#nothing could stop him from conquering logan's heart

[mischievous-thunder]

Logan meets a psychotic murderer-kidnapper and eventually falls in love with him

[aftgficlibrary]

Are there any AUs where renison or lailalverez is the main pairing?

there are quite a few but here you go -maz

renison:

Before All I Heard Was Silence by moonqueerdom (T | 7,430 | 1/1)

Allison's eyes widened and her face burned immediately, spreading to her neck and the tips of her ears. "Oh my gosh, Renee," she lowered her face and covered it with her hands.

Renee chuckled. "She is beautiful when she blushes, ok noted."

"Oh my gosh, Walker, stop that," Allison's voice was too wobbly and high-pitched even for her own ears, and there was a grin threatening to pop on her lips.

~

About to disappear in the afterlife, Allison Reynolds meets Renee Walker, who was ready to change her life even after death.

Last Café by uberimmortal (M | 4,802 | 1/1)

Like every weekend for the past year, Renee finds herself on a Saturday morning in front of the Last Cafe. She takes a deep breath, key still in her hand, shivering from the autumn breeze as she tries to muster up some energy to open the door. The sun is just beginning to poke over the horizon, lighting up the city in a blue haze, not close enough to this side of the earth to provide any real warmth. One by one street lamps flicker until they turn off completely.

The Gracekeepers by wishbonetea (M | 112,116 | 20/20)

The sea has flooded the earth. Allison lives on a circus boat, floating between the scattered islands that remain and trading dazzling and death-defying feats for food from the islanders. Renee lives alone in a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean, with only the birds and fish for company. As penance for her past, she works as a gracekeeper, tending the graves of those who die at sea. A storm brings them together, but under clear skies they must part. When one of the Foxes goes missing, Renee joins to help. It’s meant to be a temporary escape, but Allison might be a reason to stay.

⁂

An AU of Kirsty Logan's The Gracekeepers.

she's got lips like wine not sugar by IzzyAguecheek (Not Rated | 8,561 | 1/1)

The coffee shop was mostly empty the first time Allison came in. It was too early for most people, specially on a Sunday, when most people didn’t have work and therefore didn’t need to stop by to grab a coffee to wake up. Allison, however, didn’t strike Renee as the type of girl to drink coffee before a shift at some boring company. She looked more like someone who had stayed up all night and now was trying to fight off a hangover with caffeine.

Dan was late, per usual, so Renee and Andrew were the only employees working. Andrew took one look at the car parked outside, right in front of the window, and firmly turned his back on the girl sitting at the corner booth.

“You take that one”, he decided.

(or: Renee works at a coffee shop, and, when Allison becomes a regular there, she is absolutely in love. It's just a Renison Coffee Shop AU.)

counting my blessings by quensty (T | 10,354 | 1/1)

The last letter is from Wymack.

Allison, it says. Forest Falls, California, has been having problems with a robber. Dan and Matt are too far, and Neil and Andrew are already working a job in Nevada. Get on it. -DW

“Motherfucker,” Allison says.

Real Gravity by loose_canon (T | 1,723 | 1/1)

RECORDED 04:08, PILGRIMAGE YEAR 1584 DAY 29

[begin message]

Hey, Mom. You’re probably watching this and thinking about how much you want to kick my ass right now. Well, my butt, because you don’t say words like “ass,” much less think them. Anyway, I know you’re mad at me. I’m the ungrateful daughter who hijacked an emergency pod and zipped off into space in the middle of the eclipse service like a dumbass—sorry, dumbbutt—with another girl because I just had to go and open myself to the spirit of lesbianism. I’m not gonna lie, I’m mad just like you are. Part of me wants to just say that the spirit is a good fucking time and be on my way. But I need you need to know that I’m losing something, too.

A sci-fi one shot: Allison leaves a final message for her mother after she and Renee escape the generation ship they grew up on.

On Dragon's Wings (Under the Blue) by tinystreetlamp  (T | 8,417 | 3/3)

For hundreds of years the six kingdoms coexisted in peace due to a magical contract that prevents violence between them. Ever since Allison's brother Jean was kidnapped by Riko she has wanted to lead her armies to war against the Island of Night, but the contract prevents her from doing so. When crown prince Nathaniel arrives and asks for sanctuary, Allison sees her chance to unite four of the kingdoms against Riko and rain down her vengeance upon him.

(How to seduce a pirate: drag her underwater unexpectedly)

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

vengeance and death by cthulu_sun (M | 2,446 | 1/1)

legend says you have wax-dipped wings and golden fingernails and knives made of the blood you have spilled. legend says you are not merciful.

-

in which renee is a tired guardian angel, finds the foxes, and falls in love.

a hundred jewels on throats by ghvsts (T | 3,226 | 1/1)

"have you seen the goddess from the seafoam," they whisper, "she is more beautiful than anything."

(in which seth is ares, renee is persephone, and allison has had enough)

fabrication of a grand scheme by cloudghost (T | 13,787 | 1/1)

Renee was silent for a while. Then, finally, she said, “I want to try going outside.”

“I thought you were scared.”

She hummed her assent. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it.”

Since that was basically the philosophy Allison lived by, she nodded. Renee turned back around and met Allison’s gaze. In that moment, Renee looked unbreakable and unshakeable, like nothing that ended up in her way could ever stop her for long. Allison shivered.

Love You a Latte by ceilingfan5 (G | 8,465 | 1/1)

Allison's favorite barista is adorable Renee, so when she gets the news that she has to go on a terrible family vacation and bring an "appropriate plus-one", she decides to finally get herself uninvited from the rest of those events for all eternity. She and Renee go together, pretending to be a very much in love couple, stir shit up, and leave a lot closer than they ever expected. (Obviously they fall in love.) Allison may say "I decided love was fake a long time ago and it’d take a miracle to change my mind now,” but if anyone can be a miracle worker, it's Renee.

say you'll never harden to the world by orphan_account (T | 10,300 | 1/1)

Of course it’s when the knife finally doesn’t feel awkward in her hand anymore that Allison shows up.

Instead of the relaxed way she usually holds her wings, they’re pulled taut behind her back. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and there’s a decidedly not pleased look on her face.

“Hey,” Natalie says, not interrupting the sequence of stabbing moves she’s been practicing. She has no time for the way seeing Allison makes her feel.

Safe – a joke. Not alone – Allison might not even be real. Cared about – impossible.

Those kinds of emotions aren’t meant for someone like her in the first place, and she’s not going to indulge them.

give me shelter or show me heart by hondayota (Not Rated | 4,720 | 3/3)

Renee had always thought of hope as a feeling, something she scraped out of her insides when she had nothing else to hold onto, but over the past months, hope had ceased to be a feeling and had become synonymous with Allison Reynolds.

or

the renison zombie au no one asked for

or

renee and allison are hella gay even when there's zombies

laila/alvarez:

It's Called Fashion Hunty. Look it up. by theKristastrophe (T | 15,440 | 8/8)

Sara works for a company that she doesn't hate but doesn't love either. So she sits at the bar with her two other best friends and tries to get through the work week.

When a fresh lawyer stumbles into thier weekly Rant Club, Sara knows she's in for a wild ride.

Featuring gratious eyerolling, snark, and everyone's favorite Foxes.

Buckle up kiddies. It's time to Sashay, Sashay, Sashay...

Come Close by tinystreetlamp (T | 10,932 | 1/1)

Sometime around 200 BC in Ancient Greece, in a world where the greek gods are real, Laila is a warrior from Sparta. During her first visit to Athens she meets not only Jeremy of Troy but also falls head over heels in love with Sara, a daughter of Apollo and local poet. But Sara is cursed, and soon the three cross the Mediterranean on a quest to break the curse and save Sara.

Sara means Sun by tinystreetlamp (M | 27,739 | 8/8)

Five years ago, ships with black and red sails appeared on the horizon and wiped out all of the royal family - except one. The Raven King conquered Coralia and is doing everything he can to stay in power. Jeremy of Troia, the rightful heir to his kingdom, has been in hiding for the past five years, but he found something worth fighting for.

Laila, an Elven Warrior and Jeremy's best friend, will do anything to protect him. Meeting a cute stranger isn't going to change that.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

[kanene-yaaay]

No Moving

Kanene’s note: One year ago I threw a surprise party (very small and cozy) in my house and, after some hours, one of mah friends suggested we played some old games from our childhood and I remember my first thought was “Hey, no. We’re not children anymore.” but I said nothing because that sounded a lot like what society would want me to say. We played. And that was one of the best days I’ve ever had. Good enough to give me inspiration for this fanfic. With a lot of chaos and dorky sides and chaos and tickles!!! So I'm giving this to myself as a gift, because, ya know... S e r o t o n i n! Soooo, the lesson? Idk. Be feral, do chaos, play and f**k the society, I guess. Happy day for us all!!! :DD

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* This is Ler!Roman and Ler!Virgil with Lee!Logan and Lee!Patton. Around 3.700 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Eu vou traduzir ainda ;w;. Thank you so so so much for being with me through all this crazy and difficult year. It’s been a bless to have all of you in my notes, my askys, and my notifications! Take care of yourself, lollipop, you deserve. <33

[~*~]

It was a sunny day. The heat from the biggest star of our solar system being placated by a relaxing wind incessantly throwing the napkins from the so careful, yet messy – as if this wasn’t a tradition the quartet repeated affectionately every single year – decorated table. The friends positioned themselves around it. The surprise party’s rush being already over after all their screaming, singing, eating and bickering, leaving the four to lazily chat or stare the breeze carrying lonely flowers around Virgil’s – the one who offered his house as a sacrifice to the chaos - yard, making them float in the air for some seconds before forgetting them on the dirt again.

Virgil snored softly from the spot he conquered on the tabletop, taking a peaceful nap. Patton was saying, in the fastest pattern he could muster, all the dad jokes his brain managed to think only to see how much time Logan would continue to give him the silent treatment before finally – and figuratively, the owner of the only brain cell of their group would say if he heard this narrative, - exploded and Roman? 

Well, Roman was bored.

“I HAVE AN IDEA!!”

Then he slammed his hands on the top of the wooden object, successfully scaring Virgil out of it and of his sleeping – leading the poor adult to fall. Not before kicking a cup in Roman’s direction, his moves being weakened enough by his fogged brain so he missed it and hit Roman’s carefully manicured hands, instead, – at the same Patton, by reflex, slapped the two poor persons who had the bad luck of sitting next to him. He gathered the perfect timing to interrupt Logan’s scared jump by his confused ‘Why did- why- Why did you hit ME?’ sputtering.

“Ow.” The one in red shirt held protectively his arm and hand next to his chest, protesting with his usual offended noises as analyzed the light red spots on them and purposely ignored the ‘What the FUCK, Princey??’ shouted by the host. “Ow. O-w. Are you guys seriously going to hit me every time I try to make your poor lifes better, your barbarians? You know what? I am offended. Your peasants. I am going to get my dear Amanda the katana and then I am- I am out.” 

Logan deadpanned in his direction, lifting one of his eyebrows in his disbelief expression as the other didn’t give a single step to the exit. He did his best to maintain the façade as Patton fuzzed over him, hugging and apologizing and hugging and softly petting his head and offering cake before gasping and turning around to fuzz now over Roman. “… Okay. I am taking Patton with me.”

“Over my dead, haunted body.” Virgil quickly proclaimed before his tune got slurred, very much likely still sleepy. “I saw…” He balanced his hands in front of him, eyes wide and hair spiked, very much reminding of a scared cat. “I saw the angel of death, in all his tall dark, cold aura. In front of me. He was right before me, full of-” He moved his hands more, as if that compensated for his lack of words. “Emo.”

“…Thanatos?” Logan pointed.

“Yeah, yeah. That guy.” Virgil came back to his initial position laying down on the cold surface, yawing. “Totally emo.”

“Actually, when he was created-”

“Excuse me. Focus, focus!” The one who initiated the commotion snapped his fingers until all the eyes were fixated on him, glares traveling from interested to unimpressed. “My brilliant idea? That will light up this party and hearts? Drum the drums!” Silence. He turned to Patton, who was staring at a cute butterfly mindless flying around. “Patton! The drums!” The one wearing black rims seemed to come back to reality, drumming his fingers on the table. “Very well!” Roman spun, extending the suspense. Logan came back to scrolling on his phone, Virgil getting closer to take a look, both hiding a smirk when heard the pout in Roman’s tune. “You’re all jerks and boring. Let’s play S.T.O.P!”

That caught their attention.

“Roman, you are…” Logan talked slowly, as if trying to make his words as clear as possible, “aware that we’re adults now, right?”

“Aw, come on, guys!” Patton jolted upright. “Sounds fun! And I think Virgil’s yard is bigger enough to make it even better than when we played in middle school!”

“Exactly! And it was one of your favorites games when you were younger, remember, Specs? I think it’s a good way to celebrate that special date which is your birthday!” Logan scoffed at that, albeit his mind was somewhere else. 

Roman wasn’t wrong, he really used to love this game, especially because he was good at it. His love for sports was often ignored by most of his classmates because of his good grades – Logan never understood why one thing would exclude other – therefore he was constantly forgotten in the team or even underestimated. Two things extremely crucial in a game like this. Roman noticed his contemplating face. “I mean, except you are afraid of losing. Again.” 

“I did not lose! Kyle fell on me and he was the only one supposed to be out and not both of us and you. Know. It!”

“No, no, no! Claire said you were the one who tripped on your way and then YOU fell on Kyle-”

“That is nonsense! If Claire had stopped just one second her Dance of Victory, she would be able to see that, by the angle we both were on the ground there was no way I would be able to-”

“Oh, plu-e-ase. You are just a sore los-”

“What is this game?” Virgil questioned Patton, both letting the bickering fall on the background, who smiled widely, his gaze unfocusing a bit, probably watching some old memories of his childhood.

“It is a very simple but fun game!! One person stays next to a wall and, oh! We call him the Looker by the way! Or even some large thing and the others players stay the most away from him as possible. The person next to the wall has to count until a certain number of his choice and while he is counting everyone is free to wander around the place until he turns around, then every player has to freeze on the same spot and position they were. If you move and the Looker catches you, you’re out. You win if you touch the wall where he was. You can do everything you want as long the Looker is not staring at you.

“There was that one kid who managed to win the game by climbing a tree until he was close enough to jump from it and run to the wall before the Looker shouted he was out.” The one wearing two party hats as ‘cat hears’ stopped to breath. “Ah! Ah! Also! If you’re out you can choose to just watch the game or become the Looker’s partner and try to help him. Roman and Logan used to be the worst ever when together.” He giggled, sounding a bit hysteric.

“Hm. I think they used to call this ‘10 Seconds’ in my school, since you could count only further than 10 seconds.” Virgil then frowned. “Wait, why were they the worst?”

“Uhh, so, you see, the Lookers can use some… attics to try to make you move. Logan and Roman usually choose to-”

“I do NOT wish to participate.” Logan stated, crossing his arms stubbornly. Roman sighed. 

“Well, you do you.” Roman then traveled his glare to the others two. “Are you guys coming? I’m the Looker.”

“I’m in!!” Patton excitedly got up, joggling his way to the yard, casting a slightly worried look at Logan, who was adjusting his chair in order to have a better view of the game. Virgil shrugged, taking off his hoodie and following them, quickly throwing a ‘You ok?’ as he passed next to the most professional of the group.

“Yes.” He deeply breathed, sounding calmer. “Yes, I am.” And then give him a bite of a smile. 

Roman positioned himself before the colorful three foot tall concrete tunnel forgotten there by the last owner, barely catching with the corner of his field view his two friends whispering something to each other, the one wearing two party hats snickering behind his hand, bouncing as also choose a good position far away from him, who tried to not think much about what he just presented. A suspicious feeling crawled the back of his neck.

“Go.” Logan pronounced. 

“Oneeeee, twooo, three, fourfivesixseveneight,” Roman turned away from them, counting in a tune just above a whisper. Patton and Virgil exchanged glances.

When he got at twenty, he turned. 

Only to find Virgil laid on the grass, his arm extended to point something in the sky, Patton crouched by his side, his face firm in a puzzled expression staring in the same direction, hand above his eyes to block the Sun. Roman frowned in confusion, the curiosity tickling the back of his brain until he succumbed to it, also looking at the sky to - surprise, surprise! – find absolutely nothing!

By the time he stared at them again Patton now was in front of Virgil, both making what seemed like a very horrible parody of The Creation of Adam painting. Roman got closer, managing to clearly see the smug smile on Virgil’s face and Patton wobbly lips, very much likely holding laughter. He crossed his arms, staying stubbornly for some seconds before giving up, seeing that none of them moved a single millimeter. 

“You two are so funny.” Roman rolled his eyes, sarcasm dropping from each word. Logan snorted.

This time the Looker counted at only fifteen seconds.

This time Patton was in Virgil’s arms when he turned, one leg suspended dramatically in the air. The third time Roman growled loudly as Virgil was on one knee, pretending to propose to Patton who was frozen in the middle of his faint. In the fourth he didn’t even have the chance to turn before two hands tased his sides, making his knees buckle but being held in the same place when a pair of arms that hugged him from behind, capturing the poor adult in a flow of high-pitched squeaks and surprised laughter at each squeeze and spidering deposited just above his hips. 

Some minutes later soft snorts followed him to the ground when he was finally freed, flames running on his face and his arms firmly pressed at his sides, the ghost tickles leading to a sea of giggles dancing in the air.

“Enough.” Logan cut the moment, all the eyes on him when he got up, stretching and loosening his party tie. The Looker recomposed himself in order to sneak pokes and squeezes on the other two, who quickly dashed their way back to the yard. “You both clearly aren’t taking this seriously enough.” A dangerous gleam took over his eyes, staring intently to Roman, who instantly got the same kind of shine in his own glare, nodding in his direction. Both too much preoccupied to notice Virgil and Patton silently high fiving in the distance.

The game started again, now a very different electricity dancing in the air. Logan sensed an old feeling of nostalgia resting on his back as he analyzed the place and his opponents as things went by. Roman turned for at least three times – the perfect number for things to get really interesting, - before he decided to finally move from his place.

Silent steps, he went right to Patton. Logan breathed in relief, taking the opportunity to adjust his strategic position half behind the tree. Patton kept a pattern of switching from moving too fast in a round and then barely taking a step in the other, however, as Roman stopped before him, and for the way he soundless snickered as The Looker changed his target to Virgil, his weakness was still holding his laughter when stared for long periods of time.

Virgil was sitting on the grass. Again. A very good tactic when you tend to fidget or tremble a lot. He would stay in the same position for some rounds until in an explosion of energy dash forward when Roman wasn’t paying attention. The Looker crouched in front of him, his index finger pointing and almost touching his nose.

“You. I don’t trust you.”

And then there was Logan.

“You,” Roman stared in distance – not because of fear pffff of course not - Logan’s form half hidden by the foliage and trunk of the medium tree, his glass making his eyes gleam in a light even more enhanced due the shadow provided by the plant, the rest of his face being partially hidden because of his bangs falling on his features. “are fucking creepy. Stop.”

In the next round Patton gave everyone a heart attack when he screamed since he didn’t heard/saw Logan approaching his spot. Two more rounds. Virgil sneezed and lost his balance in a not very ideal mid-run position. Out.

“Oh, thank gracious, great goodness!! Come here, Knight Mare!! I have an idea!!” Virgil barely had time to stop swearing for losing before being recruited by Roman, who immediately began to whisper in his ear.

 “What do you think they’re talking about?” Patton asked, both being close enough for the question doesn’t need to be spoken above a murmur.

“Not a good thing for us both, I am sure.” In that moment The Lookers turned and a cold shiver ran Logan who, for the way Patton trembled, wasn’t the only one. Adrenaline started pulsing on his veins when they approached, although the birthday person had no idea of why. His old memories too much buried under newer ones for him to catch them.

“Nooohoho.” The cat lover whined and the fact Roman clearly saw that but did nothing to point it, his only reaction being to expand his grin, worsened Logan fears, a ray of recognition finally shining on his mind. That should be how karma feels.

“Look at you both, just standing right there, not being allowed to move an only single inch. What a sad fate, don’t you think, Princey?”

“Oh, absolutely, emo. A horrible, wondrous thing, indeed. But you know what that would be perfect for?” Roman now was just a few centimeters away, the infinitesimal distance being cut when he inclined forward, his breath tickling Patton’s – Poor Patton – ear. “Revenge. You know, Pattycake, Hot Topic here told me the previous attack on my amazing person was your idea. And now that I stop to think, what a wonderful idea, don’t you think, Pat-pat?”

Virgil pulled lightly Roman’s shoulder, sensing the other about to crack but yet having too much fun to end this all so early. “But not now. No touching, right?”

“Oh, right, right. Of course, no touching!” He wiggled his fingers, barely away from the poor target’s ribs, his cheeks already beginning to get pink from blush. “No touching, no touching, no touching, but, most important than anything else: no. moving.”

“Oh, yeah.” Virgil took the opportunity to walk around, stopping right behind Patton, who firmly closed his eyes, the smile he carried getting bigger. “Because the exact, very moment when you can’t take the teases anymore so you break and move?” He tsked. “Then all your protection will be over and you will be all helpless and vulnerable for us to tickle,” He almost purred the words, in the slowest way possible. “tickle, tickle, tickle for hours and hours. Can you imagine that, Popstar? Our fingers prodding and squeezing and tickling every single ticklish spot they find?”

“Ohoho.” Roman evil laughed. “Tickle spots? My Dear Imbalanced Romance, our pipsqueak here doesn’t have any tickle spots. He IS a tickle spot. Ah! I can almost hear his hysteric high-pitched squeaks and giggles! Such an adorable, beautiful, cute melody to my ears. Actually, I don’t know if I will ever be able to stop, Virgil. It’s just all too beautiful and intoxicating, you know?”

“Mm hm,” The other seemed to stop to think. Patton felt like he was going to melt at any moment. “Well, we could always just keep going forever.”

“Of course!” Roman again ignored the slight trembling of the cat lover’s chest, probably due all the giggles trapped there. “Don’t you think it will be wonderful and oh, so, so fun, cutiepants? Receiving all the tickles and nuzzles and raspberries and tickle hugs and tickly butterfly kisses forever and ever and ever? ~” He sing-song the last part.

“But,” Logan almost jumped in the same place, not even realizing how much keyed up he was before Virgil’s breath attacked the back of his defenseless neck. Suddenly all his nerves were hype-aware that he couldn’t turn around or run or even rub away the tingles. Goosebumps ran freely across his spine. “Let’s not forget about our so sensitive nerd here too, right?”

“Sure. Sensitive.” If he didn’t know Roman for all these years, Logan would almost swear he was the Cheshire cat, his smirk almost blocking Patton who hugged himself behind him, giggling quietly. “Because the serious, smart, professional Logan would never be ticklish, right? That is such a childish thing and he definitely, definitely outgrow it for now.”

“Yup. I am sure that, if we slowly and thoroughly spider our fingers all the way up from his sides to his armpits, being sure to give each and every rib a special attention since we don’t want to let anyone feeling left out, there will be no reaction.”

“Absolutely! No reaction at all! Not even if we squeeze the hollows of his hips, or scribble on his already quivering tummy, or massage his shoulder blades or lightly, almost not touching, scratch his armpits… It will be all in vain since our birthday boy is not ticklish.”

“Which means: No wheezy, frantic laughter.”

“Or sputtering among his squeals.” 

“Or cute snorts. Don’t forget the snorts.”

“And what about when the snorts get mixed with his belly laughter?”

“Ohh, that is some good shit you have there.”

Logan was dying. He was fucking dying and the only thin line keeping him alive was his stubborn nature. He could already feel his barrier cracking and crumbling right before him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, only to find both Lookers walking away back to the tunnels, not taking long before starting to count, this time out loud. The one with the, now freaking out, braincell began to snap his fingers non stop, trying to get away some of the built excited energy, some titters escaping from his lips during his happy stimming.

Roman and Virgil looked at each other and then the adorable scene right in front of them, deciding to have mercy and wait patiently for Logan and Patton – who yet didn’t stop giggling and hugging himself – to calm down.

(…)

One. Move.

And in the next second, they both were tackled on the ground.

“No, no, no!!! No!!” Patton was already giggling, trying to run from Roman’s firm hug, attacking with squeezes and scribbles in every spot he succeeded to research on the Looker as he also tried to escape from his friends’ hands attempting to hold him in the same place. “Wait, wait!” He cried, barely catching a glimpse of Logan’s trashing before an idea popped in his mind. “If we all gang up on Logan, I will tell about his secret tickle spot!!”

“Patton!!” Logan’s protest came out difficulty between his tight grin due his constant effort in trying to buckle Virgil from him, both struggling to immobilize the other and playfully rolling in the grass. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Pffft.” Roman said, a happy cry following his sentence when he finally managed to hold one of Patton’s hands, intertwining their fingers so the cat lover wouldn’t try to pry it away. “Nonsense, I know his tickle spots.”  

“Not all of them. ~”

“Patton, I am to going not figuratively end you. Get OFF, Virgil-”

“In your dreams.” He crackled. “Also, Patton, I’m listening.”

“Virgil! Don’t align with the enemy! And, of course I know all of them!”

“Even the one…”

“Patton, no! Stop!” Roman even if concentrated in tickling Patton’s knee so he could sit on his legs, got the slight tremble in Logan's voice, his curiosity one more time starting to take over his brain.

“Sorrey, sorrey, Lo! You know I love you but-”

“Patton, please.” Logan almost smiled as he fought his way to hug and trap Virgil from behind, but losing his balance as the other quickly turned and delivered a raspberry on his neck and quick squeezes on his left thigh. “dON’T!! I-I am going to bakeEEK - Fuck! - you a whole batch of cookies if you don’t tell them!”

Roman caught in the offer, his curiosity immediately perking up, answering in a bat:

“I’m going to tickle you both to pieces if you don’t tell us now.”

“Sorrey, Logan,” Patton tried to sound apologetic, but his excited smile made this task more difficult. “it’s you or me.”

“I’m going to tell them about your calves!” Logan threatened at the same time Patton said “It’s his lower back!”

“TRAITOR!” Both also shouted in synchrony. In a blink of eye Roman let Patton go and helped Virgil to make the most serious one of the group lay down on his stomach.

“I despise you all.” The aforementioned pronounced.

“Aww. Come on.” Virgil lowered, searching the other’s eyes, grinning. “Aren’t you enjoying the view?”

“400.000 years of evolution for humanity to become this. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“You know, talking like this makes me think you don’t want us to give you your so dearly craved birthday tickles, Pocket Protector!”

The three of them stared at the other, looking carefully for any slight indication that Logan was truly uncomfortable with the situation, receiving as response only a scoff, the blush painting his face as a whispered mumble flew from his mouth.

“You’re so cute!” Patton squealed, giving a light tickly kiss on the back of his neck, leading the attacked to suppress a small giggle which progressively got louder as the cat lover tickled his armpits, Roman and Virgil seeing unfazed by Logan’s squirming. “Okay, okay. You have to tickle his lower back but starting with reeeeeally slow scratches at his sides before speeding it to the fastest scribbling you can muster as you move to his spine!”

Logan hid his hot face behind his hands, the yelps and snorts already escaping between his fingers. He was, objectively, going to love every single second of this.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Nineteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, one and all! I hope your day is going well. Tagging @anonymouscosmos​, @culturalrebel​, @mercy-and-malice​, @deepkittycollecto​, @nelba​, @mechanicalism​ and @commandershepardshtole. Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

Part Seventeen: Preparations

Part Eighteen: Divide And Conquer

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains distressing flashbacks, gratuitous violence and extreme emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Paladin Logan Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, had never really considered that he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed. Oh certainly, he had heard many a 'Paladin Dense' joke in his time with the Brotherhood; his name made it far too simple to engage in semi-witty wordplay.

  Here and now though, facing down seven coursers with nothing except his laser rifle and power armor, he was beginning to slightly... slightly doubt his own intelligence. 

  The first courser was managed easily enough, rushing him in a suicidal dash. Danse blew their head off without missing a beat, continuing his march forward. The worst part of it all was the silent hatred he felt radiating from the coursers, like a thick miasma of ill will. He wondered pointlessly whether this was how he would meet his end. Trapped in the sterile halls of the Institute, torn apart by this rabid crew of synth hunters.

  "I escaped from you all before, if your records are accurate." The paladin snarled as two of the coursers vanished into thin air. "I doubt any of you would recall. I myself do not recall much of this place."

  The spinal recalibration chair crouched in the center of the white room, needles gleaming in the brilliant light--

  A laser pinged! off his chest plating and Danse bared his teeth, taking another step forward. "I know all of your weaknesses, every last one of them. You might as well give up and face Commonwealth justice." He advised them sternly, brandishing his laser rifle in further threat. 

  "Forget about him, go and find Vega!" One of the cloaked coursers spat from somewhere behind Danse's back. "Father wants her dea--" The paladin pulled a sharp turn, putting a laser bolt directly through the invisible courser's skull with... alarmingly precise accuracy. Of course, that may have been their tactic to begin with. A body crashed against his back and Danse heard the tell-tale alert beep of an unmounted fusion core.

  "A Brotherhood soldier is nothing without their power armor." The third courser taunted while Danse slowed under the ponderous weight of his armor. However, the courser's confidence was short-lived as the paladin used the little momentum he did have to instead fall backwards, crushing the synth beneath the massive frame of his armor. 

  The fusion core clattered and spun just out of reach on the floor, but Danse didn't even have the time to think about moving to grab it before two coursers were on him. Gloved hands clawed at his helmet; a fist slammed into the side of the metal with a resounding impact. Thank Steel the gorget seal held, and Danse managed to move his arm quickly enough to batter one of the coursers away with the sheer bulk of the gauntlet alone. The courser crashed into the wall and slumped to the ground, lifeless.

  Danse frantically tried to count in his head, tried to recall how many coursers he still had to manage. He could barely move, already stringing himself along on little but adrenaline and the promise of seeing the sun again. How many hours had they been down here? It seemed like an eternity.

  What would the EMP do to him? God, should he even risk it? 

  The paladin dragged himself up onto one knee, scrabbling at his waist for the grenade while that other courser seized the back of his helmet and ripped it off. The crackle of his mouthpiece dislodging itself from the helmet to dangle limp over his gorget seemed almost too loud.

  Danse pulled the pin on the EMP as the square barrel of a laser rifle buried itself beside his ear, and his world went white.

  …

  The smooth, cool surface of the floor that his cheek rested on was the only thing he could feel. 

  - No! Voice cracking, screaming as he was wrestled down into the chair by the scientists, needles punching through his skin until the largest caliber ground into the nape of his neck please don't please don't -

  - No! Cutler shrieking, misshapen green flesh pouring out around the strangling confines of his armor, his eyes gone mad but it's still him it's still him I can't -

  - No! Elizabeth collapsing on top of him, the heat of her blood soaking through his shirt, her whole body thrown between he and Maxson no no no no NO -

  Danse noticed, with a sense of detached horror, that his heart appeared to have stopped. The lack of pulse rang in his ears, one agonal gasp crushed his chest and then another rattled his body while everything in him fought to inhale. His consciousness was fading, flickering out like a candle in a gale as his rate of respiration continued to plummet.

  Elizabeth, I'm so sorry .

  His eyes were heavy, gritty with exhaustion. He should sleep. Just for a moment. 

  "- anse? Danse! Paladin Danse!"

  Someone was yelling his name, and another voice that was closer shouted, "Open fire on the courser! Advance to secure the paladin!"

  Suddenly, his heart shuddered to life, his pulse returning with a vengeance that seemed like it would deafen him. Danse heaved in a gasp of air, wheezing, body awash with clammy sweat as he tried to turn his head. Nausea sent his stomach rolling at the motion and a headache throbbed behind his eyes but he was alive --

  Boots on the floor beside his head, someone standing over his body. "Grab his core and plug it back in! We need to get out of here!" Minutemen, Minutemen . It was Delta squadron doing their final sweep. Muskets roared overhead like death from above, the cacophony serving to further deafen the battered paladin. 

  He forced himself up onto his left elbow so that one of the Minutemen could slam the fusion core home in his back plating. The servos in Danse's armor creaked and groaned once more, and the paladin rose with relative ease. 

  "Our egress has been secured, sir!" A young soldier informed him loudly, her cheek smeared with the blood that trickled from her left ear. 

  Danse, still queasy and unsteady after his near death experience ( had he technically died? Did synths die? ), simply nodded and reached to accept his helmet from another Minuteman. 

  A laser bolt cracked! off the side of the helmet and the Minuteman dropped it in surprise. Danse lurched around, hauling up his gauntlet to shield his head from the next bolt that came. His free hand shot out of its own volition and he grabbed... something , slamming it back against the wall with all his strength 

  The courser flickered into view, Danse's gauntlet wrapped around his throat. The paladin almost wanted to wonder at his good fortune, but then the synth simply evaporated out of his grasp. " Dammit , his emergency relay." Danse swore hoarsely.

  "Sir, we don't have time. The reactor is due to go at any second!" The armored man was all but dragged along, pushed and herded by the soldiers around him. His heart kept skipping beats, leaving him breathless and lightheaded as he struggled to keep up with his battalion.

  "What news do we have of General Vega?" He yelled to anyone that would answer him. The shot from the courser had entirely destroyed what was left of the two-way transmitter in his helmet, rendering him unable to communicate with their main forces.

  "No news, sir! Alpha squadron has already pulled out! We have reports from squadrons Echo, Foxtrot and Golf that synths have been sighted relaying in to their respective territories!" One of the soldiers replied, his tones clipped to be heard over the sound of the cabal's battle-rattle. "No word from Beta squadron on casualties yet, and Charlie is still waiting on us as of two minutes ago!"

  The paladin cursed under his breath, his step hitching and nearly causing him to fall. Elizabeth, please , please be alive! He wasn't sure who he was praying to, or even why the hell he was bothering. He should have known better than to think his foolhardy plan to secure her escape would work.

  Back through the old robotics area they stormed, everyone moving doubletime at this point. Alarms blaring overhead, PA system calmly announcing their fast-diminishing window to flee. Blood trickled down into his eyes from somewhere up on his scalp, stinging badly enough to briefly take Danse's mind off of his other injuries.

  The door at the top of the stairs was wide open, and Danse's relief was crippling when he spied Sturges still at the control panel. The engineer whooped upon seeing the ragged group of men and women. "First in, last out! Now let's get the hell outta' here!" He shouted, waving the soldiers into the relay area. "We only got a minute or so until the whole place goes!"

  Danse opened his mouth to ask whether Sturges had already transported Vega, but he was too late. Blue-white energy crackled and fizzled around him and the next thing he knew, he was being unceremoniously deposited on the ground in the shadow of the Prydwen.

  …

  "General, it's time." Preston said quietly. Backhand stared off into the distance, every fresh crackle of radio static making her heart drop. "We have to get this done. It needs to be finished," he continued when she stayed silent. "If you can't push it, that's fine. I know we did our best." 

  Reports had come in left and right that synths were being sighted across the Commonwealth, emergency relays dropping them in the most random of places. Every squadron had been accounted for, aside from Delta and Charlie. 

  "Did we do the right thing, Preston?" Backhand breathed. "Just think of all the good -"

  "I don't think we'll ever know for certain, General. That's the reality of these kinds of scenarios. But you don't need me to tell you that." Preston interjected, his practical words shoring up her limited resolve. "You want me to do this?"

  Vega closed her eyes, nodding rapidly. She heard the rustle of that outrageous coat, and a moment later there was the soft click of the charge being armed. 

  "It's done, General."

  "Thank you, Preston." Vega sank down on the rooftop, tugging her knees into her chest and burying her face in them. The distant explosion tore a sob from her throat and as the Institute collapsed in on itself, General Vega dissolved into tears.

  It felt like an eternity before Preston coaxed her to her feet, the lieutenant pressing his canteen into her hands. "Drink." He urged, his own eyes less than dry. " Drink , General. You're gonna' be okay. We'll get back to the Prydwen, back to your son. It'll all be just fine."

  "I know." Vega mumbled through a mouthful of stale water, doing her best to ignore the plume of smoke that rose in the distance. "I'm okay, I promise. It's just a lot. I'm okay." She tried to assure Preston, huffing at his watery chuckle.

  "No, you're not. You're exhausted and busted up and scared. This is a hell of a thing we've done, you've done. It's okay to be overwhelmed." Preston reasoned, grimacing. "We've got a decent walk back, if you need to talk."

  "What about you , though? How are you holding up?"

  "I'm not sure if it's real yet." Preston admitted. "It'll take some getting used to. But...I'm glad to know that we don't have to fear the Institute anymore."

  His lapel radio crackled, Pride squadron requesting verification on successful detonation.

  "Relay our message to the Castle: mission accomplished, the Institute has been leveled. I repeat, mission accomplished." Preston replied into the handset, seeming a little shell-shocked at being able to say the words.

  Mission accomplished .

  Backhand sniffled, a new wave of emotion threatening to send her spiraling yet again. 

  Shaun . The synthetic child. A child. A son . A second chance that she didn't deserve.

  She fished the holotape he had given her out of her pocket, slotting it into her Pip Boy after a momentary struggle. To her shock, it was Father's voice that issued from the speaker.

  " If you are hearing this, then whatever conflicts you and I have endured are over… "

  …

  Danse wandered across the airport tarmac, some distant part of him aware that he was in a state of shock. He had dropped his helmet. Where, he couldn't say. His head was still bleeding and he was certain that other areas of his body needed medical attention, but he couldn't seem to get himself to stop searching the area for Elizabeth.

  He hadn't seen her, the child or that courser that had warned them of the ambush. His heart sank as he wondered whether the synth had simply been a tool to get him out of the way, separating the paladin from Vega.

  Why had Vega parted from Alpha squadron in the first place? Oh surely, he knew exactly why. She had wanted to confront that man who had once been her son on her own. But it had been reckless , and it may have cost them dearly. 

  Danse groaned, very nearly attempting to rub his eyes before he remembered he was still in his armor and he would probably blind himself in the process. 

  All around him were wounded Minutemen, scribes and aspirants rushing back and forth to try and mediate the damage that had been done. The synths and scientists were easy to spot, each one clad in brilliant white Institute garb. They huddled together in small groups, some crying, some silent, others staring around wide-eyed in wonder. 

  Danse realized suddenly that this would be the first time many of them had even seen the sun. He must have been like them once, all curiosity and fear. He shook his head, more blood dripping into his eye causing him to wince. The paladin grunted, clumsily smearing the trickle from his hairline across his forehead with his gauntlet. It must be mixing with his sweat. 

  "Danse!" That voice…

  The paladin racked his brain, trying to recall the name of the person who owned the voice. 

  It started with a P. 

  Writing. Writer? Wright .

  Piper?

  The woman materialized out of the throngs of scribes, her cap set at a steep angle. In her hand she clutched a battered notepad, and she waved it furiously as if to get Danse's attention. "Hey, big fella'! Over here!" She called, rocking on her heels impatiently while the paladin trudged towards her. "What the hell happened to you in there? You look like a stretch of lonely road!"

  Danse hiccupped, trying for a salute. His arms felt like lead. "I...There was--I-I was separated-" The words wouldn't come, the paladin still reeling from his near-death experience, the loss of Vega, everything , it was too much.

  Was he crying?  

  "Oh Danse, hey, c'mon, easy." Piper soothed, one hand tentatively hovering over his right gauntlet. "It's okay big fella', it's alright." 

  Danse shook his head, utterly mortified as he tried to regulate his sobs. 

  "I was about to ask for a full run-down from a tactical perspective. Y'know, to uh, ease the fears of the Commonwealth populace at large. but I can see that you're in a...er, state right now." Her attempt at delicacy didn't go unnoticed and Danse gritted his teeth. His hands clenched into tight fists as he fought to get himself back under control. These damn emotions-!

  "The operation appears to have been successful." He rasped finally. "We are still...waiting on confirmation. But I am c--I am confident in our success. I am...uncertain of our losses. My two-way was destroyed in the fracas." He gestured at the mangled mess of wires and what was left of the coupling attached to his gorget. God only knew where he had dropped his helmet, but it didn't really matter. If the coursers tearing it off of him hadn't broken the two-way wholly, that final laser had finished the job. "I have no method of communication, I'm afraid. We should...we should find the field scribes and comms."

  Danse could feel the haze of trauma dissipating the longer he spoke, the tactical compartmentalization that had served him so well taking over once more. There would be time later to mourn what he had lost. Right now, it was the Brotherhood's sworn duty to ensure that the Commonwealth remained safe and, more importantly, informed .

  "Come with me, Miss Wright." He ordered, using the advantage of his height to search for the elevated ground of their radio shelter.

  "It's Piper ."

  …

  Vega's boots kicked up a cloud of dust, her footsteps weary. Preston was silent alongside her, the young man clearly deep in thought. Backhand was still reeling from the holotape, Father's words playing over and over in her mind...

  I had hoped to gift this child to you as some sort of consolation for losing me all those years ago, but your actions have proven you unreasonable. If you are hearing this message, no doubt you have found this unit's corpse and stripped it clean.

  Did you think I had no idea you were working with the Brotherhood? The Railroad? You cannot be so naive, Mother. I am merely stunned that it took you so long to gather your forces.

  On the off chance that your bloodlust can be slaked before the total destruction of everything I have built, I would ask that you still take this...synth. This boy, rather, as you would no doubt insist on calling him, has been programmed to believe he is your son. Should he survive you and whatever rampant destruction you have planned, I ask that you raise him as your own. 

  You have no real reason to do so, of course. There would be no tangible benefit, and I know all too well of your callous disregard for life.

  Sleep easy tonight, knowing that you've rid the Commonwealth of its greatest hope for prosperity.

  Backhand cleared her throat. "Preston, do you-" She hesitated. "What if I'm not...what if I'm not cut out for this mom stuff? What if all I'm good for is military shit?" The woman asked plaintively. "I was willing to do anything for my son, back before the bombs dropped. But now...I mean, what the hell kind of life can I even offer to the...to Shaun?"

  "A life at all, I suppose. The freedom to choose." 

  Backhand closed her eyes, forcing a breath out. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. I think so, anyway. You've fought so hard for folks you don't even know, General! And it isn't like you'd be doin' it alone." Preston reasoned with a smile. "If it seems a little too overwhelming, just remember: there at a moment's notice . We're with you, no matter what."

  "I was kinda' hoping I'd put you guys out of a job!" Vega tried to joke.

  "Nah, we've still got a lot of work to do. Commonwealth's a big place, General." Preston patted her shoulder, waving to the sentries on the Brotherhood retaining walls at the airport. Far overhead loomed Liberty Prime, all gangly steel limbs as its head slowly turned back and forth in a scanning motion.

  Vega began skimming the crowds of wounded from force of habit, her eyes stopping dead at the sight of a black leather coat.

  X6-88 . The courser looked dazed, a singular patch of reddened gauze gracing his forehead. His body was still wrapped protectively around the child, around Shaun , who seemed to be sound asleep. The synth kept snarling at anyone who got too close. Vega wondered who on earth had managed to dress his head. Had someone just tossed him a gauze pack and fled in terror?

  She received her answer a second later as Curie emerged from the crowd, the young woman sporting her usual nearly-spotless white coat to denote her medical ability. X6 would have known her by a different name, however.

  G5-19 . 

  Backhand's heart broke at the way that the courser was obviously struggling to contain himself, the general watching Curie swap out the soaked gauze for a fresh bandage. When Curie reached for Shaun though, X6 said something to her that made her tilt her head in confusion.

  "- know me? Monsieur Courser, I am afraid I do not have zee pleasure." She was saying as Vega and Preston drew within earshot.

  "You were...in the Institute, I...we knew each other." X6 replied in a fragmentary fashion.

  "Ah! I must apologize, Monsieur Courser. I am afraid zat zis body was wiped nearly clean when I acquired it. Zee original owner was in a catatonic state. Somezing about EMP grenades and raiders, if I recall." The former Nanny bot squinted at the courser, pursing her lips. "And yet, you are... strangely familiar! Ah, zis body is a marvel." She continued cheerily, producing two small, plastic-wrapped snack cakes from her doctor's coat. "One for you, and one for zee child when he wakes." 

  X6-88 accepted the prepackaged treats with a nod, spotting Elizabeth over Curie's shoulder. "General Vega, is it?" The courser asked, his voice weary.

  "How you holdin' up, X6?" Vega queried in turn, startled when the killing machine offered her a tight-lipped nod.

  "The wound is not too grievous, even with the limited amount of medical prowess it seems the surface has. She appears to believe I will survive."

  "Madame Vega, it is such a relief to see you in one piece!" Curie exclaimed warmly, the synth hauling her into a hug and planting a kiss on either cheek. "It would appear your mission was a success, yes?"

  "I'd say so." Preston answered for Vega, the lieutenant observing the courser with a fair amount of trepidation. "General, are you sure you...uh. Well, y'know."

  "Lieutenant Garvey," Preston flinched when X6 used his name, "If I intended to cause you harm, you would already be dead." 

  Remarkably , that attempt at reassurance did very little, and Vega smacked herself on the forehead as Preston went a touch gray. "You sure keep some interesting company, General." He commented, his voice cracking.

  "Listen, I said you'd be safe and I'm a woman of my word. But please don't give any of these Brotherhood weirdos an excuse to shoot you." Backhand requested of the courser. "If you want, I'll take over on babysitting duty and you can get the hell out of here. I know it probably feels like you're sitting in the middle of a hornet's nest."

  X6-88 hesitated, his eyes darting to Curie and then back to the general. "I will stay, ma'am." He answered her staunchly, looking weary all of a sudden.

  "Okay. But if you do want to leave, just have them walkie for me. Find basically anyone with a radio. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, I need that to be clear. You're free to go wherever you want, X6."

  "I…" The courser's brow furrowed and he merely nodded silently after a moment, readjusting his grip on the sleeping Shaun. 

  Vega knew she had so much to do, so much to continue planning, but she took a self-indulgent second to brush Shaun's hair back out of his eyes. Dark, dark brown, almost black, just like his father…

  Elizabeth smiled sadly, and then set off in the direction of the communications tent.

  …

  "No word from her yet, sir. Lieutenant Garvey told us of the success of the mission, but it is unclear if she is with him or not." 

  The field scribe's words burrowed into Danse's gut like a knife. Fear, anxiety, the unstoppable creeping sensation of realizing that he had been too late or not enough -

  The paladin shoved the emotions down, all too aware of Piper waiting at his elbow with baited breath. "The reports from the other squadrons then, Scribe."

  "Emergency relays began to activate at five minutes to meltdown, sir. Several synths were spotted in the outskirts of Diamond City and were quickly scooped up by the citizens of Goodneighbor, or Golf squadron, in conjunction with John D.'s forces." The young man replied, tugging one side of his headset off of his ears. "Foxtrot and Echo encountered the most resistance, as a platoon of coursers and gen one synths were sent to both the Castle and Bunker Hill. It seems that both locations held out well. Minimal casualties reported."

  "What's your take on this whole situation, bud? Would you consider this a victory?" Piper asked, leaning around Danse to speak with the scribe. "Enquiring minds want to know!"

  "I-I am not at liberty to pass judgement, civilian, b-but it seems that the operation has gone well!" The scribe stammered, darting his eyes at Danse as if fearful of the paladin's discipline.

  Danse snorted, a touch amused despite the distress that threatened to engulf him. Piper was far more formidable than a cursory glance would assume. It wasn't Danse that this young man needed to be concerned about.

  The doorway at the other end of the tent was flung open, sunset light pouring in with the influx of more bodies from the triage area. Danse didn't really pay any mind to it, more invested in hearing the rest of the field scribe's report. 

  That is, until a certain voice broke through the dull roar of radio static and muffled transmissions. "I need news of Delta squadron!" Vega barked, "particularly of Paladin Danse! Who has eyes on Danse?"

  The scribe across from the dumbfounded paladin looked up at him slack-jawed, then bolted to his feet. "G-General Vega, ma'am! The paladin-!"

  "Elizabeth." Danse breathed, his voice nearly inaudible as he straightened up from the table. 

  When her eyes met his, it was as if something broke inside him. Danse covered the ground between them in a heartbeat, gathering her into a fierce, armored embrace. " Logan! " Vega cried, her arms flinging open to cling to his sides. He almost dared to believe that she sounded relieved or delighted . "You're okay, you're okay, thank fuck ." She mumbled against his breastplate, clutching the lucky bandanna she had tied to his arm like she wasn't sure if he was real. "We did it, we did it, holy shit." 

  Vega appeared to be in a state of shock, finally lifting her head from Danse's chest when Piper hollered, "Blue!", the reporter hugging her from behind and sandwiching the general between herself and Danse. 

  Danse's heart ached as he watched Vega dissolve into tears, Piper gripping her tight and his own hold unwavering. Preston entered the tent as well, the younger man clapping Danse on the pauldron to congratulate him on his survival.

  We did it .

Part Twenty

[collapsingintojupiter]

Sunshine and Stormclouds: Chapter 15

Catch up: Chapter 1  Chapter 1.5  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14

Summary:

It’s Roman’s birthday. Though his biological parents may not be there for him, his friends are. 

Characters: Roman Sanders, Emile Picani, Scout (oc), Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, (baby) Patton.

TW: This is little more than tooth-rotting fluff. You’re good (though of course, message me if you’d like me to put something here).

---

    It had been a long day; following an even longer night. Virgil slumped against the couch, eyes closed, his hoodie drawn up over his shoulders. Patton busied himself on the floor nearby, dressing up his bunny in a little blue doll’s dress. Several other stuffed animals that Remy had bought (though the pink bunny by far remained his favorite) lay scattered around him, and a few more assortments of doll’s clothing. 

    Remy said that Patton had a good fashion taste. Even Logan couldn’t disagree. 

    Virgil’s eyes were shut, but he was awake - unfortunate as that was - listening to Patton as he finished arranging the dress on his bunny. Once he was happy with it, he moved on to a puppy dog plush. This one he wrapped - awkwardly, with his chubby fingers - in a sparkly bit of pink cloth. Patton fiddled with that until he was content, talking to “Acha” as he arranged the scarf around the dog’s neck and body. 

    Then, a knock sounded at the door. 

    “Hrggyph,” Virgil muttered to nothing in particular, and slowly opened an eye. The bit of pale pink material he saw through part of the visible window was definitely not Roman’s, and Logan wouldn’t be caught dead in such a vibrant color. 

    So who...

    Wonder if they’ll go away, Virgil thought tiredly. A few seconds later, however, whoever it was knocked again. Dammit.  

He sighed. Slowly, he picked himself up from the couch, and Patton jumped up to grab his arm as he started for the door. 

    “Is Daddy home?” he asked, grabbing Virgil’s hand in one of his little ones. His dog plush dangled precariously from the other, the pink tip dragging on the floor.

    “I don’t think so, buddy,” Virgil said. Patton turned and held up his arms; his father smiled to himself as he picked the boy up. He opened the door. 

    “Oh, you’re home!” The excited voice belonged to somebody Virgil had seen before, but he wasn’t quite sure who. It was a younger boy, about Roman’s age, with crooked glasses, curly hair the color of rust, and soft brown eyes. He wore a pale pink sweater, black jeans, and a bright smile. Behind him stood another kid, though the last time Virgil saw them, he was pretty sure they’d been a pirate. Now however, they wore wearing a button-up covered in stars, ripped jeans, and converse that had been painted in a familiar style. Over all that, a too-big camo jacket that clashed with everything rested on their shoulder. 

    “Emile?” Virgil asked at last. “And...Scout?”

    “That’s us,” Scout answered with a nod. They nudged Emile, who started and blinked before nodding.

    “Right! Uh, Mr. Virgil, I think you remember us from that time we were at your house back on Halloween?” Virgil nodded, and his smile somehow got wider. “Awesome! Um, so...this might be a bit weird, but Roman’s birthday is tomorrow, and we’re...uh, we’re trying to plan something special for him. And he talks about you guys all the time, um...do you think you could help us?”

    ...forget sleep. Sleep could wait. 

    “Come on in,” Virgil said. He turned, gently setting Patton down so he could pull out his phone. Scout and Emile quickly knelt down, keeping his son busy as he placed a call to Remy. 

    “Hey, I need you over here stat,” he said as soon as the barista answered. 

    “Is something wrong?” he asked. 

    “Nothing bad, Rem,” Virgil assured. “Um, Emile and Scout are here; they told me Roman’s birthday is tomorrow. We’re gonna need your help.” 

    Remy’s response was instant.

    “Say no more, I’m on my way,” he said. Before Virgil could say anything else, he hung up. 

    “Who was that?” Scout asked as he put his phone back in his pocket. Virgil chuckled. 

    “You remember the Dragon Witch on Halloween?”

    “Yeah?”

    “He’s on his way now. Much better at this stuff than I am.” Virgil checked his watch, hid a yawn, then glanced at the two kids again. “My husband should be back in about an hour from school. He’ll also be more than willing to help. Don’t worry, we’ll get this figured out.”

    “Yes!” Emile grinned widely, wiggling in excitement. “We’re gonna make Roman so happy!”

    Virgil felt his heart warm as he sat down with the kids to wait, whereupon Patton came over and crawled into his lap. “Where is Roman now?” he asked, helping his son sit up. 

    “He said he had to help his mom with something,” Scout said. Their voice sounded tense; like they knew what he did - what he knew only because of the horrible nights he’d faced alone, with drunken laughter downstairs and his stomach cringing with hunger. Virgil shook his head violently, and a shiver twirled down his spine. He focused instead on staring at Scout’s shoes. They were black, spots of paint that looked like stars and planets. He bet it was Roman’s work.

    Soon enough, someone knocked at the door again.

    “The Dragon Witch!” Emile exclaimed, and jumped from his seat. The knock came again, before Remy flung the door open and strode inside with a grin and a wink. 

    “Well well well,” he said. “I hear there’s a birthday party we need to plan.”

    “Hell yeah,” Scout said, and Emile grinned. 

    “It’s Roman’s birthday tomorrow, and we wanna do something special for him,” he explained. Remy nodded. 

    “Good. He needs good friends like you,” he said. He looked at Virgil. “I think it’s time to go shopping. We’ll get the supplies…” he glanced at Scout and Emile, “...when you two get out of school tomorrow, I’ll pick you up. We’ll set everything up then for Roman.”

    “How will we get him over here?” Virgil asked. 

    “He’s your babysitter, you tell me.”

    “That could work.” Virgil nodded, taking Patton in his arms as he stood up. “Alright, so…”

    “We need to divide and conquer,” Remy said. “Decorations and preparation, and gifts.”

    “Logan’s very good at that,” Virgil said. “-Decoration, I mean, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to do it for Roman.”

    “I’ll text him. Scout, Emile - what do you two want to help with?”

    “I’m good at decorations,” Emile said. Scout nodded. 

    “That he is. And I know what he likes.”

    Alright - so Emile, you’ll be with me, then, and Scout will go with Virgil. Sound good to you?”

    The two kids nodded. 

    “Excellent! Let’s get this boy of ours a birthday party!”

---

        What the hell was so special about a birthday, anyway? Roman sighed, burying his head in his arms. At the front of the classroom, a history teacher droned on about something he didn’t remember; wouldn’t remember. Recently his mother had gotten a job, somehow, and was now even nastier than usual when she wasn’t drunk. Roman didn’t want to go home; he was tired; and everything ached. 

    At least...at least, he got to babysit Patton again today. Roman stared at his fingernails; at the chipped edges, and ignored his classmates. The teacher continued to drone. The clock was getting closer to three, but it wasn’t there yet. 

    Finally, the bell rang. 

    Roman let out another sigh; he got his backpack and slung it around his shoulder, and started tiredly for the door. 

    Outside it was frigid, and though his jacket was warm it wasn’t warm enough. He’d forgotten his warmer one. Roman wondered how the puppy was; how Emile was. Briefly, the thought allowed him to smile. Maybe Remy would be at Virgil and Logan’s house, and let him see Prince. That would be nice. He reached up, tracing the embroidered letters with his finger. Prince. 

    He didn’t feel like a prince. 

    He couldn’t feel much of his hands or face by the time he came to the street where the Sanders lived, kicking at stones as he passed Mr. D’s house. He saw the older man in the window, staring at him. There was something unsettling about it, that he couldn’t put words to. Roman shivered and continued. 

    He stopped at the familiar blue door, adjusted his backpack straps, and knocked. 

    “SURPRISE!” The enthusiastic shout ripped him out of his thoughts with a force that nearly knocked him sideways; as it was Roman jumped, letting out a startled yelp. 

    “Happy birthday!” Emile and Scout shrieked in unison, sharing excited smiles as they rushed forward to greet him. Roman’s eyes widened, and he found himself laughing as they hugged him - Emile’s gentle touch, and Scout’s bone crushing grip.

    “You-you guys knew?” he asked at last, overwhelmed by the streamers and people, and Logan and Virgil smiling at him...and was Remy holding a cake?

    “Of course we did!” Scout laughed and punched his shoulder, then grabbed his hand and tugged him inside. “C’mon, you gotta try the cake we made. Well, Emile made it. Either way it’s good.”   

    Something small and furry ran up to him, barking and wagging its tail. 

    “PRINCE!” Roman yelped. He dropped to his knees by the puppy’s side, and it leapt into his lap to enthusiastically lick his face. He cradled the pup in his arms, gently running his hands along its soft black and brown fur. Prince was already bigger than it had been when he’d found it, with floppy ears and a goofy smile.

    “We think he’s a mutt,” Remy had said. Roman didn’t care - he loved the pup regardless.

    “Happy birthday to you…” his eyes widened as the others started singing to him, and he scrambled to his feet with Prince still in his arms--holy shit, he thought. How did they all have such beautiful voices? Logan, the stiff teacher and Virgil...their voices swelled in a perfectly complimenting harmony, leading the group in the song. Remy’s voice followed, a pure tenor; and Emile - though his voice was softer than the others, he sounded just like an angel to Roman. 

    He tried not to cry but he did, and as the others stopped singing Scout grabbed him in a hug, letting him bury his face in their sweatshirt. There they held him until he was breathing steadily again, and they let go; the others had gathered in the kitchen and smiled at him. 

    “Hope you’re hungry Roman!” Remy announced, and gestured to the dining room table where several boxes of pizza and tubs of ice cream had been lined up in a neat row. Roman’s jaw dropped, and the others grinned. 

    “Everybody get your fill; then we’ll meet in the living room. We got a movie ready to play and presents ready to open.”

    “Presents!?” Roman blurted, then slapped a hand over his mouth. Virgil chuckled good-naturedly, and even Logan smiled. 

    “That’s right!” Remy said. “Just for you, my boy!”

    “Let’s get pizza!” Emile took Roman’s hand, and he felt himself melting into the other boy’s embrace as he pulled him towards the table. “Look, see? We ordered your favorite!”

    “Olive pizza!” Roman’s face broke into an open-mouthed look of amazement, and after gently setting Prince down he reached out and piled several slices onto his plate. Scout and Emile joined him; Remy followed with a wide smile, and Virgil and Logan took up the line in the back. Balloons crowded against each other on the ceiling; their strings dangled down in front of him. Roman looked up, and shades of gold and white and red looked back. He smiled. 

    “Guess what movie we’re gonna watch?” Emile asked as they sat down. Roman raised an eyebrow at him, unable to contain the happy expression on his face. 

    “What movie?” he asked. Scout sat down on his other side, yawning and leaning against his shoulder. Emile leaned against his other side, and gave him a look to melt his heart all over again. 

    “Beauty and the Beast!” he giggled. “Your favorite!”

    “How did you-”

    “I told him,” Scout said, grinning at the look of dumbfoundment on his face. They took a bite out of their mushroom pizza (ew) as Virgil and Logan entered. They took the other sofa, seating Patton between them with his little slice of cheese pizza. Remy was the last to come in, pepperoni his choice of the evening. He sat down, and Virgil got the remote and started the movie. 

    It was better than Roman remembered. The colors seemed brighter, and better, and warmer. Maybe that was Scout and Emile, leaning against him as if to chase away the cold that had settled into his bones, or Emile’s laughter that was soft and sweet like bells; like sugar pastries and autumn mornings where the sun’s warmth is gentle on your back. Scout’s, on the other hand, was sharp, like dogs barking in the dead of night and icicles shattering on the sidewalk. 

    He loved them both. 

    Roman knew what Scout knew though, that he was hopelessly in love with the Picani boy. He loved everything about him - his soft curls, and big eyes, and round glasses that always sat crookedly on his nose no matter how many times he fiddled with the frames. He loved his smile, and his laugh, and his voice.

    And when the other boy leaned against him, and gently reached out to hold his hand...Roman felt like he knew what Heaven was. 

    Scout glanced at him, chuckled to themself at his happy expression, and turned back towards the TV. Together they watched the story play out, laughing and joking and sharing goofy smiles with each other as they discussed the scenes. They all booed at Gaston, and agreed that the candlestick and clock were very much gay. 

    And then, all too soon, it was over. The credits rolled and Roman let out a soft sigh, feeling Emile’s chest rise and fall as he breathed - fast asleep against his shoulder. Their paper plates were stacked on the coffee table - the pizza long gone - and Virgil held Patton. The little boy had also fallen asleep, and slept contentedly in his father’s arms. 

    “I’ll go put him in his room,” Virgil said at last, his voice soft. “Then you can open your presents, Roman.”

    The presents! Roman realized, suddenly, that he’d forgotten all about those. Remy noticed the look on his face and laughed, which startled Emile awake. He muttered something under his breath, yawned, and looked up into Roman’s eyes. 

    God he’s so cute. 

    Roman smiled at him, and Emile smiled back. Then he reached up, and lightly tapped his nose. 

    “Boop!” he giggled. Roman felt his face turn an embarrassing shade of red, and he ducked to try and hide it - which would’ve been fine, had Emile’s hand not gotten tangled up in his hair. The next thing he knew they were both doubled over with laughter, and Emile was attempting to squeak out an apology in between gasps for air. When they finally recovered Roman saw Scout, leaning back and shaking their head; they were laughing too, and Remy and Logan shared a look that was both amused and affectionate. Virgil came back into the room, saw the spectacle, and let out a sigh. He too, however, failed to hide a smile as he sat down. 

    Emile struggled to compose himself with the others, one hand clasping Roman’s shoulder. His glasses looked more crooked than ever; his messy curls tangled and dangling over the rims. Eventually, he pulled himself upright. 

    “Present time!” he yelped, and burst out laughing again. Roman and Scout joined in, as the adults brought out a small collection of somethings and set it on the floor and coffee table in front of him.

    Once he’d finally calmed himself, Roman slid off the couch to kneel in front of his presents. Remy set Prince down and the puppy ran over to join him - his heart felt so warm and full he thought it might burst, looking over the shiny wrapping paper and the kind expressions in Virgil and Logan’s eyes. Gingerly, he reached out and took the first gift. 

From Remy, it said. He gently pulled away the red and gold wrapping, and his eyes widened at the colors upon colors upon colors of nail polish he found packed neatly into a black and red nail kit bag. On the top of the bag, his name was embroidered: Roman, in swirling gold type. 

    “I love it!” he cried, and gently picked up one of the colors - a shimmering beetle green - before putting it back. He couldn’t wait to try it out.

    The next present was...well, he knew Scout had tried, at least. Paper wrapping wasn’t exactly their specialty. Nonetheless Roman unwrapped it gently, and hugged the new sketchpad that revealed itself to his chest. 

    “There’s also some stickers inside for you,” they said - were they nervous? What a strange thought; but Roman couldn’t deny the slight tremble; the tingle of anxiety in their voice. He smiled at them. 

    “I can’t wait to draw in it,” he said. “This is the perfect size.”

    From Logan, read the third gift, tagged neatly with a sharpie. The wrapping paper revealed something soft, and something not - new gloves, in his favorite shade of red, and a book. It claimed to be a fantasy book, and Roman felt tears stinging his eyes as he looked over the cover. He imagined Logan, standing in the fantasy section of a bookstore, with no idea of what any of the books contained. 

    “This one was rated very highly,” Logan explained matter-of-factly. “I do...hope that you enjoy it.”

    “Thank you,” Roman said softly, trying to blink away the tears. The gloves and book he gently set aside - somehow, Logan must have realized that his old ones were worn. 

    Two presents remained. He picked up one of them; From Virgil, it said. The paper presented a box when he pulled it away; inside the box was a soft puppy plush that was black and brown just like Prince, with a red bandana around its neck. The word Prince was hastily stitched onto it in yellow, and as he looked up at Virgil the father glanced aside. 

    “I...I’m sorry you can’t keep the real one,” was all he said, in a terribly soft voice. There were tears in his eyes too, Roman realized. “I hope this helps.”

    “It...it does,” he said. He hugged the plush dog close, and sniffled; with his other hand he gently petted the real dog. “Thank you, Virgil.”

    “Of course.”

    The last present was Emile’s. Roman hesitantly reached for it; he felt Emile tense as he pulled the paper away - it was a beanie. A soft one, with stripes of blue, yellow, and pink. Roman’s eyes widened, and he looked abruptly up at Emile. 

    “You...you made this?” he asked softly. 

    “Yeah. I hope it’s okay? I tried to make it as close to your flag as possible, and I-” he was cut off as Roman crashed into him, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s shoulders and hugging him tightly. 

    “I love it,” he whispered, and now he really was crying. “Thank you...thank you all so much.”

    He felt the warmth of another body beside him, and Roman opened one eye to see that Scout had joined the hug. Then Remy came over, followed by Virgil, and soon even Logan joined the group. Though Roman sort of expected it to be awkward...it felt really nice, surrounded by everybody he loved and who loved him in return. He felt himself smile 

    Thank you guys, for the best birthday ever.

[brandstifter-sys]

4 with remus to virgil? u don’t gotta if u aren’t feeling it

4 “I think i’m in love with you, and that terrifies me.”

I'm always feeling Dukexiety my dude!

----

Virgil was used to being the scary one, the guy who could make anyone fall into a state of terror with a flick of his wrist. He was good at his job, but not to the point where he forced the others away, not anymore. He could always tell when another side was scared, if not why. Patton was always getting scared over spiders. Logan would jolt from distractions when he was focused. Princey was always afraid of something, be it rejection or the monsters on his quests. Deceit had fears, but Virgil never did get around to figuring them out. There was only one side who’s natural level of fear was stable, and when his fear spiked, bad things happened. 

That’s why when Remus got scared around Virgil and yeeted himself out of the room by any means available, Virgil knew something was up. That’s why he was outside the Duke’s castle in the imagination, waiting to be granted entrance. He managed to get passed the moat and the kraken to get to the ominous double door, so this should have been the easy part.

Virgil crossed his arms and pouted. The worst was yet to come, the confrontation. He thought confessing his feelings would be the worst possible conversation to have with the Duke, a conversation he was certain would never happen. He was head over heels for the groomed trash disaster—his laugh, his smile, his boldness, his generally upbeat disposition, all of it made his heart flutter. It hurt to think that the side he had feelings for would be afraid of him. 

The door creaked open, causing him to jump back into reality. 

"Virgil?" Roman greeted him, somewhat surprised, "What brings you to this tragic kingdom?" 

"I could ask you the same thing. I'm looking for Remus." Virgil answered and crossed his arms. A wicked smile crossed Roman's face and he flung the door open for him. 

"Come right this way, Virgey Eat World!" Roman cheered, ushering him inside the dark palace. Virgil eyed him suspiciously and stepped inside. 

"So why are you here?" Virgil questioned. Roman closed the door and shrugged. 

"My brother wanted advice, and I must say that I am the right side to turn to in his situation." Roman put his hands on his hips proudly, "But that's not something I can divulge with you." Of course it was a twin secret, Virgil should have guessed. 

"Wh—" 

"He's in the rec room just down the hall to the left. Try not to make any sudden movements." Roman cut him off and sank out with a drawn-out "Bye!"

Virgil groaned internally and rolled his eyes. Roman was certainly Remus' twin, and certainly annoying when he was hiding something. But Virgil didn't have the focus to dwell on Roman, no he had to find Remus and clear the air, even if it hurt. 

Virgil passed through the hallway and came upon the arched door sitting ajar. He peered inside and saw a replica of his room. Remus was pacing in front of the bed, tapping his chin with his other arm bent behind his back almost regally. His back was to the doorway, it was just the opening Virgil needed. 

Bam

Virgil pinned the duke against the wall and snarled in his ear. Remus went bright red and craned his neck to see his attacker. 

"You have some explaining to do!" Virgil hissed. 

"You know, you came by the one time I'm not horny." Remus chuckled, "Care to stop by later?" 

"I'm not here for that. I want answers," Virgil huffed, "Why are you avoiding me? What did I do wrong?" Remus twisted out of his grasp and leaned back against the wall. He was shaking like a leaf.

"You didn't do anything wrong!" 

"Then why are you terrified that I'm here?" 

"It's your job to do the scaring, babes!" Remus chuckled awkwardly. Virgil narrowed his eyes and scowled. 

"It'll scare you away if I spill the beans, Virgey," Remus sighed, "And I don't want you to be scared away." 

"So you're choosing to push me away and not giving me a chance. You hear the shit that comes out of your mouth—I would be gone by now if anything you say were that scary. Have a little faith in me." 

"You want the whole truth? Fine," Remus said dejectedly, "I think I'm in love with you, and that terrifies me." He winced, prepared for Virgil to scoff, laugh, or vanish. The soft mushy feeling in his chest was so foreign, nothing he could handle without going mad or asking Roman for help—which might as well have been the same thing. 

"What about it terrifies you?" Virgil asked gently, running a hand down Remus' cheek. 

"I'm vulnerable and as sappy as Roman." Remus admitted, melting into the touch, "I like the feeling, but it's scary to think that rejection could actually hurt." 

"Good thing I won't reject you." Virgil hummed. Remus opened his eyes and his heart nearly stopped. That violent violet was blushing and smiling at him with the softest, sappiest expression in the world. 

"I wanna kiss you." Remus breathed. The devious twinkle in Virgil's eyes stunned him—he said that out loud. 

"Breathe, Ree. I think I can make that happen," Virge mused, "Because maybe I feel the same way about you." Remus blinked and dragged him into a searing kiss that sent a fire through his veins. It was short and passionate, leaving Remus aching for another taste.

"You know, I wasn't expecting this, and I sure as hell didn't practice this kind of response with Princey! Yuck!" the duke giggled

"You were practicing being rejected?"

"Exposure therapy works on my fears." he shrugged.

"Think you can conquer your fear completely? Because there's no way you're conquering me." Virgil asked, cupping Remus' cheek. 

"Nope! But I like being scareoused, so don't you dare stop! I have a heart boner that needs your mouth." Remus sang and shimmied impishly. Virgil smirked and shut him up with another short kiss. 

"No fair, Scare Bear!" he giggled when Virgil pulled away. He brought that emo right back in for another smooch. Who knew fear could be so electrifying?

[sidespromptblog]

Discovery

Summary: Logan has scales, the fact that he has scales in the first place is probably his best-kept secret from the other sides, all of the sides. Given how they treat Deceit and his scales Logan doesn't think he's being too stupid when he tries to get rid of them, unfortunately for him, a resident duke has another say in the matter.

Warning: Self harm and self-mutilation

The steady sound of liquid dripping into the pale porcelain along with the clinking of metal instruments was the only sound that graced Logan’s ears as he winced to himself, staring at himself in the mirror as his hand moved methodically. Pain lanced up and down his arm and face, as the rich thick blood-drenched, the side of his shirt soaking left hand as his right hand continued to work and move in a steady rhythm just as it always had been. He didn’t pay any attention to the world outside of his bathroom, he didn’t pay any attention to the sounds coming from downstairs, the laughter that was commonplace when the others were together and watching movies. They were having a good time, and while they would still be having a good time whether he was there or not, Logan didn’t dare to show up.

Not looking like this.

The tweezers in his hand slip in his wet grip, poking the delicate open flesh, and Logan whimpers. It’s a weak pathetic sound that slips out before he can even attempt to stop it, it’s a sound that shakes him to his very core leaving the hand holding the tweezers… shaking so badly that he can’t even hope to get a good grip on it even more. The tears that drip down his cheeks burns, it burns worse than anything he had ever felt in his entire life. But… he takes it, because that’s the only thing that he can do right now, the only thing that he can do that’s actually right and not a monumental mess.

His grip tightens on the tweezers, and though it burns, stings, and screams in its own agony of the situation… he keeps going. Ignoring everything that isn’t the task at hand, he has to keep going.. he has to.

“Are you.. are you bleeding?”

Before he even knows it, the tweezers fall from his numb grasp, clattering loudly in the porcelain sink in front of him that was more red than white at this point. Without even thinking he’s spinning around, and he already regrets it at the sight of Remus’ face as soon as the creative side catches a good look at just everything that was going on.

Ordinarily, Remus would have welcomed the sight of blood, hell he didn’t know how many times that his own brother had caught him cheerfully kicking up streams of blood on his side of the imagination laughing to himself. He liked to create things just to break them and see what made them tick on the inside, hell he had brought Logan his own creations so many times just to watch the logical side dissect them perfectly in the way that only he could. The thing was, he liked blood, he was oftentimes covered in it when it came to meeting the other ‘light’ sides, just to make them terrified of his very presence. But… but looking at Logan, seeing the dripping… so much of it.

There so much of it. He’s going to bleed. Why is he bleeding? He’s going to bleed out and become a pale lifeless corpse in this bathroom. Why is he bleeding? Maggots are going to devour him after he dies. Can he die? He’s going to die. Is this my fault? It’s my fault.

“You’re bleeding,” A pressure seized his lungs right there forbidding him to take a single inhale as he stared back at Logan, for the first time in… ever really, he felt faint. “Why are you bleeding? Why haven’t you healed yet?! You’re normally healed by now!” He blurted out, feeling more and more breathless as the seconds ticked by, he didn’t even hear the item that he had been holding fall to his feet. What had he been holding in the first place? Irrelevant. What was he supposed to do? Logan’s injures had never stuck before, he wasn’t supposed to bleed like this. Why was he bleeding like this?! What was going on? “Just..” He swallowed thickly, feeling as if he’d swallow his tongue any second now, “Just stay there, don’t move!”

He knew right where Logan usually kept his first aid kits, given how many times how many times he and Roman had come back covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes. So within seconds, he had seized the first aid kit that had been stowed under Logan’s desk. His feet slid against the carpet with the effort that he made to scramble back to the bathroom, where Logan, true to Remus’ order, hadn’t moved a single inch. He looked… terrified, as if he honestly hadn’t expected Remus to show up and see any of this.

As if he had wanted to keep it a secret.

A pitiful whine curled in Remus' throat, as he helplessly soaked a patch of gauze in a mixture of rubbing alcohol and peroxide. It would sting, scratch that it would burn like someone had set their own testicles on fire, but… in the off chance that Logan really could die, this would make sure that he wouldn’t get an infection that would eat all of his skin off and leave him as nothing more than a fleshless zombie eating other people’s brains. So honestly, he counted that as a pretty big win as he wiped the dripping blood away from Logan’s cheeks, unable to tell where it was really coming from. There was so much of it… just how long had Logan been at this? How long had he.. how often did he do this?

Logan refused to meet his eyes, and something in Remus’ chest twisted like someone had done a fatality on his heart.

“Why?” He asked, attempting to not sound entitled or too demanding about the answer, “Why were you doing this? What’s wrong?” He was practically begging at this point, as much as he hated it, but wanted.. no, he needed to know. He needed to know so that he could help, so that he could kill and slaughter whatever was making Logan do this.

Was it a curse? Was it something that he could physically fight and conquer for Logan? What if it wasn’t? What if he was just as weak to it as Logan was? What if he… what if he couldn’t help? What then?

What if Logan died from this? The rarest sensation of terror seized Remus’ heart in an iron unyielding grip and refused to let it be. What if he died and a new Logic took his place, a Logic that didn’t give a rat’s ass about him.. a Logic that hated him while looking exactly like Logan and remembering none of their times together. What if he ordered Roman to kill him? What if he repressed him and Deceit away like they had been so many years ago? What if he didn’t reform at all and just f-

Something blue shimmered under the blood that was slick against Logan’s cheeks.

Wiping away more and more of the blood, understanding finally dawned on Remus as the bloodied gauze fell limply from his fingers, landing without a sound on the messy bathroom floor. He was sure that his eyes were as wide as could be as he looked at the evidence of.. of just about everything that had shown itself on Logan’s face while the logical side himself only seemed to grow that much more ashamed, turning his entire body away from Remus. Both his clean arm and his bloodied arms curling around himself in a hug that seemingly was to guard him against the creative side’s reaction itself.

It was… it was scales. Glimmering and shining like starlight on the chaotic waves of the ocean. They gleamed faintly under the lights of the bathroom, slick with blood, as hundreds of them lined the sink from where Logan had made it his personal mission to pluck and get rid of each and every one of them.

Logan chewed on his bottom lip, tasting nothing but iron. “You can go now,” He attempted to coldly tell the other, despite how his insides were trembling as bad as they were. “Tell the others or don’t… rest assured they will find out eventually. And well…” An equally humorless and pained smile curled on his lips, “You saw how they reacted to Deceit, now imagine if that were me.”

Without another word needing to be said, Logan plucked the first aid kit from Remus’ grasp setting it roughly on the closed lid of the toilet. Remus was right though, the combination and rubbing alcohol and peroxide did burn like hell, as Logan angrily scrubbed at the patches of missing scales on his cheeks and arms, hardly caring that just what he was doing was irritating his skin more and more. Hardly caring that it made the tears in his eyes spill over as soon as he looked in the mirror, both at his own reflection and at the sight of Remus still not moving from where he had been standing in the first place.

His hand outstretched towards Logan, that... that hurt more than any of the scales that Logan had plucked so painfully off of his body.

It took a solid minute for Remus’ mind to promptly compute everything that he had seen, and then process it.

He had seen Deceit’s scales of course, green and brown scales that glimmered like freshly watered blades of grass whenever Deceit got out of the shower, and scales that… couldn’t be seen anywhere else because of how much the dishonest side kept his own body covered up.  It was almost impossible to see Deceit without his gloves, without his long sleeves, and without his jeans and boots that worked well to cover up every inch of his body other than his face that couldn’t exactly be hidden easily. Deceit… who felt the need to hide his scales because.. because.

“Ugh, I hate him and his creepy snake face!” Roman had groaned to the others, after Deceit had gone through so much work to ensure that he wasn’t revealed to Thomas… and yet still had to do it anyway. Just to be.. to be insulted. Insulted on something that he couldn’t control, insulted based on something that he had been stuck with ever since he had formed, insulted on.. on something that was no his fault. It wasn’t his fault, was it?

But looking at Logan, Logan who wore short sleeves, who… ordinarily had no qualms about how he looked. How soft he was in compared to the other sides, or about how the shape of his glasses framed his face to look a little differently. Logan who.. who already knew what would happen if he came out with those beautiful scales all over his body, who knew just how the others would react thanks to Deceit himself. He knew how unfair it would be, and yet here he was… doing the worst to himself, just to ensure that the others would still treat him seriously. Even though… they never would, the both of them already knew that, they weren’t exactly the types to treat anything seriously, let alone Logan. He had been doomed from the start, whether he had scales or not.

Something cold burned and writhed inside of Remus’ chest, a wave of white-hot anger that poured inside of him and threatened to burn and scald his inside until there was nothing left but a pile of mushy paste.

Without even thinking about it, his arms latched around Logan’s middle as the logical side had turned away from him, squeezing him as tightly as he possibly could.

“I know my opinion isn’t really the one that you want right now,” He rambled, “But I just want you to know that I think your scales are sexy.. I mean hot.. I mean cool.. I mean…” A tired sigh left the creative side’s lips as he nuzzled the back of Logan’s neck, placing a tender kiss on the spot before lightly nibbling on it for good measure. “I mean… I like them, I would like them even if they were pink and I would like them even if you have scales on your dick. If the others have a problem with them, then…” Something snarled and snapped inside of Remus’ chest, “Then the moment they say something, I will rip out their tongues with my teeth and cook them for you on our anniversary night. Complete with candles and.. and I’ll even get their hearts for you to dissect I promise! I.. I…”

The words tumbled off into nothingness, as Remus was left just hugging Logan as he pressed kiss after kiss against the scaled parts of Logan’s neck. What was he supposed to say that would cheer someone up?

“You can go now.” Logan’s words had hollowly rung just a few moments ago.

“I’m not going anywhere my scaled beauty,” He promised, biting and nibbling yet another part of Logan’s neck, a tiny hint of a smile growing as soon as Logan shivered tilting his head to the side as he leaned more and more back into Remus’ touch. “I will be your duke, just as I will be your guard dog.” The creative side whispered, snaking his hands upwards to lovingly run his fingers over the logical side’s lips and cheeks, gingerly caressing the scales and plucked patches as gently as someone like himself could do. “Promise.”

For a moment there was nothing, not a single word from Logan and not a single sound other than the noise of their conjoined breathing in the small space of the bathroom. At least, not until the logical side gripped his hand, giving it a firm squeeze before running his fingers over the creative side’s knuckles.  

Logan didn’t want to look in the mirror, but in doing so he was able to see Remus’ utterly smitten and adoring expression, this.. this was the face of a man of who would hate him or his scales, this was someone who was here right now because he wanted to be. It was a foreign concept for the logical side, he was so used to doing everything on his own, to telling the others he didn’t need help and that he could do it all by himself because he was a serious adult. But maybe… maybe he…

“I..” He swallowed thickly, his tongue dry in his mouth. “I need help,” Logan finally whispered, “The others deserve to know, regardless of what their reaction will be, so.. so will you help me clean up and help me tell them?” He asked, unable to completely keep the fear from his voice despite how sure he was that Remus wouldn’t just leave him here to deal with all of this alone. It had always felt like that, like he was balancing on a thin rope that was cutting into his feet, and that asking for help and just being told no… would send him careening over the edge and to a quicker death than balancing forever would.

It always felt like a gamble, and it had never not felt like that.

For a split second Remus’ arms tightened around him, before abruptly letting go his hands going back towards the forgotten first aid kit.

He wouldn’t be alone as he did this, and he wouldn’t be alone as everything that he had hidden came crashing down. Despite how it would burn and sting, and how the bits of gauze would feel awkward, it was the right thing to do, as he walked out of the bathroom, as he walked out of his room without hiding his face for the first time.

It would hurt if the others rejected him like they had rejected the others, but that would just be something that he’d have to deal with.

And he wouldn’t be dealing with it alone.

[bluepenguinstories]

Intention Headaches Chapter Nine

To Our Crumbling City:

How many dusks, overtaking dawn, have the drones

littered the skies just as the bodies litter the streets

devoid of human spirit, or the spirit in the machine

wishing to devour everything, but falling short

for its gingivitis and inflamed throat; lacking bite

it only leaks information, devoid of context, its

liberating enslavement, braying Cranes (weathered by time) –

Our crusades of laughter, our vicious joviality

slaughtering each other with mugs. Our curse of skin

sagging into itself as we drink ourselves away. Yet these halls

where we age like wine, slow and souring, the grapes

of wrath now forgotten, our hostility tempered

to a refined weapon which has grown rusted;

– (as all things become) Arrested by its final days...

So we, men loving, loving men, all lay in our residences

with our hands tied, to our legs, to our necks, to our lips

just as we find another place to take the whiskey

as if it were a thicker liquid, as if our essences were honey.

I reminisce on our togetherness, although never separated

we would feel ourselves becoming less of each other

and more automatons in Hephaestus’ pornography collections.

Weeping tears of liquid titanium, our craniums feel the bolts

losing their grips on each other. One by one, we slow ourselves

down to the moments where we forget the tides shifting

and not in our favor, but theirs.

We cannot pretend “All is well” when the negotiations

flat on the table, we lean ourselves against, came from the ones

with the wrench, loosening the screws so the table would fall on us.

We fought and we fought our own memories bitten into the dust.

They taste like blood, they are film reels playing the same things:

Cinemas of grotesques parading as “Just another day”.

Of course, we chose the life of one such gang.

So as to relive the memories, but omitting one key detail

that used to bind us all together:

No fault of ours, but a fault of the years. We once fought our everyday.

We once marched against the ones with their names on the tables.

It is both a great amusement and a bitter taste, then, that we act.

Such bravado for such cowardice. Surprised by our surmise, counteract

our love for men, for the love of death. For us, the muscles, the hair,

the beards and the bears, the shaved and the scarred, the bitten.

The sophist, the self-destructive, the slurred and the articulate.

The tortured and the torturer, the smokers and the freshest of breaths.

Those with supple breasts, milk which tastes like ale, hair like cotton

and when I drink from him he tells me to call him Captain.

We gather together, strangers, lovers, cousins, brothers.

Clergymen of our own blunders. Kissing the winds, each other.

Mistakes are acquaintances, even for the antiquated.

I see us all as the spit we lick from each other, our sweat

against the ceiling fans. Hardened buttocks betray

Sideways glances. All our contributions we owe to open secrets –

– If you listen real close, I’ll tell you:

Cranes are who we are, the ones who rest on the water.

Our necks twisted, faith distorted by the Orphic.

Between corners of each district, I see lights that operate.

“Whatever you wish to see at any given time shall be yours.”

Or so they say, the bastards, so holographic.

So courteous as to lie, as we in wait, because out of all the boasts

of technologies, all that were made were means to enslave.

Weaponry cannot baptise us any more than a plague.

For all the so-called advances, we have yet to find a way

to help each other live.

Cranes gather in an unassuming shack, by an unassuming docks.

Our base of operations. Above ground, by mere inches.

It’s a testament to my flair that I do not protest. For all the talk

of atrocities, what better way to live, than to tear through our insides?

We can change our parts for anyone. Our arms, our hearts

Our genitalia. All belong to us at any time, for the price of many lives.

It’s a testament to my amusement that I have played along so long.

So this tribute is for you, broken city, with your watchful eyes.

No, not you. Your uninhabited towers and your houses of horrors.

Those I care not for. This is a tribute to tributaries.

For the seas and the rivers, the ponds and the lakes, the oceans

which divide us all. We are united in the ways in which the currents

drag us under like a siren hungry for its next lover.

Oh, how I wonder who or what this is all for. For the rapids rest

just outside of the city itself. If we could conquer them, no.

If we could fornicate with them, then we may see passage.

For these many bridges will one day collapse.

Thank you, you foul creature. Just as you have thanked us.

Just as we have thanked each other by shaking hands.

Time and time again, I wish to suck your lips.

Beside your bridge.

Part I: Aloe Vera:

Vive la Karen:

Our old friend Karen came a callin’.

During our raucous rancor, our celebratory crowned affair.

No lordships, bishops, lieges, or bison, could stamp away

at our achievements in blissful ignorance.

But one could, our old friend Karen.

Every night, our home served as a tavern. Us, our own servers.

The disc is somewhere, corrupted and overwritten.

Blame it on our laughter, the lack of slumber, the swayed movements.

We couldn’t hear her until the lights were darkened.

We looked around, there was Karen.

“Your next and only mission is to disband.”

The machine’s grand announcement. No uncertainty present.

The panel on the wall with the eyeball, its ocular malice;

Glazed with its sterile gaze. Never more than what was needed.

Lack of subtlety and an unnecessary cruel mercy.

Karen couldn’t make the intent any more crystalline.

But, she decided to lay frosting on our cakes:

“There will be no funds. No rewards for your troubles.

But if your mission proves to be a success, you will not be shot

to death within a twenty-four hour window.”

We all exchanged expressions meant for lovers or distant relatives.

Straits were dire, and not to mention the famine of straights.

Only one was; he was a pale widow, sunken within a ship in a bottle.

I creaked, my bones atrophied, my cane gifting with splinters.

“You heard it, men. Time to pack it up. Our time has come to an end.”

My cyclical smile unwound back below my nostrils.

Everyone cheered, for the truth was an open secret.

Men between men, that was how it was kept.

We were not leaving each other.

We were leaving the city which made us.

I knew that thoughts and words could be heard

But few doubt the resolute.

Forward March:

Outside, still night. Still as it was eternal.

Our collective thoughts: holding hands.

Beef and chicken alike, in a hot pot

Made to be slurped down. That was us.

At least a hundred of us. Foot out in front.

Leg out in back. Each one making their

forward motions in unison to display our union.

We sang a little ditty, a barrage of showtunes.

Our weapons on our backs. Some of us as

Our own weapons, we guided ourselves.

I was eager, yet wary. Weary for the true outside.

So out of reach, the stars were unfocused.

Students left to their own devices.

Rats with shock collars and curds stuck in fur.

I was an all-out war and I am more.

Streets as empty as the night, Patron Saints of paint.

Nary a drive-by in sight. Pardon the mourning

of bloodshed; city wasn’t alive without someone to die.

On cue, a device to electrocute took a man

I loved so dearly that I only ever kissed his hand.

Nary a tear was shed, for the beast was fed at last.

Hunger was a strange thing, wishing for nothing

to fill up the stomach, but we could speak

of all the things we would eat when we escaped.

If only the fates would stop slurping our eyeballs.

I needed them to see, however myopic of me.

Part II: Bridge Out Ahead:

Approach:

As the steel greeted us with its sturdiness

we shook our heads in disgust, our tastebuds distorted.

Stealth was not an option; grasping at straws, we took aim

and attached our mucus membrane gelatin onto the beams.

Smiles and jeers, no time for cheers. Karens, no, turrets.

Torrent of them took aim without firing.

So we stood, forever lost in the absence of Father Time.

“City limits. Turn back now or be prepared to be shot on sight.”

Karen could be a ferocious one, always wanting to empty

the contents of the device inside of several men at once.

Oh, but such a fulfilling release would lead only to an end.

We would not be deterred, so long as my bones ached.

“Mikey, can you go on?”

“– Babe. I’m Logan.”

Only in the early 30s, already losing to the ravages of age.

Our weapons drawn, we took fire at the turrets named Karen.

They took struck at us. Some fell, some put up electric glass

As a means to protect. What we couldn’t protect was the bridge.

We knew our passage would not be a solid one. Not a stone skipped

but a record without any scratches.

Turrets could be intelligent, even within their torrents.

Aimed at the matter which held firm to the bridge’s limbs

we watched the load get blown. Several pieces, several

men hit in the name of revolution. Their concussion wouldn’t

Be in vain. But our means of escape, we were afraid.

Bridge dissipated, too damaged to be a salamander.

Many remain, yet we had to turn back. We saw

the rustic passage as a golden opportunity.

We walked across our fellow’s remains and back

to the home which we abandoned.

Whatever crustacean in the sky would bless us

I would bless in return; hermits, no more.

“Betty, would you do the honors?”

“What about you, Barry?”

Betty and Barry were the same man. Or the two men

were joined together. Their algae arms pawed at the crate

which kept hidden until the very day. I came up

With the idea, myself. I wanted to kiss Betty and Barry.

Betty and Barry were both men, men I could sail with.

Under the crate was our lever, our lover. Such a promise

In the form of a warm and hardened stick.

It had to be kept warm at all times, someone crawling

toward it in secrecy. The lever was powered by our

Equilibrium, no, our affectionate friction.

Part III: Ship of Relations:

Theseus:

Every day since our inception, we supplied ourselves.

Our end was always approaching, and Karen knew it.

Each month after shipment, we took boards.

Our hands were full, planks drawn, quartered. Flanked.

So on that night, or day, we finally deployed.

To test if it would float or sink. Fine testing, it was.

Fine men, we are. Fine enough to squeeze. Like mustard.

No, mayonnaise on a desert day.

Ship did float, and so we installed light

on our boots, so we could walk above water.

Perform miracles, if only for a few seconds.

Then, we watched the docks get shot down.

Karen was a diligent one. If only Karen was a man.

If I could hold a machine like men held me.

Like I’m a baby, and mother brought meat.

Baby Harold, waddling. But this baby was a button:

If I had twenty more years to get my youth back

Then I wouldn’t be so elderly. But in the 30s, you know.

Third decade brought booze and misery.

Booze could serve as a playground, or a death sentence.

One of my men had to help me aboard.

Soon, I and them, all on deck. Out with the city, in

With the forewarning breeze. Passionless in its stirring.

The wind would have to guide us.

My compass was too fogged by malicious software.

Incontinent:

Did we have food?

Yes, we had/have food.

It has expired, it has grown molded.

It tastes of our favourite bourbon.

It smells like a familiar flatulence.

It is food.

Did we have a map?

Yes, it told us where to love and how often.

There were sticks and stones.

In due time, we would break each other’s bones.

Then seal the deal and murder with words.

Later into the night, we would bring a kiss.

Did we have cabins? Yes, just as we had means to sleep.

In each room weren’t beds, but we would keep

Each other warm in each other’s arms.

The body heat would be our thermostat.

The mast had a glow to it.

Did the ship move?

Just as it sails, a ship moves.

There is a wheel, it goes unused.

We move it to get the experience.

It reminds us to spin.

The ship itself, sails itself.

Automation is our lifeblood.

We designed our ship to forego hesitation.

Part IV: To Cutlery Sharks:

Cutlery Shark:

Waters blackened by the murky chemical invasion.

So long past, we almost think to drink it.

Instead, fresh men take purifying solutions within

the laboratories of the chemistry quarters.

I took a look and took a drink.

I became drunk off of it.

Some of us made the mistake of drinking

from the waters we sailed on; sickness set in.

Stumbled overboard, devoured by the sharks

with teeth made of cutlery.

It bit into our planks and turned some of us to rust.

We shot at the shark, but the creature split

into a husk of tapeworms with acidic spit.

I prayed for our continued passage and what answered:

Explosion! One man, a burly burlesque dancer

threw a brigade of explosives into the water.

The tides themselves roared and the tapeworms no more.

In our stead, a whirlpool and the seas quivering.

Skies above rained down cutlery. Messengers from the gods.

From the whirlpool, we washed our clothing.

I went first, taking a drink, then pouring the soap.

Our clothes fished, a mildew scent perforated

And left an imprint. Damp and musty, we lost nakedness.

I drank to that, as did all the rest.

Ol’ Phil Howards:

Phillip Howards was a man, or a shrew.

Hated men, or hated himself as an extension.

Hated me, but valued our friendship.

I loved the way he loved the fetal position.

Always did think of it as poetic.

Smooth sailing so far, I descended.

Down the hatch of madness.

Where in his private cabin, he was crouched.

In the far corners was his whispers.

He always said things not pale didn’t bode well.

I laugh because he was paler than the ghost of my mother.

Bless that woman’s heart, she raised a loving man.

Me, I was wrinkled more than my grandmother;

When I last saw her was on her deathbed. But I digress.

He always talked like he had one foot in the grave

while hoping others would go in instead.

I ask why he cower. His teeth chatters. He speaks in whispers:

“I’ve seen colours, more than black, more than deep purple.

There is smoke on the water and it signifies danger.

We shouldn’t undergo such a folly.

For I’ve seen colours, more than neon, but something brighter.”

“They haunt my dreams, the seas, they speak.

Though I do not understand their language, I know malice.

There is a healing intent, that I do see. The seas sing to me.

But they are not Siren’s Songs, but signs of foreboding.

What we sail will not cleanse our bodies.”

I laugh because he didn’t understand. He doesn’t wish to.

“If there can be any freedom for my men, any indication

that we can live within each other, and outside, that is enough.”

Although we both were former clergy, we resigned;

His distaste for others, yet belief that no one deserves healing.

Me, I loved men a little too freely.

He spoke again, eyes sunken, his face a full 180:

“There is a beast in the sea. The church spoke of one.

Which would heal any who dared enter.

But I am not ready to be healed by it.

I would rather stay inside, plead ignorance to the outside.

Know this: we know nothing. We will soon.”

I took a drink. Truer words never spoken.

The sea was a harsh mistress who seldom display her phallus.

Before I may part, he said one last thing:

“Friend, I am concerned about your drinking.

You appear in poor health.”

Part V: To Virginia:

First Sights:

As the cutlery sharks pacified, back into the depths

Whence, I too, descended. Only for one more sip.

Sips turn into a chug, which turn into grey hairs.

Hairs upon dogs I wish I had brought along, if only to keep warm.

Up above, breeze of the sea poured salt into me.

That was how I came to see the sights of the city:

We passed by endless roads of nothingness, always paved.

By the wayside were the routine machines paving their ways.

Little cars which drove themselves, express purpose of open flame.

And beside them, the skyscrapers, all plain and never-ending.

So too I, my whole face agape, will we ever find sanctuary?

Past the gangs, past each base, I wanted to know

what was past it all.

All our gazes, mine especially, shifted to the forests.

Those haunting woods with their shrill howls abound.

Those hounds which surely lurk, stalk, prey for me.

As I should pray for them, if my hands weren’t for drinking.

Those thickets and bushes, rustling of leaves from them trees.

I believe I could see shadows from the plants, the rabbits.

Deer and bears, then, something glistening:

Behooved horned creature.

They say Hemingway drank from its blood.

An open wound to ease the troubles.

As I partake in a drink of my own. Common cure for the bereavement.

It stood to reason, I stand with my legs bent.

Cane not quite working, leg machine broken.

Forests, woods, pines, all stretched for miles and kilometers.

Other units of measurements. I don’t know them.

Centipentagrams? Terasects? Parallax?

One of those words are  not like the others.

All that matters is the endlessness...the vast.

Undergrowth overtaking, but a crease, it does cease:

Trees line up. Stop.

Stop! Stop it!

Groan. I knew it.

I know, I knew it then.

The alcohol will not, would not, can never keep it at bay.

Oceans, tempest, they all expand. But the forest doesn’t.

Ain’t hear a root a shootin’.

City limits, where you think it ends, it doesn’t.

There is a mountain, next.

Hills, a rocky point. The forest itself a circle.

No, a circle cannot be a square.

Even if the circle be a peg, cannot be a leg.

Let me explain: like a barrier, a veil, a shield.

Preventing or protecting, cannot say.

But at the hills, past the rocky trail, lie a cliff-side.

Where I see their home: the final base.

We sure were sailing away.

To Virginia:

Dear friend, how did you let the years fill you up so fast?

Like the drink in my belly, in my liver, in my gut.

I ask for you gracefully, without a poem or a song to be sung.

No pretense about it, I remember your top aide:

Was it Vera? Or Santa Maria? Flo-Rida? Maybe I don’t remember. Let me partake once more.

Aha!

As you are Ginny, she was Victory.

You and her and Virgil. The three of you in matrimony.

No doubt, you lost her in the hospital. As well as yourself.

Every day I stop being me, becoming an adjacent memory.

One day Heart. Hearth. Earth. Arthur. Hurt.

What do any of those ‘words’ mean?

Anyway, if I make it out, I won’t tell the outside:

That you were mad, wicked, numb, or naive.

I’ll read not only my poetry, but your unspoken words.

Just like the way you must wish for it to be.

Just you and her and him.

Those words you wish you could tell him that he already knows.

Those words you still wish you could tell him, anyway.

Before the hospital made you forget.

Or you chose to go.

I wouldn’t blame you, either way.

Oh! Look! Out on the cliff-side face! It’s your base!

Operations were much smoother when you didn’t have to think.

Wouldn’t you agree? Or is it just through my eyes that see?

See far too many things...right now I see…

Just past your base. To my ship’s side. It is!

I look and see To the Lighthouse, its burning beams.

Searchlights take us all someday. So I hope.

What am I doing? Writing this letter to you?

Who am I kidding? It will never get sent.

Just like you will never say the words to him.

The ones he already knows, but you wish you could say.

That’s OK. Just like Oklahoma, the place.

I read about it when I was a kid.

Millennia and a half, maybe more, ago.

It was said to have existed. Like Agartha.

Like Atlantis.

But those places were fairy tales we told each other as children.

I never met you as a kid. I never much believed in the English.

Your house and its hinges, where you reside, your age untapped.

By madness, it still lies still.

No fear for you, only admiration.

I would have let you criticise me any day, if I could continue.

You may live to see more days, but will you ever escape?

Look! I see your garden! Down by the beaches!

Your little Daisies and Petunias, Pansies and Begonias.

How you would walk with your watering can.

Sing, “I must tend to my Sapphics.”

Hark! On cue, one of those devoted.

Adeline with bear claws, passes by pansies.

Hangs on a laundry line a pair of panties.

I wave, so does she. She asks the crew what we’re doing.

“We’re sailing for freedom!” I make my declaration.

“Yeah! Come get y’all freedom!” She echoes the statement.

Even if I cannot send you this letter when my men escape.

I would like to pretend that you have read it.

If there were any proof of an outside world. Or a “world” at all.

I would like to send this your way, as a form of evidence.

I have to go now, Ginny, for gin is calling me

and the end is approaching, my dear friend.

Whom I’ve never interacted with.

Part VI: The End:

Earth is Both Round and Flat:

We did it.

Thoughts and prayers were answered with cheers.

Clangs of mugs! Hoo-rah!

I take my tiptoes to Phil Howards, he mumbles

about his fiendish friend, from the clergy, St. Eliot:

“The sea is a wasteland...the sea is a wasteland…”

I shake my head. The Wasteland was what I counteract.

For water is not soil. Or so it was, I would have soiled my pants.

Rather than the piss that smelled of bourbon.

Taking to him, I say:

“We made it! Soon we shall live!”

His eyes, first things to turn, I see not.

Instead, clam shells or oyster heads.

Spiral homes for hermit crabs.

His mouth was a starfish.

Words were no longer important.

But so I heard, just as I will hear:

“We have not left, only departed. The true end is the end.”

I leave him. There is an above to this.

There cannot be a Hell with a head above water.

One man in the crowd eyes eyes with I, I eye him.

We kiss. First on the lips, then on the fists.

Fists kiss with fists, knuckles bloody.

How men make love aboard a ship of relations.

One other man sees and comes up to me:

“Something new!”

I look. But I disagree.

“Familiar should not be new.”

Image of our former base of operations, in flames.

How we left it. How we left everything.

I shake, so does my face. My head, for good measure.

“Must be a mistake. Sail faster.”

So we went at it. Pushed around, left to right.

Sway with the night; harder, faster, stronger, better.

Currents in our favor. We didn’t yet notice the ship was lower.

Until we reached the end again and found ourselves

back at the beginning.

Water fills the top decks; our ankles get licked by it.

Its liquid, thicker than my blood long since poisoned.

If there is anything I can do, all our years of plans, and

We remain in the same place for I cannot locate action.

“Captain! We keep going around, and each time we do

We sink further below? What is the meaning behind this?”

“Words too obvious! This is a poem!”

“Ah! You’re right! ‘T’is my testicles caressed by Satan!’”

“Much better.”

So I stew in my saltwater sweat. Tastes like men.

So do I, but I don’t let it become my doppelganger.

I will not have my sweat swallow me.

Not when I can swallow it. Sweat is my pride.

Seagulls ahead, murderous cries.

Part VII: Leviathan:

Rumbling in the water:

Riptides in the muddled pond.

It was bad enough to find that the ocean was a moat.

City is a donut hole. No nutrition, only fat.

Our knees were tickled by seaweed. Or mine, leg hair algae.

Riptides grew louder; ripple effect of defective parapets.

My precept for perception failing me.

At this point we started noticing things:

Crocodiles jumping gangrene and tails wagging.

My men grabbed the nearest pointed weapon.

Fire open! Battle cries like the wild ride we chose for ourselves.

But fire proved to be nothing against the Crocodile’s hardened skin.

Us all, cowering, but I, I saw myself as a Doge, crowning.

Wow! It becomes time to step up! Wow!

With the press of a button, my phallus expands.

With it, I can swordfight Crocodiles.

Even past my prime, I am told I hold it well.

We’ll see, when it’s skin against teeth.

Reptiles have bite, but my blade does slice.

For all those teeth, I was the one who made the creatures bleed.

Bleed and retreat, just as the burden of being on the sea.

Sailors and Maritime sea-shanties sing

of a magnificent phallic fascination.

The battle itself, legendary. Decisive victory.

As the last of the creatures fled, my blade sheathed.

My blood was in my body, but I felt as if I was losing it all.

Forfeiting, for I already knew the truth:

the bridge that collapsed was our only way out.

Through it, we could have reached the tunnel.

But no more.

The tunnel is a sheet.

Over a black hole.

Sucking us in to the idea of freedom.

Suckering us, just as it does, and we fell into it.

My head sinks, no drinks left.

Far too sober, head sick. Head split.

“For those who want to live, leave now.”

Were the words I wished to say to my men.

But just as I addressed my evacuating sea men, ripple effect.

Ears ringing. Before, the creatures with teeth

may have made my fellows depart from me.

With my phallus back in my pants, sea men wouldn’t evacuate.

And, as my past erections, in an instant, from the waters

a great creature did rise!

Some unknown poison flower, a mouth dripping.

Plant with scales like a dragon fruit blooming.

Fins and tails, a face thought to be extinct.

Eyes of pure malice, flame emitting.

If there was a time to evacuate, the sea men should have.

Too magnificent, too arousing. Fear heightened.

Taller than the highest man-made structures.

Taller than structures made by AI.

So tall in stature that its body was nary a body at all

But a sizable shadow. Us, breadcrumbs.

If it weren’t for the hatred which summoned it

we may have gone unnoticed.

Too frozen in fear to jump overboard.

Us, a collective, hundreds, morsels to the beast.

Try as I might, there were no apt descriptors.

Despite the prior attempt. It was too great.

My heart understood true hopelessness.

The way the creature leaned until face against our ship:

Eyeing its meal.

“Everyone. Let’s all kiss one another

before our time is up.”

All of our systems, dry.

If not for its distaste for our attempted dissent

we wouldn’t have been its candidate for digestion.

Bestial and anomalous.

One of (Phillip Howards) Craftlover’s anonymity.

I understood his words now; the powerlessness.

Us all must have felt.

Yet powerful, in our final moments, like the Spartans.

No, Athenians. We had to be them: naked and unafraid.

My Grandmother’s Grandmother’s Grandmother:

If you were here with us, would you remember anyone at all?

I looked up to you, thighs greater than the legend of the Grand Canyon.

Child, Baby Boy, I was. You, the Great Grandmother. Mafia Don.

Gang leader with a Sailor’s tongue.

Someone so kindly, baking all the burly men cookies.

I remember, as a child, you told me:

“When I was your age, I sat upon the lap of my Grandmother.

Just as she sat upon the lap of hers. Then, there was your mother.

She had no lap for anyone to sit upon. Aside, the role was for

Us Grandmothers.”

I asked you what to do if a man loves a man and

a men love a men as a whole and everyone had a Sailor’s tongue.

You laughed and said how you were no man, yet

every Sailor needed somebody to bake cookies. It was a maritime rule.

You said how next there will be no grandmothers

because I was the next one chosen.

I objected, your crystalline eye, your sibylline prophecy.

If it would come true, who could I be?

My feelings lie not in war, but the act of action itself.

In turn, you told me:

“When you have feelings, you write poetry.

Poetry lets you hang your naked body in full display

without you being filled with shame.

Poetry is why some men live, laugh, and love.

Others eat, drink, and be merry.

For you, to have a gay old time, just find a rhyme.

Don’t worry about whether it makes sense.

That’s not what metaphors are there for.

Therefore, go off and lay your feelings bare.

Face down, buttocks up.

No need to worry about lazing on your bum.

That’s what men love!”

That was how I would become

the one who crocheted tea stands

with white-knuckled hands and a fluoride thread.

Though I could not bake cookies, I could write poetry.

When you left in the war, I grew to be an old man

before even leaving my twenties.

If you were with us, would you stare the beast into the eye

and serve it cookies?

All we have is our fists. Our spears which pierced with love.

Impaled with the most tender of grafts.

What rendered is a great sense of despair.

Our mission was being fulfilled.

In our failures, we were a success story.

What does it all mean? Would you have said:

“I am your grandmother and I have a lap”?

If I so loved a woman, she would have been you.

I miss your guidance, your arms like monkey bars.

If I know not the right answer, call it nostalgia

that illuminates my soul.

Vore:

“Men! If we shall go, we shall go with in the midst of action!”

That wasn’t what I shouted, but I seconded the motion.

No more. No more. No more. No more. No more.

There weren’t any more words.

For all the times others have swallowed me whole.

This was too much. Too great to bear.

I cannot. I cannot. I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.

What I wish for is to be a poet. Lover. Man.

Not dead. Not mad. Not dead. Not mad.

I watched them; spears made of lightning; code.

Binary and hexadecimal creating enough energy

to electrocute the seas, but focus on the beast.

Everyone, everyone but me. They fought, ‘til the end.

Bitter was the end. For the violence only made the beast grew.

Larger and larger, a boastful source of nourishment.

All our attacks made it hungrier. Rather, it wasn’t an invincibility:

not that we couldn’t scratch; each scratch gave more life to it.

Whatever I had called such a mass of distortion in the seas

it wasn’t correct. This beast, its shape could not be contained.

Not one shape. Not one shape. Square hole in round pegs.

Would any survive the fight? Would any love me?

See me as the lover I am, or once was, before I couldn’t stop?

Or would they see me as a coward, for refusing to be devoured?

Yes.

I watched all of them.

And I jumped, so I could meet my end elsewhere.

Bottom of this body of water, my body shall lie.

To think, I may only become a footnote in the overall history.

The Pantheon’s memory itself is a beast.

Goodbye, my men.

(Before I lost consciousness, my eyes remained open. Before all systems shut down, I noticed: my mind had been awake for too long a time. Over one hour had elapsed. By then, the beast must have returned from whence it came. I fear it may not be the only one. One if by land, one if by sea. So it must be. What of my body? No. Bad question. What of the end? When would I reach the bottom? Every downward spiral, my star loses its twinkle. Each descent, further fading, and every second it grows darker, I think it has reached the blackest point but IT BLACKENS FURTHER. There is no lowest point, it only grows lower, and I may never see a true end…)

Part VIII: Lost at Sea:

Deserted Virgin Islands:

...Cannot have a maiden voyage with crowded cabins

where everyone, so close, almost congealed

tied to each other, mingling and bleeding

to paint the halls and the boards on the floor.

No captain in the captain’s quarters, the wheel

has steered itself.

Down the stream is a continual loop, further

degrading its health.

Further sinking down, no smooth landing.

Only sandpaper on the ocean floor.

Course correction won’t save the inhabitants

when there is nowhere beyond the boundaries.

Outside, empty. Land, empty. Earth experiencing

a flirtation with entropy, a perfect reciprocity.

Forego the salutations. Wave and be forgotten

for what is best is to stare it into the mouth

and drown, than to let yourself be eaten.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

If Only In My Dreams

Chapter 3:  Faithful Friends Who are Dear to Us

Chapter Summary: A skype call ensues between our two protagonists.

Pairings: platonic prinixety & platonic moxiety

 Word-count: 3468

Over-All Fic Warnings: abusive parents, homesickness, misunderstandings, crying, loneliness, hurt/comfort

Inspiration:  this ask right here

AO3 LINK, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

This was such a chore to write, but it’s finally done!! Many thanks to @theeternalspace for beta’ing as always. There will be an epilogue following suit, but I can’t promise when I’ll post it considering this chapter took six months to write haha

- 

Virgil stared at his phone.

“I’m such a screw-up.” He whispered underneath his breath.

He hadn’t responded to any of his best friend’s texts and now Patton thought he hated him. When in actuality, that was very much the opposite. Virgil loved his best friend so much that he feared the idea of being rejected by him. It had been so stupid to ignore Patton like that.

Of course Patton would think he think he hated him. Virgil had given him the silent treatment all week. Worse, Virgil had broke his promise of reuniting with him in Florida. It’d been so easy in the moment to avoid breaking the truth to Patton. He was now paying for the repercussions of his actions.

Would Patton still want to be friends with him after all this? Virgil wouldn’t want to be friends with himself.

Roman cleared his throat, causing Virgil to jump. He’d almost forgotten he was in the same room as him.

“I know it’s not my place,” He began, “but whoever this “Patton” character is to you, they seem to care a lot about you.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “You’ve been reading my text messages?”

He really should be more pissed off about that than he was. Virgil coveted his privacy, protecting his phone from prying eyes like a hawk. But he could hardly bring himself to care about that in the midst of his pity party.

“Only the ones that popped up on your screen. I don’t know your phone’s password, I swear!” Roman said, attempting to justify it, although he looked as ashamed as he rightfully should be, “They even tried calling you at one point. I was going to answer it, but Logan advised against it. Said it was an invasion of your privacy.”

Virgil glanced back down at his phone. Well, that explained why it was on the coffee table and not his hoodie pocket. His phone screen went black and he pressed the home button, turning it on once more. Patton’s last two text messages peered back at him. 

Patton Hart 💙: Hey kiddo...are we still friends?

Patton Hart 💙: It’s okay if we aren’t!! I know how you are, Virge, you don’t have to feel obligated to remain friends. Seasons come and go, y’know? Not everything lasts...and that’s okay. I still cherish every memory we spent together. But if you want me to stop meownoying you with texts, I’ll understand.

Virgil let out a strained sound, something halfway between a sob and a laugh. Trust Patton to still slip in a pun in a text like that. Patton loved puns. Virgil also loved puns, a dark secret of his that Patton alone knew. Virgil couldn’t openly admit to liking puns. It messed with his edgy emo vibes. 

Meownoying. What a godawful, cheesy pun. In any other context, Virgil would be covering his mouth in a poor attempt to mask his laughter.

He glanced over back to Roman, who stood a few feet away from him. Roman crossed his arms in a relaxed manner, eyes wide with concern. He opened his mouth, his breath hitching at the last second. For the first time since Virgil had known him, Roman looked hesitant. It was clear he wanted to help in some way, but he didn’t know how. Virgil didn’t blame him. They may have spent a whole semester living in the same apartment, but they were at best acquaintances and at worst, strangers.

Virgil sighed, gripping onto his phone tighter.

“Patton is my best friend. Or at least he was,” He said, staring down at the carpeted floor, “The two of us have been friends since middle school. We had planned on meeting up while I was back home in Florida. You can guess how that turned out.”

He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to Roman. It was stupid. Maybe being alone in that apartment for three days without heat caused some brain damage. He explained what had happened to Roman. Well, almost everything. He left out what exactly kept from getting another flight.

Several times he looked up at Roman, expecting him to laugh or make fun of him. Roman did none of those things. He instead leaned against the side of the couch, patiently listening to him. After he finished, there was a lapse of silence. Then Roman spoke,

“You should talk to him.”

Virgil groaned. That damn dreaded phrase. Of course, what else could Roman say? It was true. Only talking would solve this situation. It didn’t mean he didn’t still loathe the idea of it.

“I know.” Virgil said, gritting his teeth as his gaze drifted to the floor, “It’s just I’m...scared.”

It was stupid, Virgil knew, to be afraid of contacting Patton. It wasn’t like the apocalypse would come to fruition or anything. The best-case scenario is that they would remain friends. The worst-case scenario is that they...wouldn’t remain friends and god, that felt worse than death to Virgil. Patton was his only friend, the only person who knew him better than even his parents. Virgil was going to lose him, and like everything else in life, it was all his fault.

He doubted that Roman would understand. From what little he knew of the other, he was confident, cocky, fearless--

“There is no shame in being afraid, you know. I were you, I think I would just as afraid.” Roman said, causing his whirling thoughts to grind to a halt.

“Really?” Virgil gawked up at him.

“Well yeah,” Roman said as he sat down on the couch beside Virgil, “even the bravest of knights have fears.”

“If they’re brave, how can they be afraid then?” Virgil quirked an eyebrow.

“Because bravery is not the absence of fear, it is the ability to continue despite it,” Roman smiled softly, “it is okay to be afraid. However, you must question whether or not is worth it to conquer your fear.”

When Virgil kept staring at him blankly, Roman continued.

“Friendship is like—like a ship!” He snapped his fingers together, “Made up of you and a fellow seafaring traveler—a friend. Together you embark on a wondrous journey, experience amazing things together! But sometimes you might encounter stormy weather or some sort of…sea-witch that threatens to wreck your friend-ship. 

“And! You can only save it if you gather the courage to do so. If you jump ship out of fear, the ship will sink. I suppose the question you must ask yourself is: are you willing to go on living with your friendship becoming a shipwreck, or are you willing to attempt to save it from such a fate?”

“Wow…” Virgil said, after finding his voice, “that was incredibly cheesy.”

He’d known Roman had a flair for the dramatics. Once before midterms he found Roman saying a eulogy over his broken jar of crofters jam at 4am in the morning. Still, as cheesy as it’d been, Virgil couldn’t help but be moved.

The fear of rejection was a strong fear. But could he truly live with regrets? Regrets about how he hurt Patton? Regrets about how he didn’t try to fix it? He knew all those fond memories he shared with Patton would become tainted with those regrets. He didn’t want that to happen.

“But,” Virgil spoke up again, “you do have a point.”

-

Anxious_EmoNightmare is calling…

Patton sunk to the floor beside the refrigerator. He ignored its insistent beeping for him to shut the freezer door. Instead he focused his attention on his phone. Virgil’s profile pic stared back at him. Not a picture of himself, rather, but a drawing of the two Patton had made and given him.

Virgil was an amazing artist, with the knack of creating art that invoked true emotion from the viewer. Patton’s art, on the other hand, was barely a step above stick figures. Still, Virgil treasured Patton’s art enough to use it as a profile pic.

“Aw shucks, kiddo, it’s nothing compared to yours!” Patton had laughed, ducking his head bashfully.

“Yeah but...it’s special ‘cause you made it,” Virgil’s cheeks flushed before mumbling under his breath, “Besidesmyartiskindashittyanyways.”

“What was that?”

“My art is kinda sh--crappy!”

“I will physically fight you if you don’t stop talking about you and your art!” Patton gasped, “Your art is just as--as wonderful, unique and superb as you are!” “No it isn’t.” Virgil groaned, hiding his face with his hands.

“Yes it is!”

“Not it isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t!”

Patton smiled slyly, “No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!” Virgil yelled, before the realization dawned on his face.

“So, you doooo admit it.” Patton said as he attempted to keep himself from chuckling.

“You--you tricked me.” Virgil protested, before the two finally burst together into laughter.

That memory usually made him smile. Not today, with his heart hammering in his throat. He stared at the skype call notification, vision blurred with tears. God, he was sick of tears. It felt like in the past year alone, he’d cried enough tears to last a lifetime.

He knew he had to pick up. Time was running short. Hastily, he wiped away his tears and shut the fridge door with his phone-less hand. He took one long deep breath, then pressed accept.

At once the phone screen went blank. A small part of Patton hoped it stayed blank. Then a fuzzy pixelated image came to life--the familiar face of his best friend Virgil filled the screen. He was hunched up in his signature plaid hoodie. The purple bangs that covered half his face made it difficult to tell if he was making eye contact. Patton didn’t recognize his friend’s surroundings at all--meaning he wasn’t at his apartment. Perhaps he was at a friend’s house. The very thought of Patton distracting Virgil from his new friends made his stomach squirm.

Patton swallowed, “H-hey--”

The call immediately ended.

He stared at his phone’s home screen, eyebrows furrowed. Should he call back or…?

Anxious_EmoNightmare is calling…

His phone started buzzing again as Virgil’s profile pic popped up once more. This time Patton clicked on it within the first buzz. Virgil appeared again, fiddling with the sleeve zippers of his hoodie. Patton could hear him taking in slow, measured breaths.

“Uh, sorry.” Virgil said, breaking the palpable silence, “I got...anxious.”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Patton mustered up a thin smile.

 Distantly, in his mind, he worried about what was the cause of Virgil’s anxiety. He knew Virgil was inherently an anxious person whose many fears were largely unfounded. Patton knew this and still loved him, anxiety and all. 

Patton’s words did everything but alleviate Virgil, who shrunk even further into himself.

“Look Pat, I’m just gonna come out and say it:  it was really shitty of me to ignore your texts for a whole week like that, I shouldn’t have done that--”

“It’s okay, kiddo!” Patton’s smile grew flimsier, unable to keep his voice from cracking, “I know you were probably busy with your friends and all.”

Virgil flinched as if Patton’s words slapped him in the face. He didn’t understand Virgil’s reaction, which alarmed him. Patton usually had a great read on Virgil. Or at least he did five months ago.

“Friends?” Virgil echoed.

“Yeah, friends,” Patton said,  “I, um, called your mom--”

“You called my mom? Why?” Virgil demanded.

“I was worried sick!” Patton cried out, a spark of rage he didn’t realize he possessed ignited, “You weren’t responding to my texts or my phone calls. It’s been a whole week-- and with the blizzard, I thought maybe you died!”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as Patton pressed on, “So I called your mom, because I had to know that you were at least okay. And she told me you decided to stay in Massachusetts and--and you were probably busy hanging out with friends. Which is fine! I’m fine! But at least text your best friend and tell them what the hell’s going on.”

Virgil stared at him, pupils dilated and mouth agape. In the stillness, all Patton could hear is Virgil heavily breathing into the mic. Any other time it broke Patton to see his best friend look so...devastated. Not this time. It felt almost triumphant to incite such a reaction in Virgil. 

Patton leaned against the refrigerator, heart clanging loudly inside his chest. He hated being angry. He didn’t like how it made him feel. There was just something savagely satisfying about lashing out in anger and it scared him how much he liked it. Patton was angry, yes. He was also frustrated, hurt, confused and a thousand other related synonyms. None of which justified lashing out at Virgil in that way.

“Look, Virge. I’m sorry--”

“No,” Virgil cut in, grimacing, “Don’t apologize, Pat. You have a right to be upset and I--I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I mean, you probably have better friends back in Florida…”

Virgil choked, unable to finish his own sentence. His voice had been relatively calm up until this moment. It’d been that faux calm, one that came from practicing words one hoped never to utter. If Patton knew anything about Virgil and his anxiety, that was most definitely the case.

“Virgil,” Patton inhaled, “I don’t have...any other friends.”

“What?” Virgil asked, looking up at him incredulously.

“Well, I do have friends!” Patton quickly amended, “Not just friends friends if you know what I mean. They’re more like acquaintances if I’m being honest. They’re work and school friends--so they tolerate me because they have to, not because they like me and really they think I’m too  annoying and childish--sorry! I’m rambling. I--I haven’t really kept in contact with anyone out of high school besides you. I know it’s pathetic, but you’re my only friend Virgil and I don’t want to lose you--please.”

Virgil blinked at him. Then he laughed, hard enough for tears to come out. High and lilting. Nothing like his usual quiet chuckles. Out of all the outcomes he imagined, Virgil laughing wasn’t one of them. Except it happened. Usually getting a laugh out of Virgil was the highlight of his day. He’d never imagined hearing it would cause his heart to break. He almost considered ending the call there, forgetting it even happened. 

The hurt in his face must’ve shown, because Virgil ceased laughing abruptly.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, I just…” He pauses, fiddling with the ends of his hoodie strings, “Honest to God, you’re my only friend too.”

“What?” Patton croaks out, eyes bulging, “But your mother said--”

“Yeah, well, like a lot of things about my life she was wrong.” Virgil snapped, his ire obviously reserved for her and not Patton.

“Virgil, what...happened?” Patton asked, soft and hesitant.

He was beginning to think that he had the story all wrong. Maybe Virgil didn’t hate him. That he hadn’t change plans last minute without informing Patton or ignored him out of malice. He was still the Virgil Patton knew and loved. He had to be.

Virgil’s fingers tightened around his hoodie strings. His eyes were closed, and Patton could tell by his controlled breaths he was trying to quell his anxiety.

“It’s really stupid,” Virgil begins, “and most of it is my fault because I got anxious and then my one rational brain cell left the building. My mother--she--well, she--”

Virgil let out a huff, frustrated by his inability to speak. Why had he thought a Skype call would be a good idea versus simply texting? Screw it being a show of genuity--he had always been better at transcribing his thoughts in written words rather than spoken ones. He could form his thoughts into a semi-coherent message whereas real time didn’t leave much room for error.

“It’s alright, Virgil,” Patton spoke up, “take your time.”

He looked up at the screen, at Patton who smiled back at him. Not mockingly, but a real, authentic smile meant to reassure him. It was then he remembered why he treasured Patton’s friendship. In high school, people always overlooked Patton as a bubbly airhead. They overlooked his kindness, his refusal to let anyone feel excluded from things. He may not have ever received the top grades in academic subjects, but he possessed wisdom in spades.

Aided by Patton’s encouragement, Virgil continued. His words weren’t perfect. He stumbled and stuttered his way through an explanation. But Patton waited patiently until he regained control of them again. Virgil told him everything. 

He admitted to Patton what really happened in the phone conversation between him and his mother. How he accepted her words without a fight, like a coward. How he felt abandoned by his parents, out of sight out of mind. How he spiraled into an anxiety attack, believing he couldn’t tell Patton. Couldn’t let him down or expect Patton to help with his air fares. He thought Patton would forget about him, too busy with hanging out with his real friends to notice Virgil’s absence.

He told him about the broken heater. How he wallowed in his misery rather than figure out a short-term solution for his problem. Waddled up in blankets, lying on a couch. If it hadn’t been for his roommate Roman--well, he didn’t want to think about it. 

“He kidnapped you?” Patton asked, gasping.

It had been the first time Patton had said something. All up to this point, he remained attentively listening. Occasionally he nodded or hummed sympathetically to let Virgil know he was paying attention.

“Well, sort of,” Virgil grimaced, “The cold kinda got to me. He was worried I had hypothermia and got a bit panicked. He took me to his brother’s place and offered to let me stay here for the rest of the break. He, well, he encouraged me to talk to you. He’s...a pretty nice dude. Don’t you dare tell him I said that, or it’ll get to his head.”

“Got it.” Patton said, nodding sagely as if the chances of them ever interacting weren’t slim. His eyebrows furrowed, waiting for Virgil to lead the conversation in what direction he’d prefer. A terrible decision, really. Virgil knew the words he had to utter, words that could truly do nothing to fix the damage already done.

“Patton, I’m so sorry about everything,” Virgil blurted out. Quick. Like ripping off a band-aid. He shut his eyes tight, unable to see Patton’s reaction. Because if he couldn’t see it, maybe it’d hurt less when Patton denied his apology. Anxiety logic.

“Virgil...” Patton said softly, “of course I forgive you.” 

Immediately a colossus weight lifted up of Virgil at those words. But Patton wasn’t finished speaking, “Who I can’t forgive are your parents.”

“My parents?”

“Virgil, I only know a little from what you told me about them,” Patton hesitated, “but from what I know, you deserve better. They belittle you, refuse to acknowledge your own feelings and insist you only do things their way...that’s not love, Virgil. That’s not how family should act. After all, you can’t spell ‘FAM’ without I L Y.”

Virgil gaped up at Patton’s grainy image on the screen. This news shouldn’t be a huge surprise to him. He knew his parents did some questionable things when it came to parenting. But he had always thought it was his anxiety over-magnifying things. Making mountains out of molehills. 

To hear someone point it out and insist it wasn’t right and to have that person be Patton…well.

“You’re not mad at me?” Virgil blurted out, “But I ruined everything, if maybe I’d--”

“Virge, I was more worried than upset,” Patton interrupted firmly, “I was worried about losing our friendship, but more importantly I was worried if you were okay.”

“Oh,” Virgil said faintly, “Well you shouldn’t worry, ‘cause that’s my job.”

“I care about you, I’m going to worry whether you like it or not, mister.” 

“Well maybe I’m not worth worrying over.”

“How dare you!” Patton gasped dramatically, “I will physically fight you!”

“Pat, you’re not even here with me--”

“I will personally book a ticket to Massachusetts if I have too!”

“Wait you’d do that? For real?”

“Well, of course,” Patton said, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

Virgil stared at him. Patton’s tear-encrusted face alit with a soft glow. His lips pressed into a small smile, one that always been reserved for Virgil and him alone. He felt both foolish and grateful. Foolish for ever doubting Patton. Grateful for the fact that Patton refused to give up on him, even when Virgil himself believed he should.

“Yeah, of course,” Virgil agreed, a lump forming in his throat, “I, uh, value our friend-chip a lot.”

Patton’s resulting squeal almost broke Virgil’s eardrums. But that was okay, because he’d rather be deaf if it meant he was still friends with one Patton Hart.

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

A Port in the Storm

This is part 2 of the original RoDAW post I made for Logan’s day, Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Logan x Ellie

no warnings, just pure fluff.

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @client-327 @zaffrenotes

Perma-tag: @leelee10898 @ritachacha @fullbeaumonty @valtorian-duchess @desiree-0816

    The storm had come upon the trawler Logan called home so quickly the entire crew was in a frenzy.

      The Perseverance was a small fry operation, so there simply weren't enough people to compensate for their lack of warning. Logan felt as if he'd just sprouted at least five more arms, surprising even himself with the speed and dexterity he exhibited racing around the deck.

      "Secure the nets! We can't afford to lose any more of them!" Barry shouted as he pulled up the sails, tying knots that months ago hadn't even existed in Logan's skill set, but now were like second nature to him.

     When the deck was secured the small crew took cover, huddled around the HAM radio within the flimsy walls of the wheelhouse. There was nothing left to do but wait.

        Logan peeled off his drenched rain slicker and tossed it to the side in disgust. He wiped his hands over his unshaven face and through his soggy hair. This room was way too small for the eight men jammed inside, but the stairwell leading down into crew quarters had taken on water as the ship was tossed like a discarded ragdoll, which meant that the bunks were likely wet as well.

      This wasn't the first storm Logan had witnessed out to sea, but it was definitely the worst. Even Barry, a twenty year shrimp boat veteran, seemed concerned by the ferocity of the squall and that fact made Logan even more uneasy.

      As the rain fell in huge droplets, pelting the plexiglass of the wheelhouse, he jammed his hands into his armpits, drawing his knees to his chest in an attempt to keep warm.  Eyed focused on the angry sky, he couldn't help but think about his Ellie.

     Barry had long ago called for engines at a full stop, leaving the trawler at the mercy of mother nature and by the time the storm had subsided and the sky had cleared enough for them to get their bearings, the crew discovered that they were some 400-odd miles off course. To make matters worse the already shoddy engine decided to die entirely, sputtering momentarily before an eerie silence.

      Logan stared down at the useless hunk of metal with red-rimmed eyes after not a wink of sleep, his blood pumping in his veins like a kettle boiling over. He punched the wall turning to Barry, muttering inaudible swears under his breath. 

     "What now, Cap?" 

      Barry pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled.

      "It's gonna have to be fixed and we're gonna have to make port for that. Guess we gotta radio the coast guard for a tugger."

      Logan rolled his eyes, "Well there goes our bonus checks." 

     Barry shrugged, rage clouding his usually mellow features. "Waddaya want me to say, Logan? We're 400 miles off course in the middle of nowhere and we're dead in the water! You got some oars? Huh? You gonna row us back to shore, tough guy?" 

       Silently he pushed past the captain, checking his shoulder on the way out.

      Up on deck Logan reached for the first thing his hands could find-a discarded beer bottle- and hurled it unceremoniously into the now calm, pristine waters surrounding them. He squinted in the sun, chest heaving in frustration.

       No bonus meant no savings. And no savings meant even longer before he could find Ellie, and return to her.

      He looked down at the fresh abrasions on his knuckles, shaking out his hand before cradling it to his chest.

       "God," he whispered to himself, "I could really use one of your pep talks right now, Troublemaker."

********

        Ellie closed the bathroom stall and sat on the toilet. Not because she needed to use the facilities, but because she needed a place to hide away from work for awhile.

       Sure she'd gotten a few grants and an excellent scholarship thanks to her status as salutatorian, but she'd picked up this part time job waiting tables so that she had some extra spending cash. She wondered right now if it was even worth it.

      The lunch rush had come on fast and hard like a tsunami wave of angry construction workers and rude millennials and with two call-outs this morning it would be at least another forty-five minutes before anyone would arrive to help Ellie man the floor.

     She reached down and fingered the spark plug she'd found in serendipitous bottle given to her down on the docks. She'd fashioned it into a necklace, the long braided chain always tucked under her shirt, close to her heart.

      Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. When she'd arrived this morning she was already frazzled having stayed up too late studying for midterms at Langston and now she felt so overwhelmed my just life in general she wasn't sure if she could take one more demand for fresh coffee or one more whiff of greasy, slimy Patty melts.

       She rolled her eyes, burying her face in her hands.

      A light knock on the door prompted an internal groan as she heard the cook's voice from the other side. "Two more tables, El. They're gettin ansty."

      "I'm coming." She replied, standing and flushing the toilet for effect.

     As she washed her hands, she looked intently at her reflection in the cracked mirror. 

     "Give em Hell, Troublemaker? You can do this. Logan believed you could." she told the girl staring back.

*****************

       Logan's head was spinning as he walked around the docks. It was as if he could feel Ellie swimming in his veins. As soon as Barry told him the town they were being tugged to his body started buzzing and it hadn’t stopped.

  She's here. Somewhere. I just know it.

     The docks were crowded, bustling with folks from other boats and patrons of the many stalls within the fish market. Boat-to-plate seemed to be a huge deal around here, but Logan surmised the fact had a negative impact for the local fisherman. Barry steered them away from the popular waters like the ones surrounding this town purposefully because higher demand meant less seafood to catch in the area.

        His stomach growled and he absentmindedly placed his bandaged hand over it, brows furrowing as he scanned the stalls for one that actually did the cooking as well. He found one down the way and stepped into the short line.

     Logan placed his order of a breaded fish fillet with a side order of fries and stepped aside while the older gentleman behind the counter set about preparing it.

***************

       Ellie threw her car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot. The police car in the parking lot should've been enough to deter her behavior, but it wasn’t. She peering into her rear view.

      Go ahead and come after me. It's been too long since this baby properly stretched her legs. 

       She thought, eyeing the nitrous button on her shifter.

      The cop seemed uninterested, so she pointed her car towards the docks. After the fresh hell she'd endured today, she couldn't wait to make it there.

      She saw Louie in her usual spot already staring contemplatively over the open water and she beamed, taking her place at his side.

     "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" he called, wrapping her in a one armed hug.

     "Dock looks extra crowded tonight." Ellie remarked "The Perseverance? I've never seen that one here before." 

    "Nothing gets past you, kid." Louie chuckled, " I watched a tugger tow that one in about an hour ago. Dead in the water, I suspect."

     She nodded. "I can't stay too long tonight."

     "Midterms. How's that coming along?"

     Ellie rolled her eyes and leaned  her head against Louie's shoulder.

    "That good, huh?" 

     A low growl escaped Ellie's stomach loud enough to prompt Louie's brow to quirk.

    "You know Ellie, sometimes you have to put food in that belly." 

     The laugh that followed was warm and hearty and despite herself, the young girl grinned.

    "C'mon. I'll getcha some grub." 

    The very odd pair made their way down the lane in comfortable silence. Some of the stalls were starting to pack up for the night, but Ellie already knew to which they were headed. 

    As they neared their destination Ellie spotted a man that looked so familiar it made her jaw drop. She blinked her eyes furiously before squinting, stopping dead in her tracks.

     "You okay, kid?" Louie asked trying to follow her line of sight.

      "Logan," she whispered, certain it was him but unable to get her legs to move.

     "What's 'at?" Louie pressed.

     "L-Logan," Ellie said a little louder. She repeated it twice more each time her voice got louder and stronger until finally she was yelling. "Logan?!" 

      The man she was staring at turned his head, eyes going wide. 

       "Ellie?!" his reply as he started towards her.

      "Logan!" She squealed. Her legs finally caught up with her heart and she broke into a run headed straight towards him. Logan did the same and when they met in the middle Ellie launched herself towards him. She flung her arms around his neck, legs around his waist as a smile bloomed across her face that threatened to split it in half. 

     Heart thundering in his chest he spun her in two 360's dumbfounded and unsure if she were real. When he stopped the twirling Ellie grabbed his face on either side, thumb brushing over the new-to-her facial hair he now sported before she conquered his lips with a searing kiss.

      Her lips parted instinctively, tasting him and savoring it as if he were the air she breathed. 

       Logan finally pulled away with reluctance, setting her back on the ground, arms still wound tightly around the small of her back. He cupped her cheeks, shaking his head in disbelief.

     "I knew it. I just knew ...I could feel you, Ellie." He whispered, peering down into her chocolate eyes before squeezing his shut and  resting his forehead against hers.

     "God I've missed you, Logan."  

      The crack in her voice prompting him to open his eyes once more to look at her. A lonely tear trailed down her cheek, though she laughed and beamed up at him.

    "Shhh. None of that, Troublemaker. I'm here now and I'm not gonna let you go." he told her, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

    "Don't even think about it. Don't you even dare."

[griffins-fanfic]

Finding Midnight-Chapter Two

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Moxiety, Background Logince

Warnings: none that I know of

Summary: shenanigans continue, featuring Midnight being a sassy little shit

AO3

[[MORE]]

The vet was very kind. She told them that Midnight, shockingly, didn’t have anything wrong physically except for malnourishment. She gave her a vaccine, then suggested a meat-based wet food diet, checking Midnight’s weight regularly to see if she’s gaining weight at a healthy pace, and told them to come back in three weeks for a booster shot.

They were on their way with Midnight in a carrier and headed to the nearest pet shop. Midnight fell asleep on the walk there. Virgil had a sudden spike of worry as they walked through the door, wondering if cats were even allowed in there. But, he spotted someone with a leashed Great Pyrenees at checkout, and figured that if that giant ball of fluff was allowed, then the kitten the size of Virgil’s hand wouldn’t be kicked out.

Patton had the shopping list, but he was quickly distracted by the rodent aisle. Virgil took the list and walked over to the aisle with all the collars. He set the carrier down on the ground and picked a couple options from the shelf. Then, he crouched down and looked into Midnight’s eyes.

“Alright. What about yellow?” he held up the yellow collar. It was an eyesore, but he had to give Midnight options. Silence from the kitten. “Blue?” It nearly perfectly matched Patton’s favorite shirt, which was a bonus in Virgil’s mind. Still silence. “Purple?” Quiet, then one tiny mew. “Alright, purple it is.”

They moved to the beds, finding Patton already there, holding up a medium sized pink bed. He turned to Virgil and showed it to him. “This one!” He said.

“Isn’t it a little big?” Virgil asked.

"She’ll grow into it. I don’t know. I was drawn to it.”

Virgil chuckled. “Valid. Let’s see.” He studied the list. “Food, litter, litterbox. Probably some sort of scratching post.”

“And lots of toys!” Patton added.

“Divide and conquer? I get the food and litter, you can get the box and toys.”

Patton nodded and started skipping off to get the stuff. Right before he turned the corner, Virgil shouted, “Make sure she can get into the box!” earning a thumbs up. He then swung around to the front of the store to pick up a cart and went over to the food aisle. There, he located the brand recommended by the vet and picked up a few cans. Then it was over to the litter. There, his phone rang.

“Hey,” He said.

Logan’s voice came through the phone. “Virgil, it’s Logan.”

"I know, caller id exists.”

“Correct. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I will be unable to attend movie night this week. Please give Patton my apologies.”

“Will do. You’ll make it next week, right? Pat will be disappointed if you miss two weeks in a row.”

“Of course. As long as we are not required to watch another one of those abominations that Roman likes to call ‘classic Disney movies.”

Virgil laughed. “I’m putting a blanket ban on any Disney movie made before 1970 from now on.”

“Perfect. Farewell.”

“See you next week, L.”

As Virgil found the most budget friendly litter, the thought that he should probably warn Roman about the cat before movie night crossed his mind. He quickly ignored it. It would funnier to drop the idea of the cat on him when he got there.

He met up with Patton at the checkout line. As he eyed Patton’s basket, he was relieved that he had been payed recently. He considered asking Patton to maybe give up a couple of the toys, but he just didn’t have it in him.

It wasn’t until Patton pulled out his debit card that Virgil realized why he had gotten that many items.

“Pat, no.” He started, but was quickly shushed.

“I’m not going to ask you to pay for this much. Look, the newest freelance job just finished, and now I have a little bit of money to burn. Don't fight me on this.”

They finished and started their trek back to the apartment. “Hey, have you told Roman about her yet?” Virgil asked.

“No, what are you planning?” Patton said, squinting, his usual face of suspicion.

“Nothing!” Patton knew him too well. “Just don’t tell him until movie night. I wanna surprise him.”

They arrived at the apartment and set their haul down on the kitchen table. Virgil's arms ached, and he could see that Patton was rubbing his shoulders, grimacing. Virgil set the carrier down, letting Midnight loose to sprint around the apartment again.

He picked a bag and started pulling things out of it, looking through all the toys Patton had bought.

"We need to get her a tag." Patton said, joining him in going through the stuff. "Oh! You should have a photoshoot with her. Get all your fancy photography stuff out."

Virgil shrugged. "I don't usually work with animal subjects."

"I mean, it's our child! It's gotta be different." Virgil blushed slightly at the suggestion that they were co-parenting. "And you could post it on your Instagram!"

Virgil had an Instagram that he posted some of his photos on. It had a couple hundred followers, and brought in the very few commissions he had done so far, but recently he had been pretty bad at keeping up with it.

"That's certainly an idea. Did you get two of the same toy?" Virgil held up two nearly identical feather wands.

Patton grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. I couldn't decide which color to get."

Virgil smiled back. "Dibs on the black one."

Patton pulled something else out of the bags. "This is a puzzle toy. You put a treat in this." He pointed at a tiny box in the middle of the toy, "and she has to solve a small puzzle to get it."

Virgil inspected the toy. "Are you sure we should be teaching her how to solve puzzles?"

"Why not?"

"She seems like she's gonna grow into a little shit. I don't think we're equipped for a cat who's both a little shit and intelligent."

"Do you really think-ow!" Patton jumped and grabbed his ankle. "She scratched me!" He yelled. Virgil hadn't even noticed that she was back in the room.

"Oh jeez. Are you bleeding?"

Patton flopped down on a chair. "I can't believe! Betrayed by my own child!"

"You've been spending too much time with Roman. Can you go get a band-aid, or are you too injured to walk?" Virgil teased. "I'll set the scratching post up so she'll stop using you as one."

He carried the scratching post into the living room, setting it up under a window. Midnight came running to the post as soon as it was ready. Virgil crouched down and looked her in the eye. "I know you're energetic and you probably never had a healthy way to express it, but we've got all these toys for you for a reason. I love you, but hurting Patton is where I draw the line." He dropped his voice down to a whisper. "Cause I love him more." She meowed in response. Virgil was satisfied that she had gotten the message.

Patton announced his presence by walking into the living room and immediately banging his elbow against the doorframe. Virgil looked back at him. "Jesus Pat, I think we need to do less cat proofing and more Patton proofing."

"The world needs to be me proof. Do I need to reprimand her or did you?"

"I think she understands. Do you want to help me with taking a couple photos of her?"

Patton's eyes lit up, causing Virgil's heart to jump. He had wanted to help Virgil with his photography since it was revealed that he did it, but Virgil had a hard time working with other people, so he hadn't accepted the offer yet. "Get the collar on her and take her to my room. I'll start setting up."

Virgil went into his room and grabbed his photography box from his closet. The box contained two white sheets, one for pinning on the wall and one for laying on the ground, his portable lights, and his tripod. The camera was kept on his desk, he spent an entire paycheck on it once, he wasnt about to put it somewhere it could get broken.

Patton came in while he was rummaging around the box. "Shut the door so we can keep her contained, and come help me pin this sheet."

"Ok! I brought one of the feather wands just in case."

"Good idea. Now get your tall ass over here and pin the top of it. I have it marked where the pins need to go."

"How do you do this by yourself?" The marks were made at 6 foot, and Virgil, in all his 5'3" glory, definitely wasn't tall enough to reach it without help.

He shrugged. "chair."

"Are you talking about your desk chair? Virge that could get you hurt!"

"Yeah, I have enough bruised forearms and knees to prove that."

Patton's face set in determination. "Well, now you have me to help you. You'll never have to worry about injuring yourself for your job again as long as I'm here!"

"Thanks, but it's not my job, Patton, it's a hobby.*

"It'll be a job one day, I'm sure. I mean, you have a gift!" Patton hit the space bar of Virgil's laptop in a flourish, revealing the background that Virgil had set. It was from the one wedding he had done, a photo from the reception. The two brides were doing the first dance, one of them looking at the other like she was the entire world. It was a beautiful moment that had Virgil tearing up from behind the camera.

"That photo, and that's just one example, is perfect!"

Virgil blushed at the praise. He quickly cleared his throat and set his mind back to the task at hand. He was about to melt and wasn't sure what he'd do if Patton kept spilling compliments from his lips. Probably kiss him. And that was a bad idea. A horrible idea. Terrible no good brain giving him all these idiot very bad ideas.

He turned his attention to setting up the lights, plugging them in and adjusting them. Next, the camera. Patton was stretching his arms up to reach the marks, shirt lifting up to show a tiny strip of skin. Virgil ducked his head down and continued fiddling with the tripod, face as red as a cherry.

Finally, the only thing he had left to do was get the subject ready. Who was currently attacking his comforter. This was going to be a mess. He sent Patton into the kitchen to get treats.

"What kind? We didn't buy her specific cat treats?"

"I don't know. Some lunch meat or something. Just go." Then he turned to the cat. "Alright. Now, this may be a hard thing for you, but I'm going to need you to behave." Midnight yowled at him in response. "Point taken. Just don't fuck up my equipment and we'll try to get through this." He finished the lecture by picking her up and plopping her on the sheet. She immediately attempted to scramble off of it, but was intercepted by Virgil.

Patton came in then, carrying a few pieces of ham on a paper plate. Virgil sighed. "Great. You're back. Can you tear a couple pieces of that and put it on the sheet? She won't stay on it long enough for me to take a photo.

They proceeded to fill Virgil's SD card with tons and tons of photos. Midnight playing with the feathers, Midnight flopped on the ground, Midnight mid leap, every single pose a cat could do, there was a photo of Midnight doing it. About 45 minutes into the photoshoot, Virgil fiddled with the tripod, raising it up to human level. He then gestured to Patton. "Get on there."

Patton looked shocked. "Me? But I'm not camera ready."

"Shut up, you're always camera ready. I want to get a couple of photos of her with her pa, obviously. That took another 30 minutes, and left Virgil wore out. It was a decently short shoot session, compared to some jobs he's done, but Midnight was undoubtedly one of his worst clients, so he was exhausted.

Patton started taking down the set as Virgil plugged the card into his computer and starting looking at the photos. He stopped at one. In the photo, Midnight was curled up in Patton's arms, obviously content, and Patton had the softest look on his face, he wasn't looking directly at the camera, he was looking just above it, but other than that, it was one of the best photos he had ever taken.

"Oh wow." Patton sighed out behind him, causing Virgil to jump. "That's beautiful. You did a really good job."

"Uh, thanks. But you know, it was pretty easy when I had the two best clients in the world."

They ordered pizza and munched on it as the two of them went through the photos, choosing the best ones. Then they put on a dumb Netflix movie, ignoring it in favor of laughing at Midnight's antics.

As Virgil passed by Patton's room at about 2 in the morning, he saw Patton asleep, his curls the only thing visible above his quilt, Midnight curled up on top of him, purring in her sleep. The annoyed thought of "of course she wouldn't use the bed we bought specifically for her" crossed his mind, quickly shot down in favor of him just admiring the sight. He stood there for too long, staring, only snapping out of his trance when Midnight stretched out, letting at the smallest mew he had ever heard. He fell asleep that night the most content he had been in years.

(Taglist, ask to be added or removed)

@whymustibedraggedintofandomhell @kosmicsides @ananonsplace @thatgaydemigodnerd @serenitythepanther

[kurtty-drabbles]

Evil Witch Kitty au (Charlie and the monster)

N/A: Hey does anyone here likes Ghibli? Does Princess Mononoke come to mind? Cause Charlie and Talia are going to enter in this plot.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @sailorstar9 @discordsworld @look-ma-no-hands336

The X-men receive a call for help from the Flea, a city who primes to have the best environment protection of all cities, is facing a dire problem, a monster is attacking them and the Flea´s citizen trust the X-men to protect them and to solve the situation in their best interest at heart. The team is composed of Hank, Pixie, Talia and Damian. The monster is stopping the construction of more hotels.

A monster who wears a cloak and has strange glowing green eyes and no one manages to come closer to the construction site ever since the monster appears.

It is to be a simple mission, so, of course, Talia is ready for any obstacle the mission may be hidden(her father often speak to Talia to never let her guard down as even a simple mission can be a dangerous one if the person is a fool and Talia Maximoff is not a fool) and her thoughts(and by extension her father´s) is proved correct as the monster appears howling and attacking the X-men.

“A vaporhag!” Talia exclaimed amazed, her mother, hiring the best tutors for Talia, mentioned how Vaporhags are rare as dangerous. His body resembles of a dog, except is far bigger than a normal one(bigger than a horse), his skin is tough than metal, his fangs can tear anything apart and they can see in the dark. For a moment, Talia remembers her father.

Damian and the others appear to be thinking the same thing as the fur of the monster is blue and is absorbing the light and camouflage in the shadows. “Just like dad!” Damian jokes, that joke does nothing to uplift the mood, and the members’ won´t be Kurt´s fan so soon.

“Dami” Talia chided him “is not the time to joke, the monster is not alone” and Talia is true as the Vaporhags are now 8 and ready to attack and Pixie power-up is ready to fight and kill. The fighting issue and the citizens watch in awe as the X-men are defeating the monsters.

Sadly, their celebration is cut short when a cloaked figure shows up and starts to fight off each X-men, Pixie, Damiam, Hank were all defeated and paralyzed as their bodies are stuck in the first position their minds could come up.

Talia, however, is fighting with a lonesome Vaporhag and is winning, until, she´s not. The Vaporhag is ready to rip her head, until, the mysterious person intervenes. “Jelly, no!” his voice is strong and the monster listens to the man. “Let her go” and Talia watches as the monster left.

The figure, still wearing a cloak, has no time to explain as Talia uses her tail to make this man fall on the ground and, using a dagger she summons quickly, is looking dead set in his eyes, her blue hair is free, her golden eyes are shinning and her lips are in a thin line. The man sees Talia with the dagger and can only think and speak one thing. “You´re beautiful!”

And that makes Talia loosen the dagger in confusion as the man still gazes upon her, doe eyes that are so familiar, until, finally, something click on her mind. “Charlie Pryde?” she inquires and the man finally let go of his secrecy. “Hi, Talia, last time we saw each other you did threaten with a spoon, now, we things are on the next level” and chuckles amused and Talia shakes her head at this crazy man.

Damian watches as the mysterious figure turned out to be a druid and one that does not have the best tracking record with the X-men as Dr MCcoy points out. “Damian, this is Charlie Pryde…the son of the Lady Necromancer” his tone is dry and his glare is not friendly to Charlie. Damian is not the son of Wanda, so, he has no real knowledge of who this woman is, the Lady Necromancer, Talia mentioned her once or twice(“she´s a friend of mom, she´s a necromancer and older than father …and she had one son, Charlie, they are Druids and no…don´t ask me what this means”)

Pixie, Hank are communicating to the others X-men the presence of Charlie with hissed tones and insecurity. Talia is talking with the man as she never saw him before, come to think of, she did mention how he was in a long training or something like that and Damian is the one to explain to people why the monsters are still alive. Whatever Damian said, with the best intentions, it wasn´t enough to satisfy the people.

“Kill those monsters now!” the mayor demands furiously and Charlie´s eyes are fully green and a wall of earth is created(thanks to his words) and the mayor´s words are loud enough to be heard by everyone, even the monsters.

“You won´t hurt them, and if you insist, I´ll destroy the monster right here and now” his glowing hand are pointing to the mayor and the X-men, even Damian are giving him awry eyes, Talia is a practical woman (she has to be) and can put 1 + 1 together to notice one thing.

“Ok, I can see this story is missing many parts” Talia speaks with a firm tone “tell me what is going on, why those Vaporhags are attacking now?” The mayor speaks in gibberish and Talia can see that maybe the monsters aren´t the real villains in this story.

“The mayor wants to deforest in order to open more hotels and commerce and the Vaporhags will lose their last home, so, I´m here to defend them by any means necessary” Charlie speaks firmly and Talia could swear Pixie called him evil Lorax.

“Guys, please, we don´t need to draw blood, we can solve this like adults” Talia beings smiling like in a political fashion. “I´d have the solution, I conquer this land for Genosha and I´ll increase the laws of environmental protection” the mayor lost his grin and is terrified, Pixie and Hank are speaking how she can do that, and Damian seems to be the only one who understands what´s going on. Charlie is confused.

“You can´t do that?” the man asked in fear and Talia continues “I´m princess Talia Maximoff and if I said so we can add this land to the Empire of Genosha, especially as you aren´t treating the land so well” Talia explained.  Then, she turns to Charlie “How long the construction has been going on?”

“I stop them, but, the idea was in motion for more than 3 months” Charlie explained and Talia nods and she continues “And didn´t you signed an accord saying that the forest is sacred and is illegal to build anything there? Now, Genosha was the mediator of the accord and if you are thinking of breaking…things won´t end well to you politically” Talia concluded smiling and the man lets his head down.

Charlie is not politically savvy, but, when Talia gives him a thumbs up he can believe things are ok.

In fact, it did, one week after this exchange and the construction site is over(Charlie saw no problem in using his powers to speed up the cleaning) and the Vaporhags can return to the forest and be protected. One of them lowers his head enough so Charlie could say goodbye, the man touches the creature´s fur with care and get licked on his face in return, and quickly leave with his family. Charlie watches and waves goodbye to them.

Talia explained the situation to the team, however, even knowing it was the mayor at the fault, Hank and Pixie aren´t ready to accept Charlie with open arms, Damian knows nothing about this Lady Necromancer, but, if the X-men are fine with him and Talia then why Charlie is a criminal in their eyes?

“Well, I can´t say I´m surprised” Charlie speaks calmly, once is more than clear Pixie and Hank are avoiding Charlie(Damian has to admit this behaviour is opening some wounds from the past)” If the X-men won´t accept me as a hero, I´ll be one be myself” Charlie offers and Talia and Damian look as this is something completely new.

“Are you going to your next adventurer, druid?” Talia asked crossing her arms a bit amused that he´s not going be all flashy and summon a dragon to take him to his destination, instead, Charlie is using the public transportation. “No, I´ll return home and Netflix and Chill” Charlie concludes and Talia shakes her head again smiling at the man. “And the princess and the prince?”

“Not a prince,” Damian explained having the feeling he´s the third wheel “and I´ll see if Pixie needs help” and leaves the two alone.

“I´ll deal with the political aspect of the situation” Talia explained with a smirk on her face, again, Charlie is not a savvy in politics, yet, he can´t help to add “then the situation is already solved, you seem to have a good grasp of this, the political thing…I´m not expert the art of politics, but, if you want help…” Charlie trails off and knows he´s rubbish in politics.

“Well, you´re not affiliated with the X-men, I may need a witness here” Talia replied calmly and Charlie knows he can Netflix and Chill later.

Jia and Magik are with Kitty as the older woman is gathering clues of this Jimmy person and so far all lead to one place, and she´s not so sure the baby got a happy ending in this deal. “the baby is with Doom?” Jia asked not getting how a baby ended up with Doom, of all people, Magik gives some suggestions, but, still, even she has trouble in understanding the logic.

“Well, it seems Doom has the baby, uhm, I´ll think about my next move” Kitty pipes in.

Kurt is watching Logan with a big grin on his face and logan is drinking his beer wishing the earth could swallow him now. “So, you were having an affair with Magneto´s fiancé/wife? When that happened?”

Logan sighs. “It was a long and complex story, I´m a changed man” Logan then gives the details and Kurt is too amused.

[ajax-b1ue]

Suspension of Disbelief: Ch 4

2018 Big Bang Fic Challenge Submission Amazing Artist, Big Bang Partner, and Header Creator: @ahoardofsides​​ TW: Villainous Deceit, angst, manipulation, gaslighting, self-deprecation, self-harm, anxiety attack, violence, blood, attempted murder Pairings: Platonic LAMP WC: 4452

( Master | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | Chapter 4: A Midsummer Nightmare | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 )

When Roman awakened this time, there was no one knocking at his door. 

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. In his head, he tried to muddle his way through his ongoing disagreement with the others, and why did he keep managing to mess things up every time it looked like they were getting better?

Roman eventually managed to rouse himself from his dejection enough to decide, he needed to make a better effort. Patton had certainly been trying to reach out to him this whole time. There was no reason he shouldn’t at least try.

And so, in what was becoming a familiar scene, Roman joined the others as they were finishing their breakfast. They all paused, watching him carefully.

Roman braced himself with a deep breath. “My friends, I… wanted to extend an invitation to all of you. Would you join me in my adventures in the imagination today?” 

Patton was delighted, immediately accepting. “Oh, absolutely Roman! I’d love to!”

Logan and Virgil were clearly less certain, exchanging a look and neither saying anything at first.

Roman tried not to let that sting. “I know it’s… been a while, since we’ve done anything together,” he admitted. “I thought this might help us get back on the right foot.”

Logan put a hand to his chin. “Indulging in fantasy scenarios is not something I’m usually eager to partake in… But, I agree,” he offered, gesturing with the same hand. “It would be good to have some… ‘bonding time’.”

Patton clapped his hands and looked expectantly to Virgil, as did Logan and Roman.

“Well, Grand Marshal of the Black Parade,” Roman hazarded. “…What say you?”

Virgil pulled a face and made a prolonged noise of displeasure; Roman grit his teeth. Patton was unfazed, cheerfully pointing out, “I’m not hearing a no!”

“Fine,” Virgil finally relented, rolling his eyes.

And so, the sides journeyed into Roman’s fantasy together; at first, all seemed normal. Patton was having a grand time, Logan was at least making an effort to enjoy himself, and Virgil… Virgil was going along with it, if unenthusiastically.

The adventure played out simply enough, with the sides as heroes questing to save a village from a nearby band of ruffians. It was somewhat straightforward, but plot twists and dramatic tension weren’t nearly so important as rebuilding a sense of camaraderie.

Their current path led them through a forest that had certainly never existed any place in reality. It was too pristine, too beautiful, too easy to traverse and was entirely devoid of spiders and mosquitos. Still, Roman couldn’t help but be cautiously pleased, especially as Patton delightedly pointed out each and every animal that crossed their path, or when he marveled at how pretty the sunlight shining through the leaves was.

Logan wore an exasperated but amused expression, and was notably refraining from pointing out the lack of realism. Part of Roman wanted to say something, maybe even thank the logical side— at least to let Logan know that Roman did notice the effort he was making. He couldn’t quite figure out how to word that without embarrassing himself completely, though.

Virgil was, perhaps not unsurprisingly, thumbing at something on his phone, his other hand jammed in the pocket of his hoodie. Roman let out a breath and glanced away, trying not to be frustrated.

Virgil was at least there with them. That counted for something.

For his own part, Roman tried to be a little less boisterous than he might have normally been— no breaking into song, no rallying speeches about how they would best their foes. Just… having the company of his fellow sides, and letting them enjoy themselves on their own terms.

“Roman?”

The princely side started, then glanced at Logan; from the tone of his voice, it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to catch his attention. Roman offered a sheepish smile. “My apologies, I was lost in thought.”

“So long as we’re not lost in Thomas’s imagination.” Logan raised one eyebrow, but also wore the hint of a smile. “I presume you know where we’re going? You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet since we left the village.”

Roman gave a short chuckle and glanced away. “Ahh… Well, I just wanted to let everyone take it all in, I suppose.” When he looked back to Logan, Roman could see the other side wasn’t quite buying it, but he let it slide nonetheless.

Patton took that opportunity to pop up between them, putting an arm around either of their shoulders. “Well, I know I’m having a good time, Roman! In fact,” he went on, grinning, “I’d say this whole afternoon has been a real tree-t!”

Roman pressed a hand to his mouth, trying not to smile at the expression on Logan’s face. 

“Yes. It’s been a pleasure,” Logan said, voice flat. “Thus far.”

“Sorry Logan. That was really a-corny pun, wasn’t it?”

This time, Roman had to stifle a snort, and he was pretty sure he heard Virgil chuckling behind them; Patton beamed at him. Logan pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly trying very hard to bite down on whatever it was he wanted to say. “Our destination?” he reminded Roman instead, speaking a little louder than was strictly necessary. “There are some criminals we’re supposed to apprehend, are there not?”

“A group of bandits,” Roman answered, deciding to take pity on Logan. “They make their lair in a cave in this forest. We’ll need to be careful, however, as the whole area surrounding it is littered with traps. Not to worry, though,” he added after a moment, with a little more of his usual bravado. “With the four of us, we shall conquer any obstacle in our path!”

“Right!” Patton agreed, dropping his arm to nudge Logan’s shoulder with his own. “So long as we stick together! I know we can get to the root of this problem, and achieve a vic-tree. Nothing’s going to stump us!”

Roman doubled over in a fit of very fake coughing, while Virgil quietly lost it; Logan stopped dead in the middle of the pathway, his whole body rigid, refusing to move any further.

Patton paused and turned around, barely containing his mischievous grin. “Uh oh… I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess, I might have pushed the puns to the ex-tree-m?”

“Easy there, Pat, his eye’s starting to twitch,” Virgil said, finally choosing to join the conversation. Patton turned and regarded Logan, who did indeed look like he was about to blow a gasket.

“…Wood you like me to stop?”

“I’m going on ahead,” Logan declared loudly, and stalked away from the other three.

“Don’t wander off!” Virgil called after him.

“Well, I guess he can’t cedar forest for the trees, huh?” Patton murmured, and Roman finally burst into guffaws, unable to contain himself any longer. Up ahead, Logan started walking faster.

Oh, it felt good, to laugh like that. To share jokes with the others. Roman hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed it; perhaps Patton had, though, judging by the warm look the moral side was giving him. Just as quickly, though, something else caught Patton’s attention off in the trees— “Ooh! Was that a robin?”— and he veered off in another direction.

Virgil threw his hands up in exasperation. “What did I just say?”

Roman’s laughter died down to a chuckle, and he shook his head. When he looked back up, though, he noticed that Logan was getting quite a ways ahead of them. While his good mood couldn’t be dampened by guilt, he still jogged to catch up. “Logan, wait!”

It took a few minutes of coaxing, but Roman soon managed to catch Logan’s interest again with discussion of some of the traps they might have to face. Patton continued to wander back and forth across the trail, searching for wildlife and wearing a wide smile; even Virgil seemed relaxed, enjoying the peace.

They continued on this way for at least another quarter of an hour, everyone’s spirits considerably lightened. In fact, engaged in a lively debate with Logan over the optimal construction of pitfalls, Roman could have completely forgotten that there had been any awkwardness or tension to begin with.

Right up until the moment when Virgil suddenly asked, voice full of alarm, “Where’s Patton?”

Logan and Roman both ground to a halt, spinning to see Virgil— and just Virgil. Roman’s heart started to pound faster.

“Now, there’s no call for panic,” Logan tempered. “The simplest explanation is that Patton most likely strayed from the path while looking for woodland creatures.” He gestured to the forest around them. “He probably hasn’t gone that far.”

“We should split up to look for him,” Roman immediately suggested.

Virgil gave him an incredulous look. “We’ve already lost one of us, and you want to split up?”

Roman turned towards Virgil, trying not to let frustration take hold again. “We need to find him, and it’s the fastest way.”

Logan interceded before it could devolve into bickering. “Roman is right; speed is of the essence. So long as we stay within auditory range of one another, we should be able to keep track of each other’s positions.”

The dark expression on Virgil’s face made it clear what he thought of that idea, but he didn’t argue any further.

They wasted no more time in starting their search; the three of them started back the way they came, with Virgil sticking to the path and Roman and Logan going off to either side of it, calling out for their missing friend.

“Patton!”

Roman paused, listening for any response. All he could hear, however, was Virgil also yelling Patton’s name, and a little fainter, Logan doing the same.

He sighed and pressed on, leaves crunching under his boots. He wasn’t too anxious just yet; this sort of plot twist wasn’t uncommon in the imagination. Still, it was one thing when it happened to him— Roman ventured into the imagination all the time, he was familiar with its quirks. And, he was armed. Thomas’s imagination wasn’t a particularly dark place, but it could still be dangerous, and Patton was a little too trusting.

A hint of movement ahead made Roman freeze again, eyes straining to pick out whatever it was he had noticed. “…Patton?”

No voice called back, but Roman did hear a strange creaking noise that took a moment for him to place…

With a start, his eyes went wide— the creaking gave way to a whistling sound, and Roman flung himself to the forest floor. The crack of wood splintering sounded overhead, and pieces of bark showered down onto Roman.

He didn’t need to see the shattered shaft of the arrow to realize that one had just glanced off of the tree above him.

Leaves and twigs dug into Roman’s palms as he shoved himself back up, scrambling to get his feet under him. “Bandits!” Roman bellowed, trying to warn his fellow sides. “Virgil, Logan!”

He could hear more people in the forest around him now, chasing after him, and he raced to rejoin his companions. Then, Roman heard a shout that made his blood turn to ice: “We’ve got one here!”

Roman immediately turned that way, drawing his sword mid-stride. He burst back onto the path to find that two of the thugs had Virgil backed up against a tree trunk, his eyes wide with fear.

He gave them no time to react; Roman charged in, and even as the first bandit turned to look Roman smashed the hilt of his sword into their face.

The second one gave a startled cry, but quickly recovered and swung their sword at Roman. He met it with his own, then lashed out with one booted foot, catching the ruffian in the thigh and kicking them to the ground.

Then he latched onto one of Virgil’s sleeves— “Come on!”

Virgil got no chance to protest or even react before Roman started dragging him along— none too soon, as more of the bandits emerged from the trees where Roman had appeared.

Luckily, Virgil turned out to be as fast a runner as Roman was. Unfortunately, their pursuers weren’t that far behind; it would only take one slip to give them the chance to catch up. 

This was still Roman’s forest, though— he knew it as well as any imaginary villain that inhabited it, and he had a clear destination in mind as he pulled Virgil after him. If they could just reach the spot in time…

Then, through the trees ahead of them, Roman could see it.

Apparently Virgil saw it too, because he dug his heels in, trying to stop. “Whoa— no!”

The ground in front of them dropped away in a steep embankment— but the shouts behind them were getting louder. Roman paused just long enough to sheath his sword, then grabbed Virgil’s shoulders with both hands. “Yes!”

Without waiting for a response, he drug Virgil over the lip. They both immediately lost their footing, sliding down the embankment, and tumbling into a heap at the bottom. Roman was the first to recover, scrambling to his feet and trying to pull Virgil to his.

There was just enough of an overhang, with thick vegetation in front of it, that it couldn’t be seen from above. Roman yanked Virgil down with him, just barely managing to hide before the sound of voices drifted down to them. 

“Think they went down this way?”

Virgil sucked in a loud breath, and Roman instinctively clamped a hand over the anxious side’s mouth.

“I don’t see anything… look around!”

The seconds seemed to stretch for an eternity in which the two of them stayed frozen, neither daring to move.

Until, finally: “Ugh, can’t find nothin’… all right! Keep moving!”

Roman would have waited another few minutes, to be absolutely certain that the bandits had moved on. He wasn’t given the option, however; Virgil angrily shoved his hand away, elbowing him in the ribs and shooting the creative side a dirty look.

Roman grunted, flinching, and was ready to snap at Virgil. That was, until he saw the way Virgil sat stiffly with his shoulders hunched, pressing himself up against the dirt embankment— as far away from Roman as he could get in the small space.

Struck with a pang of guilt, Roman tried to apologize. “Virgil, I’m—” 

“Whatever,” Virgil growled, pulling the hood of his jacket up around his neck like a ruff. He shoved his way past the other side, clambering to his feet. Roman let out a breath, then started to push himself up as well.

Standing again, Roman allowed himself a moment to take stock of where they were: the bottom of a streambed, with water trickling over mossy rocks at their feet. It was actually rather beautiful, and under any other circumstances, Roman would have liked to stop and take the time to admire his handiwork. As it was— 

“So what now?”

Roman winced, but schooled his expression as he turned to Virgil, who wore a flat look and held both arms out to the side before letting them drop.

Roman took a moment to straighten his back and take a breath, trying to project his usual air of confidence. “First thing, we should get out of this gully. We don’t want to be trapped down here if they come back.”

Virgil gestured to the bank they had slid down, and Roman immediately took his point.

“I know, it’s too steep,” Roman acknowledged, grimacing. They couldn’t go back the way they came. “The other side is shallow enough, though; we can climb up and follow the stream until we find a spot where we can cross back over.”

“Then we can start looking for Patton, and Logan.” The stare Virgil gave Roman was neutral, but his tone was bitter.

Roman had no answer for that. He just moved to the opposite bank, trying to pick out the best path upwards.

“Great plan, by the way,” Virgil went on. “Splitting up? Wish I’d thought of how it could have gone wrong. Oh. Wait.”

Roman flinched, his hands clenching. “Virgil—” His breath caught in his throat, and Roman checked himself, ducking his head. “Let’s just… focus on finding Logan and Patton.” 

He could feel Virgil’s stare boring into the back of his head.

“Sure,” was the clipped response.

With that, things were right back to how they had been the past few weeks— uncomfortable and tense. The two of them drug themselves up out of the gully, then proceeded to walk in uneasy silence; calling out for Logan and Patton was out of the question, not with the bandits already looking for them. The woods around them seemed to reflect Roman’s sinking mood, with the forest growing more dreary and lifeless with every step they took.

It was, surprisingly, Virgil who finally broke the silence. “So… this is your space, right? Can’t you just—” Virgil snapped his fingers— “and we’re all back together? Or,” he asked, eyes narrowing, “does that not fit with your ‘storyline’?”

Roman did his absolute best not to react to Virgil’s pointed jab. Instead, he tried to answer Virgil’s first question. “…Yes, I can shape the imagination,” he explained, still keeping his eyes forward. “But, for something like this, I also have to surrender some control. I can’t just always… force an idea, or a story. It needs to be able to flow naturally.”

“…So even in your own realm, you’re useless. Good to know.”

Roman froze. The forest around them was still and silent and gray.

Then, slowly, he turned to face Virgil. “What?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Did I stutter?”

Roman bristled, then snapped, “What the heck has gotten into you, Anxiety?”

He hadn’t meant to say it— in that moment of incredulous anger it slipped out. But before Roman even had the chance to regret his choice of words, Virgil’s lips curled, and his voice dripped with sarcasm. “Aww, look who’s busting out the old names—  am I getting to you, Princey?”

“Well you’re certainly doing your best to act like a villain right now,” Roman shot back, guilt fading fast.

Virgil’s response took Roman entirely off guard. He just smirked, tapping the tip of his nose with one finger. “And he finally gets it.”

“Excuse you??” About a hundred questions immediately sprang to Roman’s mind, most of them some variation on, What the heck is that supposed to mean? It was at this point, however, that Roman realized the imagination was starting to warp around them; everywhere he looked, it grew darker, plants withered, the wind blew cold.

He understood with a start— it was responding to Virgil.

“What are you doing?” Roman wheeled back towards the other side. “Stop it!”

“Make me,” Virgil taunted. “Oh wait, you can’t, can you? You have to ‘surrender control’,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers.

At this point, Roman had had enough. Virgil had escalated from being rude to being outright confrontational, and if the other side wanted to play this game—

Roman caught himself again, and let out a short, hard exhalation.

…No.

If Virgil was trying to get a rise out of Roman, the creative side wasn’t going to give him any further satisfaction. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and turned pointedly away, intending to walk off and leave Virgil to his own devices.

Instead, Roman was forced to halt, almost tripping over his own feet to avoid walking straight into a wall of gnarled roots and vines full of thorns that erupted from the ground at his feet. He backpedaled, turning to search for another way around— only to find that he and Virgil were surrounded, hedged in on all sides, cutting the two of them off from everything else.

Roman recoiled, his head whipping back to Virgil, who just smiled. “What— how—” Roman realized then that the imagination wasn’t just responding to Virgil— the other side was actually manipulating it, in a way that no one except Roman should have been able to. “Virgil, what’s going on??”

“Virgil? I thought I was Anxiety.” Virgil tilted his head, expression filled with mock concern. “…Am I making you anxious, Roman?” Then Virgil’s eyes fell to where Roman’s hand had found its way to the hilt of the sword at his hip; his smirk twisted into a grin. “No… you’re scared.” The grin darkened, as did the air around them. “You should be.”

Roman felt like the world was spinning around him, and he couldn’t get his balance. “Are you… threatening me?” Once upon a time, Roman would have believed that in a heartbeat— but he would have been wrong, he told himself vehemently.

Wouldn’t he?

No, Virgil wasn’t like this. They got mad at each other, they fought sometimes, but Virgil wouldn’t go this far… But if he was still mad, why accept Roman’s invitation in the first place? Was it some kind of joke? Virgil’s way of getting back at him?

Roman clenched his eyes and shook his head. “Virgil, enough! I don’t understand how, or why you’re doing this, but we both know this isn’t you!”

Virgil snorted softly, still watching Roman with eyes full of dark amusement. “Funny. They both knew it wasn’t me, either.”

A chill ran up Roman’s spine. “…What?”

The smirk never left the other side’s face. “Out here, in the middle of the woods… it’s so easy to get turned around. Separated.” Virgil’s face scrunched up in fake concern. “I hate to think about what’d happen to Thomas if they got lost in here.”

Roman couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe what he was hearing—

“But, there’s nothing to worry about,” Virgil dismissed casually. “Not when you have friends you can trust…” He made direct eye contact with Roman, and smiled. “Right?”

Friend or no— that was the tipping point. With a flash of steel, Roman’s sword was free of its sheath. “What have you done to them?!” he demanded.

“Hm, I don’t know… what do you think?” Virgil gestured lazily, the dark aura around him growing, and suddenly Roman could hear yells of pain coming from beyond the thicket.

“Logan! Patton!”

Roman spun frantically— blast these damned thorns, he couldn’t get through to them! 

Instead, he rounded again on the other side, desperate. “Virgil, stop! They’re your friends!” Virgil’s grin widened, and the sounds of pain turned to screams; Roman flinched, then advanced on Virgil, brandishing his blade. “Stop this, now!”

Virgil raised an arm surrounded by black energy, gesturing at Roman—

Roman reacted, swinging to intercept—

And for just a moment, Roman saw Virgil’s face twisted in fear, not a grin; the arm he had thrown up not crackling with dark magic, but protecting his face. 

Roman’s sword sliced cleanly into Virgil’s left forearm.

The anxious side gasped for air. His face went white as a sheet. Then he crumpled, clutching at his arm— and the far-too-fast-growing bloodstain there.

And that was when the other sides found them. They ran to them, calling their names— Roman barely registered that there was no thicket separating them anymore, as Logan and Patton both drew up short, looking horrified; Patton immediately rushed to Virgil’s side.

Logan spun towards Roman. “What did you do?!”

Roman’s mouth hung open, eyes wide, unable to form words. Logan shoved past him, not waiting for an answer. The silence was filled by Virgil’s gasping breaths; he was starting to hyperventilate. Patton frantically tried to get Virgil to focus on him and slow his breathing.

Logan muttered, “He’s going into shock… We have to get him out of here so we can stitch that up.” He then rounded on Roman again, who recoiled at the fury on Logan’s face. “End this— take us back!”

Floundering for a moment, Roman tried to remember how to make his limbs work, how to make his mind work.

“Logan!” Patton’s desperate cry drew the attention of both the logical and creative sides.

Virgil’s breaths were getting choppier, and his head was starting to loll— and suddenly the world around them lurched and grew darker. They all came to the awful realization at the same time:

Thomas was having an anxiety attack.

Everything around them started to devolve into chaos— tremors shaking the earth, trees toppling and collapsing around them, lightning flashing as a building storm filled the sky.

“Take us back, now!” Logan yelled again. When Roman didn’t respond, he seized a fist full of his jacket and shouted, “Roman!” Roman flinched, but then made a curt gesture with his arm; the fantasy world dissolved around them, resolving into their own living room.

The sky outside was still dark except for flashes of lightning followed by rumbles of thunder that shook the house, while the wind howled and rattled the windows— not nearly as bad as the imagination, but Thomas’s mind was still in chaos.

Logan and Patton maneuvered Virgil onto the couch and stripped his hoodie off, totally occupied with trying to deal with his injury as quickly as they could, and hopefully stop Thomas’s panic attack.

Roman staggered back against the wall, trying to process. He attacked Virgil. He genuinely thought that Virgil had turned on them, that he was hurting the others… But the terror in Virgil’s face as Roman’s sword descended was burned into his memory— as was Logan’s look of cold fury.

Patton had one hand clamped over Virgil’s bare arm; he reached out to Logan with the other, taking the piece of gauze the logical side handed him. He placed it over the cut before quickly reapplying pressure— Roman could see, his hands were covered in blood.

In Virgil’s… 

Roman sank out, retreating to his room. He barely managed to stumble to the door and lock himself in before he broke down crying, which turned to sobbing. 

He sank to his knees. He buried his face in his arms, fingers pulling painfully at his hair, shuddering with each gasped breath.

He missed the footsteps crossing the marble floor until their owner was right in front of him.

“Oh, Roman… what did you do?”

Roman wasn’t quite able to look up, but Deceit’s voice was unmistakable. Roman still couldn’t bring himself to move as Deceit knelt next to him.

He slowly wrapped his arms around Roman’s shoulders. “Shhh,” Deceit soothed. “I’ve got you.” In his soft, flat tone, he insisted, “Don’t worry… it’ll all be okay.”

Hearing those words from Deceit, Roman began to tremble. His face screwed up— and then, he broke down completely. His body sagged, his strength leaving him, until he was held up only by Deceit’s iron grasp.

[sandersstudies]

I Do(n’t) Understand - Part I

Hey, friend-os! I was so flattered and blown away by the response to my first short Sanders Sides fic that I decided to try my hand at a longer piece. Please let me know what you think, I really do go through tags and comments regularly, and input makes my heart happy! 

Warnings: (SPOILERS) Some arguing/crying, minor panic attack, a minor physical injury. There is NO sexual content, swearing, or blood - it’s important to me to keep my Sanders Sides fics accessible, especially considering that so many Fanders are <18. If more warnings are needed, let me know. 

Pairings: Not romantic (but could be interpreted that way); expect platonic moxiety; platonic analogical. (More platonic pairings in later chapters.) 

Words: 2987

A healthy mix of fluff and angst this chapter, please enjoy! Feel free to message me and let me know if you want to be added to a tag list. (Also, just message me about whatever - I like getting to know Fanders!)

I Do(n’t) Understand - Part  2  3  4  5  6  7  8

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

Roman was ready to conjure a samurai sword and take Logan’s whole face off. “Get on with it, Bitter Holmes and Gardens.”

Logan was leaning against the door to his room, listening for noise from the hallway. “Keep your volume low.”

“Gan,” Roman said.

“This is no time for paronomasia, and Patton has already made that joke.” Logan pulled away from the door.  

“And why isn’t Patton here to make it again, might I ask?”

“Roman, it is my intention to keep the mindspace as undisrupted as possible, and that means ensuring that neither Thomas’ heart nor anxiety feels too distressed.”

“But Thomas knows about Deceit now! Keeping things from those two isn’t going to help anything.”

“I am confident in my ability to remove Deceit or, at the very least, to reduce his influence.” Logan paced the room with his hands held at the small of his back. His knuckles were white, but his palms were pink where they clasped. Roman couldn’t tell if they shook or not.

“So what do you need me for if you’re so all-powerful?” Roman asked.

Logan’s hands were definitely shaking now. He looked at Roman, pink in the face.

“In the… absence of reason, sometimes another approach is needed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In light of recent events, I think it is only appropriate to consider utilization of a Plan B, should it become necessary.” Logan’s eyes were bright behind his glasses. He took a deep breath which shuddered around his sternum. “If Deceit were to try to deceive us again, it’s not improbable that he would try to do so through me, especially considering my current confidence that I can overcome his attempts with logic.”

Roman couldn’t look at Logan’s eyes. Logan had never asked for help like this before; it seemed like he had never needed it. Roman felt an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach.

“So what do you want me to do?” Roman asked.

“I won’t pretend I believe that the sword will ever conquer the pen,” Logan said. “But in some cases, the sword is necessary.” He sat on his bed and took off his glasses. They dangled from one hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. He screwed his eyes up, and the twinge in Roman’s stomach elongated and coiled around his intestines.

“Do you really think it’ll work?” Roman asked.

“My deductions are inconclusive,” Logan said. “Evidence is scarce, but it’s there. If nothing else, you should be able to intimidate Deceit enough to drop his act.” Logan chuckled one syllable. “You’re quite intimidating when you want to be.”

“What’s this evidence you have?” Roman asked. He’d never asked Logan that before.

“They’re just fragments,” Logan said. He stood up by pushing off his knees with his palms. He shoved his glasses up his nose as he shuffled a few pieces of scrap paper. “Short notice, and all that.” He tried to block the scraps with his body. “It’s usually not this disorderly in here, really,” he whispered.

“It’s okay.”

Logan cleared his throat. “I wish I had more knowledge a priori, but-”

“English, Doc,” Roman interrupted. “Or Spanish.”

“I have a predilection for theoretically established knowledge derivable from universal principle deduction, rather than exiguous empirical data,” Logan said. He turned around and held up a scrap of paper. “Here: remember Thomas’ imperfect audition?”

“Of course, I was sore for days.” Roman decided to not bother asking for English a second time. “Predilection” was as far as he’d followed, and that sounded like a medical procedure.

“Bruised? In pain?”

“Yes.”

“And wasn’t Virgil lightheaded when we rose out of Patton’s room? And then, what did Deceit say right before Patton reappeared?” Logan’s words tumbled out.

“That…that it didn’t hurt him at all?”

“Correct!” Logan said. “He was lying, which means that he was in pain.”

“So sides can get hurt. Physically.”

“In a way,” Logan said. “Which means…”

“I can take Deceit’s whole face off.”

***

Virgil slid his headphones around his neck. “Everything okay, Pat?”

“Hmm?” Patton broke out of his reverie and blinked at Virgil several times.

“You’ve been staring at the stairs for ten minutes now.”

“Just thinking, kiddo,” Patton said, looking at his hands in his lap. “Roman and Logan sure have been up there for a while.”

“I’m sure everything’s okay,” Virgil said. Patton didn’t respond. “You want me to go check on them, or -”

“It’s okay.” Patton stood. “I think I’ll make dinner.”

Virgil glanced at the clock. It was three-thirty. He leaned against the couch, eyes closed, and listened to Patton moving things in the kitchen.

Virgil’s heart wasn’t pounding; his body wasn’t shaking. He could hear the faint crackle of music playing in his headphones. Nothing serious could be wrong with Thomas when Virgil felt so calm. The only thing bothering him was Patton’s behavior.

He opened his eyes. Patton was walking back and forth in the kitchen, picking things up and putting them back just where he’d found them.

***

“We have to tell the others,” Roman insisted. “You said yourself that knowledge is power.”

“It is my intention to preserve peace in the mindspace, Roman,” Logan insisted. “I’m hesitant to involve emotions in such a sensitive topic.”

“You’ll only be hurting the both of them if you keep things from them,” Roman said. “You’re so attached to your knowledge that you can’t bear to share it.”

“And you’re so determined to show off your ideas that you won’t keep them to yourself even for the safety of others,” Logan snapped. “Aren’t you always trying to be the protective one?” He took a step closer. Roman could hear a heart pounding, and wasn’t sure if it was his own or Logan’s. “I’m trying to keep the two of them safe.”

“And aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” Roman asked. “What happened to seeking knowledge if you’re afraid of getting hurt?”

“There are many factors at stake that you fail to understand, and I can’t expect myself to dumb them down to your level-”

“Others have feelings, Logan. But I guess you don’t know what those are!”

Logan took a step back. His lips were parted; his eyebrows arched, then narrowed. He pressed his fists against his sides.

Roman whirled and pulled Logan’s door open. He stopped just short of barrelling over Patton, who stood with one hand raised as if about to knock.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton whispered. The twinge that had been snoozing in Roman’s abdomen reared up to clamp around his esophagus. Roman felt his shoulders shaking, and he braced himself against Logan’s door frame.

“What do you want?” The words came out harsher than he had meant.

Patton’s brows furrowed, and Roman felt pinned like a bug between two sets of bespectacled eyes. The twinge was in his throat, and his ribcage was shivering as his heart convulsed inside. He bit his lip. Was this how Virgil felt during a panic attack?  

“Was just making dinner, and-”

“We’ll be down later, Pat, it’s really not a good time.” Roman shoved past Patton and slammed Logan’s door behind him. He ducked into his own room before he had a chance to see Patton’s face sink.

***

Virgil had started cutting up carrots for Patton, humming along to his music as he did so. A door slammed somewhere in the mindspace, and he took his headphones off again. A second door slammed. He looked around. Patton wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.

Virgil heard slow feet on the stairs.

“Hey, I didn’t notice you leave, Pat,” Virgil said, moving the sliced carrots from the cutting board to a bowl. “Guess my volume’s turned up too high again, huh?” Patton had been getting after him about that for weeks, and even Logan had added something about safe decibel levels.

Patton didn’t respond. Virgil turned around, but Patton’s back was to him. Patton pulled onions out of the fridge and put them on another cutting board.

“What’re we making, soup?” Virgil asked. How strange to be the one starting conversation, for once. Patton made a small sound of assent.

Virgil’s stomach shifted. Something wasn’t right.

Deceit again? Virgil thought. No, this wasn’t like that.

Patton sniffed over the crisp crunching of the onion he was chopping.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Virgil asked, moving to stand next to Patton.

“Onions,” Patton muttered, dropping the knife and fumbling with his wrist under his glasses to rub his eyes. His shoulders started to heave, and a sob broke free from his throat. He slapped one hand over his mouth. The deceitful motion made Virgil’s stomach churn again.

“Onions don’t do that, Pat.” Virgil rested his hand on Patton’s shoulder. It was warm. Virgil moved his hand to the other arm and pulled Patton into an embrace. He couldn’t tell which of them was shaking but heard his own voice whispering. “Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.” He felt dampness on his shoulder as Patton’s face reddened and sweated. Tears and snot smeared into Virgil’s hoodie, and Patton’s glasses dug into Virgil’s neck as they were knocked askew. Patton’s fingers grasped the cloth of Virgil’s hoodie, and Virgil placed his hand on the back of Patton’s head.

***

Virgil played his music low as he sat on the coffee table to think. He had finally convinced Patton to drink two glasses of water and go to bed. He had listened at the door until Patton’s even breathing convinced him that all was well. He considered confronting Roman or Logan; they would apologize to Patton if they realized how upset they’d made him. 

Patton had told Virgil he’d heard arguing in Logan’s room. Virgil cupped his own face in his hoodie-paws. What would creativity and logic be arguing about? Granted, the two of them were both opinionated and often at odds, but their tiffs never escalated into anything serious. Sure, Roman overreacted over anything: the other sides all remembered the Mrs. Fluffybottom incident. But Logan was much calmer. Anybody could push his buttons with a falsehood, but a full-on argument was rare. Virgil was proud at the way Logan had struck down Deceit with his level-headed reasoning.

Deceit. Could he be the reason that Roman and Logan were fighting? Virgil hadn’t felt uneasy all day, so he was confident Deceit hadn’t entered the mindspace.

Virgil watched the stars come out through the window, but he didn’t turn on any lights. He’d have to be more aware the next time, so Deceit couldn’t lead them along. He still felt he had to protect Patton, but suspected that Deceit was too smart to try the same stunt twice. The one he worried about the most was Roman; Princey was more easily manipulated with compliments than Patton, and more emotionally charged than Logan; a bad combination.

Virgil heard footsteps on the stairs. Logan walked into the kitchen, his hands held behind him. He didn’t look up from his feet.

“Hey,” Virgil said.

Logan started. He clasped one hand over his heart and flicked the light switch with the other. He relaxed when the obscure dark figure in the living room was illuminated; Virgil perched like a cat on top of the coffee table. The shadow of his bangs turned him into little more than a mouth and hair, framed by a hood pulled over bulky headphones.

“Virgil,” Logan said in a strangled tone. He cleared his throat. “Virgil. I apologize for my overreaction. I assumed everyone would be asleep considering the late hour. What are you doing awake at this time?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Virgil pulled off his hood, and the headphones tumbled to rest around his neck like jewelry.

Logan “hmm”ed. His eyebrows wagged and he nodded like he was unsure what to do with his face. He turned and went into the kitchen.

“I’ve been pondering some ideas.” Logan started filling the teakettle with water from the tap. “Some ideas more complex than I’ve considered in some time.”

“I probably wouldn’t understand, then,” Virgil joked, hoping his tone would cheer Logan up. Logan fumbled the teakettle as it overflowed. He turned off the tap and put the kettle on the stove.

“Yes, well…” Logan rubbed his hands together as if drying them off. “You shouldn’t give yourself too little credit, Virgil.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Logan stood suspended in the kitchen facing Virgil for a few long seconds.

“There’s plenty of couch. If you want,” Virgil said.

“No, no thank you.” Logan jerked his hand into a cabinet, searching for tea bags. “I’ll just be making my tea and going back to my room.”

“You might want to turn the stove on first,” Virgil suggested.

Logan paused with one hand still groping inside the cabinet. He blinked at Virgil, and then at the stove. “Ah, yes, well.” He walked to the stove and turned it on. “A foolish oversight on my part.”

“Everything okay, Professor?” Virgil asked.

“Yes, certainly,” Logan responded, almost cutting Virgil off. “I don’t know why you would infer otherwise.”

“You seem a little off,” Virgil said.

“I suppose I’ve been thinking about other things,” Logan admitted. “But I’m…Gucci, Virgil.” He bared his teeth with pride at his use of a modern slang term.

“You’re more Ralph-Lauren to me,” Virgil said. Logan blinked, and Virgil didn’t try to revive the joke. The teakettle steamed.

“Listen, Patton’s pretty upset,” Virgil said. He watched Logan’s stiff grin fall. Logan turned around to stare at the tea kettle; faint bubbling was audible inside.

“I would like to confer with him,” Logan said after a few seconds. He took his favorite mug from the counter. “Is he also awake?”

“He’s asleep.”

“I see. I don’t wish to disturb his circadian rhythms.”

Virgil didn’t respond. He couldn’t tell from Logan’s tone whether he was concerned about sleep cycles or if he was abashed to face Patton.

“I regret that he is upset, but I believe that Roman is the one who ought to make an apology,” Logan went on as he took the teakettle off of the stove. “He was terse with Patton, and I believe it may have been that which led to Patton’s distress.” The teakettle was heavy with water, and Logan strained to pour it.

“Listen, Logan-” Virgil said. The sound of Logan’s mug shattering against the floor cut him off.

Logan clasped his hand into a fist. He ought to have known better than to try and pour boiling liquid from such a heavy container. He felt his body responding to the shocking feeling and noise by shaking. His hand throbbed where the boiling water had spilled, and he could feel his heart pounding both in his chest and in his hand. Logan was surprised; he’d expected a burn of this kind to cause pain on the surface, but the scald dug deep into his hand, stabbing from the inside. This was further evidence for his research, and now he’d experienced the sensation for himself.

Virgil was at his side. He towed Logan by the arm around the broken mug to yank his hand under the tap. The cool water ran, and Logan felt immediate relief. The shaking subsided.

“What’s wrong with you?” Virgil asked, suppressing the shaking in his own voice. “Lost your sense of feeling?” He continued to hold Logan’s hand under the running water, even though Logan would have held it there himself if permitted.

Logan touched the red place where the water had scalded him. It stung.

“Stay there,” Virgil said, turning around to grab a handcloth.

“Be cautious,” Logan said. “There is glass on the floor.”

“Obviously,” Virgil said. He covered his hand with a towel and started to pick up the pieces. He reached under the stove and fridge to capture shards which had been flung out by the force of impact. He deposited them in the trash can and wiped the floor dry. “How’s your hand?”

“Improving, I believe,” Logan said. He tried to remember reading about how to treat burns.

“Let me see,” Virgil said. He turned the tap off. “Can I?” He was holding another towel.

“Certainly. The area should be cleaned.” Logan remembered that from an article he’d read.

Virgil touched Logan’s hand with the cloth and felt him flinch.

“Does that hurt?” Virgil’s eyes gazed through his bangs, but Logan wasn’t making eye contact.

“Only a little.”

“Don’t lie to me, Teach.”

“It does hurt quite a bit.”

“Put it back under the water,” Virgil said. “I’ll be back.”

Logan watched the water run over his hand as Virgil’s steps faded. The epidermis was flushed, but not blistering. From his preliminary observations, there was no damage to the subcutaneous tissue, despite the deep tingling sensation he felt. He opened and closed his fingers, considering which movements caused pain and which did not. How frustrating that it was his writing hand.

Virgil appeared back at his side. He was so light-footed that Logan hadn’t heard a thing.

“Keep it there another minute,” Virgil said. He unloaded the contents of a first-aid kit on the counter.

“You seem to know a lot about burns,” Logan said. He felt a slight flutter of pride in his chest.

“Only because Princey burns me every day,” Virgil said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll make you a vocab card later,” Virgil said. “Okay, give me your hand.”

Logan flexed once Virgil taped the gauze in place. He’d retained most of his range of motion despite the inflammation of the epidermis and the bulk of the bandage.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” Virgil looked at the ground. “Sorry you never got your tea. Want me to make you some?”

“No thank you, I think I’d better get to sleep.” Logan started for the stairs, still flexing his hand. “Oh, and Virgil?” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “For an optimal sleep cycle, you should do the same.”

“Okay, Teach.”

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

I Do(n’t) Understand - Part  2  3  4  5  6  7  8

Let me know if you want to be tagged, please! I expect to post chapters ~weekly if not more often. (Should it be more often? Less? Give me your thoughts).

Y’all are fam(ily) :)

[collapsingintojupiter]

Hey wonderful human being! How are ya? If ya want a writing ask, I have a challenge for you: Ok so - what if there was a child side called Love who was created when Thomas entered a relationship? How would the others react? Does she have powers like the rest of them? What happens when Thomas is single again and they poof? Just a fun idea for you. Bye, friend!

You're so sweet fam

Also a quick note: I'm writing this as an aro-ace that's literally never had a s/o or been on a date and frankly never wants to be. So...yeah. This should be interesting lol.

***

Characters: Thomas, Patton, Logan, Roman, Virgil, Deceit, and of course Love.

Relationships: Just the good ol platonic LAMP

Warnings: Major character death.

***

He came after the third date. 

Thomas was talking with the other Sides in his living room about it, nervous but excited. Jeremy seemed like an awesome guy; handsome, funny, kind, and a huge Disney fan to boot (the most important characteristic, as Roman often proclaimed). Just thinking about him made Thomas' heart flutter. And even better than that, Jeremy seemed to like Thomas too. Their most recent date had gone quite well, but as always there were things to discuss.

The living room conversation quickly became another bickering match.

Virgil was nervous, as always. He's gonna leave us eventually, something's gonna come up. He'll hate us. He'll leave us. So much could go wrong.

Roman was excited, proposing dozens of grand gestures to Thomas--everything from a candle-lit dinner to tickets to Disney Land. Logan was irritated because he was also trying to plan Thomas and Jeremy's wedding--they've only just met, it's far too early to think about this, he grumbled.

Patton was acting like a five-year old on Redbull. He was talking so fast that nobody could understand him at all, and the others wondered if what he was saying would make sense even if they could hear him.

"GUYS, HE'S THE ONE! HE'S THE ONE!" A sudden shriek ripped through the apartment, and everyone jumped as another Side suddenly appeared on the couch. It was a new one, one that Thomas had never seen before. This one was wearing a pink flowery shirt with a collar, and somehow looked even more excited about what was happening than Patton.

Perhaps that was the most surprising thing about him--the new Side didn't seem to be evil or bad at all, no malicious intent lurking behind scales or chaos wrapped in green. If anything, this Side looked like he was nothing but a ball of pure energy.

"Who…?" Thomas' jaw dropped. "Who?" He looked around at the others.

Logan looked even more irritated.

Roman looked delighted.

Patton was grinning from ear to ear.

Virgil had a look on his face that was something between "not again" and "why me?"

"You don't know me?" The new Side looked hurt. "Has it really been so long?"

"GUYS!" Thomas shouted, desperate for an answer. "Can somebody tell me who he is!?"

Logan was the first to snap out of it, gesturing to the pink-clad Side with one hand and a sigh.

"Thomas... I'd like to introduce you to Love."

---

Love was confusing. That was normal though, Patton explained, once Virgil and Logan had calmed him down enough to where the moral side could speak coherently. Logan told Thomas that he'd get used to the pink one in time.

Thomas sure hoped that he was right.

Days and dates passed. Every moment with Jeremy felt like a new adventure, full of incredible moments and smiles and joking laughter. Love drank it all in, and if anything being around Jeremy seemed to add to his already-inexhaustible energy. 

Thomas did get used to him in time, just as Logan had promised. He was loud and demanding, yet gentle and kind. He was crazy, but loyal; impulsive and yet patient. So many things at once. So many confusing things at once. 

Neither Virgil nor Logan liked Love much. That wasn't terribly surprising though; Love was too illogical and nonsensical and emotional for Logan, too impulsive and reckless and wild for Virgil. Everything he did he did insanely, all the way, over the top. Not to mention that every time he got excited, it was pretty much a guarantee that Virgil and Logan would both be shut down. There wasn't room for fear in love; no room for reason. No wonder he and Roman got along so well--they practically fed off each other, throwing ideas back and forth until Thomas' head spun.

And through all of it Patton was just...confused. More than on average, you might say. 

Love makes you do crazy things, makes you feel strange things for people. Patton didn't understand it at all.

And it was great, for a while. Exhilaratinlg, even. Thomas didn't remember a time when he was so excited about life, so ready for it. With the energy of this new Side he felt like he could conquer the world.

Logan tried to warn Thomas.

So did Virgil.

Nothing prepared Thomas for the day Jeremy came to him with tears in his eyes; the day his heart broke when the man he loved more than anything told him that he was leaving. Leaving and, more importantly...never coming back.

There was crying in the mindpalace that night. Thomas' apartment was filled with quiet sobs, sobs that shook his body and made him feel like he couldn't breathe. 

Go back! Love was screaming. You can't let him go! You have to go back! 

Roman was crushed, and understandably so. Patton was speechless; after the swamp of emotions that had nearly drowned him he was suddenly numb, and that made Thomas numb too. Virgil had nothing to say; Logan had nothing to say. They'd already tried.

Love cried for days. But, as those days became weeks and months, the others noticed his demands, his pleas, his begging become weaker. 

And weaker. 

And weaker.

And when the realization of what was happening hit Thomas, it was somehow both horrifying and more comforting than he would've liked it to be.

Love was fading. Dying, he said. Logan explained to Thomas that the Sides didn't actually die, such wasn't possible at least in the way humans think of it, but that wasn't as comforting at it should have been. Thomas didn't want Love to be there anymore after what had happened and yet...part of him begged for it to stay.

Roman was devastated to see it all happen, and he acted like it. He knew what was happening and he knew he couldn't stop it but...God he wished there was something he could do. Anything. He'd do anything. Deceit promised that Love wouldn't go and what was another broken promise, on top of all the others he'd made to Thomas; to Roman; to himself. 

None of that mattered, of course. Eventually Love stopped appearing in the mindpalace altogether, and even though he didn't want to Thomas missed the pink flower-shirted Side; even Virgil eventually admitted to missing hearing his voice. All they could remember of it now was how strangled it had sounded the last time Love was there.

Don't worry though, Patton promised Thomas.

That's the thing about Love. It's fickle; always changing. 

But it always comes back.

___

There you go, hope you enjoyed. ^^

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, please message me or shoot me an ask! Make sure to specify if you want it for all of my writing or just the Sunshine and Storm Clouds story; if you don’t specify you’ll automatically be put down for both.

If you’d like to see more of my writing, feel free to send me a prompt! I don’t just do Sanders Sides, so go ahead and ask away! I’ll see what I can do with it lol, I really love writing and sharing my work with you guys.

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Where’s Princey? (Sick Roman) (Prinxiety)

Pairing: Prinxiety (Romantic), Slight Logicality if you squint

Summary: (Hurt/ Comfort) Roman is sick but can’t let the other sides know in order to keep his princely image. Everything is normal until Virgil starts to worry and looks for Sir Sing-A-Lot.

Word Count: 2,049 (Sorry it’s so long, I had a lot of fun and a lot of time since I am sick myself)

Warnings: None that I can think of. Some sadness and mentions of loneliness and illness. Please let me know if I need to add anything.

Author’s Note: Feel free to send me prompts for one shots or headcanons! I love to write Sanders Sides.

Everything was spinning and blurry. His head was heavy, his nose throbbed, and his ears ached. Roman stumbled out of bed to his full length golden mirror. He could almost imagine the glass shattering as his appearance came into focus. Pale and sweaty, his nose red and running, Roman was obviously sick. Suddenly, there came a knocking on his door.

“Hey kiddo! It’s breakfast time! I made your favorite breakfast pasta!” exclaimed Patton in his usual cheery voice from outside of the room. “Logan wanted Crofters but I figured I’d surprise you instead!” Roman chuckled to himself, if you could call it that. A rough gasping noise came out instead, crackling painfully in his throat.

“I am truly sorry Patton but I’m going to be rather busy today,” rasped Roman, trying his best to sound regal and like his normal fabulous self. “Thomas needs a lot of video ideas soon and you know I can’t bear to let him down.”

“Oh okay kiddo,” sighed Patton. Roman winced at the very apparent hurt tone that his friend displayed. He knew Logan and Virgil could cheer him up but his heart broke at the thought of hurting his friends. If only they knew the real reason he couldn’t attend breakfast. Perhaps just this once he could make an appearance. Reeling, he stumbled to his makeup table. Nothing a little foundation can’t fix! Right? Putting all of his passion and creativity into his looks didn’t help. His hair still swung messily in front of his face, very greasy and stringy, much to the prince’s disgust. The makeup couldn’t hide his tired eyes or the apathetic expression he couldn’t force himself to ditch.

There was no denying, Roman couldn’t leave his room. He was Thomas’s ego and elegance, the embodiment of grace and beauty. Beauty could not take a sick day. So he never did. The others thought he was incapable of coming down with illness. However, this was so far from the truth. Long nights and adventures in his kingdom left Roman fatigued and susceptible to even the slightest bug. Whenever he was under the weather, Roman simply claimed to be brainstorming and locked himself in his room. That way the others wouldn’t worry. He could still be brave. He could still be a valiant hero. He could still slay. In their minds, he’d always be beautiful. And there was no point in ruining that reputation now. Not when the people he loved and the fans he adored would be watching.

He could see it now. Thomas tweeting that a video would be late because creativity had failed him by falling down on the job. The last time he had been gone, after Thomas’s audition, Logan had to take over and Patton was burdened by caring for him. At least he could bear to let Patton see him then. But with an illness? He couldn’t miss again. He would never do that. Perfection or nothing. So until he was healthy again, he would be nothing.

A low growl interrupted his thoughts. A dragon witch perhaps? No, just his stomach. That pasta had sounded absolutely divine and he could’ve grabbed some cold remedy while he was out. But he knew that this was the price he paid to uphold standards. He was already weak anyway. What harm could a little hunger do?

Meanwhile, Virgil had just woken up. Patton and Logan both knew better than to wake the anxious side up early. He was already sleep deprived as the situation stood. Patton knew to reheat breakfast as Virgil meandered into the kitchen. Looking around, he felt his pulse start to race. Listening to his instincts, he knew. Something was wrong.

Virgil had never really bothered with getting along with Roman. They fought and teased each other in videos but ignored each other in the mindscape. Perhaps it was a mutual treaty… or a fear of what could be. But after he had revealed his name and Roman seemed to sympathize with him, the two became closer. Just a smile or a Disney joke here and there. Perhaps a meme war or help with makeup. Virgil would never admit it, but he had begun to care for Princey. And that’s when he started noticing the disappearances.

For days at a time, Roman would stay in his room, not talking to anyone. Lately these had become more frequent and were quickly becoming disturbances to any calmness that Virgil possessed. Patton and Logan existed long before Virgil became a light side. Perhaps they would know something. The two spectacled sides were lounging on the couch, Logan wrapping his arms protectively around Patton who was snuggled into the logical side, a small frown on his face.

“Have you guys seen Roman?” Virgil asked, trying to hide the growing worry in his voice. Logan didn’t even turn around before offering his reply over the small and soft whimpers of the man he was comforting.

“He said he’s busy Virgil. Too busy for Patton as it would seem. I think it would be best to leave him be for now,” Logan said, a sharp edge to his words as he enunciated each syllable in passive aggression.

“Aren’t you guys worried though? He’s been missing a lot,” Virgil inquired, hoping to get more information from the other two. Patton looked up and shattered the anxious side’s heart with a sad smile that would have even Satan himself sobbing.

“He seems to be fine Virgil. And if not he can save himself. That’s what heroes do r-right? He’s a big kiddo now. No need for Dad anymore,” Patton mumbled. Virgil wasn’t going to stand for this. Sure Roman could be hot headed and self centered at times, but he would never hurt Patton. Not like this. Something was definitely wrong.

“Roman?” Virgil asked as he knocked on the prince’s door. No response came at first. Roman was in a fitful sleep on the other side. Nightmares of writer’s block, unsubscribes, and disappointment filled his head.

“No! Please don’t go! I can do better! Please don’t leave me alone!” moaned Roman in pure, unadulterated agony. Panic filled Virgil as the adrenaline kicked in. Without further questioning, Virgil summoned as much power as he knew how and was able to appear inside of the room.

“Too much effort…” he mumbled, slightly dazed, before snapping to attention at the sight before him. Roman was thrashing around in bed, his crown pajamas showing signs of increased sweating, pleading with an invisible audience. He was at a loss for what to do. He began to approach the bed when Roman violently sat up, breathing heavily, not noticing his dear friend beside him. However, horror filled the romantic side when he saw the object of much of his affection peering curiously at him.

A high pitched scream filled Virgil’s entire being as Roman dove under the duvet. Virgil certainly did not miss that sound but he was more concerned about his friend rather than his current lack of hearing.

“Ro… hey Princey are you okay?” asked Virgil, trying to sound calm and rational with a hint of caring. Patton and Logan were much more equipped for this. Roman tantrums were not a force that Virgil knew how to stop. But wait… was that Roman… crying?

They say that nobody looks beautiful while crying, in fact most everyone can pull rather ugly faces while upset. But as Virgil pulled the covers away from Roman, he swore he had never seen something so majestic. Perhaps it was just the effect that Roman had on people, or maybe Virgil had gotten too fond of the prince. Nonetheless, Roman looked like a lightning storm. Intense and calm. Fearful yet wonderful. Oh God, what was this man doing to him?

“Please go away,” whispered Roman, sniffling and trying to hold back a cough. “I don’t want to burden you. I can conquer this.” He turned his face away, sheltering his heart from Virgil’s exit. Probably his final exit. There’s no way that Virgil would ever talk to him, ever love him now. Roman was weak and foolish, not the brave arrogant role that he often portrayed. Roman suddenly felt a surprisingly warm hand clasp his own clammy hand. The other hand turned his face and he was met with a shocking pair of iridescent eyes.

“I know you can. But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone. You’ve been so brave for so long. But you can be brave and sick too Roman,” whispered Virgil in a calm and reassuring voice. That voice saved for protecting Patton from spiders and Logan from distressing deep sea documentaries at midnight. Now it was meant for him. To save him from his worst fear.

“I’m so alone Virge,” the creative side sobbed. “How could anyone love me now? I’m selfish and I’m awful. I’m letting down Thomas. I’m letting down the fans. I snapped at Patton. I call Logan names. I’m awful to you.” Virgil said nothing for a minute.

“You’re not selfish Ro. You’re thinking of me and the others now. You’re causing yourself to suffer so we don’t have to deal with you. That’s delusional. We want to help. You just have to let us in.” Virgil wrapped his arms around the other side, not caring about the health repercussions. “You’re not bad Roman. And that’s why I love you Princey,” Virgil said softly, pressing a kiss to the other man’s forehead.

They sat for hours just talking and holding each other. Roman opened up about his fears, his perfectionist tendencies. Virgil listened and softly argued that it’s okay to be imperfect. People still love imperfection. Even anxious emos with attitudes. Virgil was able to convince the prince that even sickness, wouldn’t make him less of a hero. And he was definitely still fabulous. The fans, Thomas, and the sides would love him no matter what happened.

“Come on Ro. I think it’s time you got the care you need,” Virgil said as he pulled the other side to his feet. Virgil guided Roman into the living room, where Patton and Logan sat watching a documentary on veterinary clinics. Patton gasped when he saw Roman. The moral side leapt to his feet and enveloped the still pale and shaking Roman in a loving, fatherly hug.

“Pat I’m so sor-” Roman began but Patton cut him off.

“It’s okay kiddo. I think it’s time we got you some soup.” Roman couldn’t hide the wide grin that spread across his face. The two sides bounded towards the kitchen, leaving Virgil with Logan. The logical side broke his deadpan to offer Virgil a small smile of appreciation.

“You did good Virge. I guess my hypotheses about Roman were correct,” Logan smirked knowingly.

“More than one?” asked Virgil, noticing the blush that warmed his cheeks under his foundation. He glanced back at Princey laughing with Patton in the kitchen and felt his heart skip a beat. Did Logan know?

“I figured that something with Roman was not in correlation with his usual behavior. I wanted to address it but Patton insisted that we let Roman do his work. I love Pat but he can be too trusting at times. My first assumption was that he would not listen to me or Patton. This was correct. My second assumption being that the solution would involve you.”

“And why is that?” stuttered Virgil.

“Because we were simply meant to be!” sang Roman in a still hoarse voice behind him. The creative side winced at a voice crack and then swept Virgil off of his feet in an amazing feat of effort from the sick side. He kissed his chemically imbalanced romance while Patton squealed at his OTP getting together and Logan complained about Roman stealing his dramatic metaphorical thunder.

A day later, Virgil was sick as well. Roman snuggled next to his sneezing boyfriend who glared at him in a teasing manner. There were no more secrets to secure a reputation. Virgil was right. Nobody hated him like he thought they would. He wasn’t a failure. He no longer felt alone and knew he could count on his friends. Sometimes even the hero needs a helping hand. They just need to know that it’s okay to ask.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added!): @monstercupcake61176

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