through chapter five.”

Roman pushed him back gently, placing a hand on each shoulder and taking a good, long look at Virgil’s present state of dishevel. Virgil would never admit it, but his Lizard Brain™ pouted at being taken away from the heat. “You, you self-destructive storm cloud, are going nowhere except to bed. God, when was the last time you slept? You look dead, Virgil,” Virgil opened his mouth to protest that he was fine, that he had shit to do, but Roman beat him to it. “I am perfectly aware that you have work to do, J. K. Scowling, but if you push yourself you will burn out, I can promise you. If you won’t sleep, then at least do something besides write. I know I’m hardly one to talk about creating too much, but this isn’t healthy, Virgil.”

God, Roman clearly didn’t get how editing worked, but whatever. “Fine, but I’m going to my room. I’ll just scroll through Tumblr for a while or something,” Virgil fibbed, ducking out of Roman’s arms, and walking to the staircase. “Happy?”

Unfortunately, before he could get to the stairs, Roman grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Oh no you don’t, Goth Dun. If you go up to your room, you’ll just go back to work. You need a break, Virgil. I’m not making this up to annoy you, I’m trying to help, so just let me Goddammit!”

Virgil wrenched his arm out of Roman’s grasp and stalked over to the couch, crossing his arms like a petulant child as he sat. “Fine, Princey. I’ll take a break. If I can’t go to my room, what should I do? Twiddle my thumbs? Hunt for food that doesn’t exist?”

Roman displayed a grin that made Virgil wish he hadn’t said anything. “Why, Angstella McCartney, I thought you’d never ask!” Roman quickly walked over to the DVD case, humming to himself as he did so. After a minute of rummaging and awkward silence, Roman finally brandished a DVD in the air triumphantly. “Ah-ha! I knew the devil couldn’t hide from me!” He stood up and pivoted towards Virgil, still waving the disk. “Since you asked so nicely what you could do, I would propose that we watch a movie, so that I can ensure that Dad-vid Beckham doesn’t find you keeled over on your laptop because you, Sunshine, worked yourself to death. And for our viewing entertainment,” he turned and slid the disk into the video player, “A true classic- The Little Mermaid.”

Virgil groaned. He liked one (1) animated movie musical, and it was decidedly not the tale that Roman had decided was to keep him from ‘overworking himself’ and ‘keeling over’. Whatever. An hour or two couldn’t hurt too much, could it? And Roman was being far nicer than usual, and Virgil would hate to waste this window of kindness. “Fine, but I’m warning you, Brenin, if you start singing, I will yeet myself out the goddamn window.”

“Roger that, Calavera,” Roman plopped onto the couch besides Virgil and winked at him. (Winked? What the sweet Mary mother of fuck?) “I suppose not singing is a fair price to pay for keeping you out of the hospital.” And with that, he clicked on the movie and the pair spoke no more.

However, as Virgil sat, only half paying attention, his Lizard Brain slowly took over, and he no longer had the wherewithal to fight it. Slowly, slowly, he gradually shifted closer to Roman, who was totally absorbed in the movie, moving so subtly that he himself didn’t even notice until halfway through the movie, when he found himself close enough to hear his roommate’s breathing. Virgil found himself wondering what the worst thing that could happen would be if he were to scoot just a tad bit closer.

He was torn from his thoughts by a pressure around his shoulder. Roman had put an arm around him and was currently tugging Virgil into his side. At this point, Virgil made the wise, well-educated, well-thought-out decision to say, ‘Fuck it’ and leaned in, curling himself into Roman’s side and relaxing, and oh God Roman was so fucking warm, it was like sitting next to a heater, but who gave a fuck? Not him. He was warm, and his Tired Lizard Brain was happy, and Roman was carding his fingers through his hair, and Virgil was so fucking exhausted and so comfortable that when his eyes drifted shut, he didn’t bother stopping them.

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That's all, sorry if it's a little short

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